Image, Imagination and Imaginarium: Remapping World War II Monuments in Greater China 9811596735, 9789811596735

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Image, Imagination and Imaginarium Remapping World War II Monuments in Greater China Lu Pan

Image, Imagination and Imaginarium

Lu Pan

Image, Imagination and Imaginarium Remapping World War II Monuments in Greater China

Lu Pan Department of Chinese Culture Hong Kong Polytechnic University Kowloon, Hong Kong

ISBN 978-981-15-9673-5 ISBN 978-981-15-9674-2 (eBook) https://doi.org/10.1007/978-981-15-9674-2 © The Editor(s) (if applicable) and The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Nature Singapore Pte Ltd. 2020 This work is subject to copyright. All rights are solely and exclusively licensed by the Publisher, whether the whole or part of the material is concerned, specifically the rights of translation, reprinting, reuse of illustrations, recitation, broadcasting, reproduction on microfilms or in any other physical way, and transmission or information storage and retrieval, electronic adaptation, computer software, or by similar or dissimilar methodology now known or hereafter developed. The use of general descriptive names, registered names, trademarks, service marks, etc. in this publication does not imply, even in the absence of a specific statement, that such names are exempt from the relevant protective laws and regulations and therefore free for general use. The publisher, the authors and the editors are safe to assume that the advice and information in this book are believed to be true and accurate at the date of publication. Neither the publisher nor the authors or the editors give a warranty, expressed or implied, with respect to the material contained herein or for any errors or omissions that may have been made. The publisher remains neutral with regard to jurisdictional claims in published maps and institutional affiliations. Cover image credit: Tsao Liang-pin, Taiwan Taoyuan Martyrs’ Shrine 2017 from Becoming/Taiwanese This Palgrave Macmillan imprint is published by the registered company Springer Nature Singapore Pte Ltd. The registered company address is: 152 Beach Road, #21-01/04 Gateway East, Singapore 189721, Singapore

Acknowledgments

The completion of the book realizes my dream of exploring war monuments in the region since 2012. An extension of my previous research on memory and space in Berlin and Shanghai, the current project allows me to go deeper into the histories of these monuments and spaces, which are caught between visibility and invisibility. Throughout the years of my research and field trips, I have received generous help from many people. My deep gratitude goes to the following mentors and friends who supported me in each chapter. Shanghai: Gong Wei-qiang, Ma You-jiong, Wang Min, Liu Jie, Ji Xiao-hui; Hong Kong: Lee Kai-chung, Frank Miu, Lee Chun-fung; Taipei: Tsai Chin-tang, Tsao Liang-pin, Huang Shu-mei, Chen Fei-hao, Chien Yung-pin, and Yang Yeh; Guangzhou: Cai Tao, Yang Fan-shu; Chongqing: Yang Yi-min, Liao Yu-di, Xiao Neng-zhu. I would also like to express my thankfulness to Wu Xue-shan, Shitamichi Motoyuki, Lee Hyun-kyung, Edward Vickers, Gu Yi, Shanghai Liu Haisu Art Museum, Shanghai Sihang Warehouse Memorial Museum, Taichung General Sun Li-jen Memorial Hall, Hong Kong Regiment Association, and my excellent research assistants: Zhang Rui, Fu Meng-qing, and Lai Tsz-hong. I am also grateful for Dr. Tam King-fai’s meticulous comments on my first draft. The book is not able to be published without the support from all these individuals and organizations. Last but not least, the project was mainly funded by University Grants Committee’s Early Career Scheme (PP3N—Remapping World War II Memory Through Commemorative Artifacts in Contemporary Mainland v

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ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

China, Hong Kong, and Taiwan). I am also grateful to my department, Dept. of Chinese Culture, The Hong Kong Polytechnic University, and my colleagues for their kind supports.

Contents

1

1

Introduction

2

Between Iconic Image and (Artificial) Ruins: Shanghai Sihang Warehouse and Chinese Modern Visuality of World War II

35

(Forgotten)Landscape of Imperial War Memories in a (Post)Colonial City: Hong Kong’s Cenotaph and Beyond

93

3

4

5

6

7

Imagining Imaginarium in Taipei: From Taiwan Jinja to National Revolutionary Martyrs’ Shrine

159

The Monument That Became Public Toilet: The New 1st Army Cemetery in Guangzhou

245

Renaming Monument, Rewriting History: Chongqing’s War Victory Stele/Liberation Stele

315

Conclusion

375

Index

395

vii

List of Figures

Fig. 2.1 Fig. 2.2 Fig. 2.3

Fig. 2.4

Fig. 2.5

Fig. 2.6

Fig. 2.7

Fig. 2.8

Sihang Warehouse Memorial Museum (Source Photo by author, 2018) Blueprint of Sihang Warehouse (Source Courtesy of Sihang Warehouse Memorial Museum) “Sihang Warehouse where Our Heroes of Chapei last entrenched: National Flag Flying over Sihang Warehouse” (Source News Weekly [Shanghai] 43, no. 14 [November 8, 1937]: 1) “The Immortal Eight Hundred Heroes and Sihang Warehouse” (Source Dikang Pictorial [Shanghai], no. 2 [November 3, 1937]: 9) “The lone army in Chapei” (Source War Supplement of China Pictorial [Zhanshi Huabao Zhonghua Tuhua Zazhi Haowai], nos. 18–19 [1937]: 39) Breaking into Sihang Warehouse (Source Nagazawa Torao, Shanghai Front Pictorial: Sino–Japanese Incident 1937 [Wakayama: Taisho Photo Studio, 1937]) Japanese soldiers dare to charge on Sihang Warehouse (Source Nagazawa Torao, Shanghai Front Pictorial: Sino–Japanese Incident 1937 [Wakayama: Taisho Photo Studio, 1937]) Sihang Warehouse on Fire. Photo by Hyland Lyon (Source Courtesy of Sihang Warehouse Memorial Museum)

36 45

49

50

51

53

54

56

ix

x

LIST OF FIGURES

Fig. 2.9

Fig. 2.10 Fig. 2.11

Fig. 2.12 Fig. 2.13

Fig. 2.14 Fig. 2.15 Fig. 2.16 Fig. 3.1

Fig. 3.2

Fig. 3.3

Fig. 3.4 Fig. 3.5

Fig. 3.6

The Northern side of Sihang Warehouse after the battle. Photo by Hyland Lyon (Source Courtesy of Sihang Warehouse Memorial Museum) Liu Hai-su’s Sihang Warehouse, 1938 (Source Courtesy of Shanghai Liu Haisu Art Museum) (Photography) View on Sihang Warehouse (Source A Grand Pictorial History of the Sino-Japanese War and Founding of the Nation, 1948, 54) Wall of the west side of Sihang Warehouse after the battle (Source Screen shot from Shanghai [1938], Kamei Fumio) Ruins of Sihang Warehouse (Source World War II database at: https://ww2db.com/image.php?image_id= 25116) View from inside the ruins of Sihang Warehouse (Source Screen shot from Shanghai [1938], Kamei Fumio) Mirror and dangling lamp (Source Screen shot from Shanghai [1938], Kamei Fumio) British soldiers walking by (Source Screen shot from Shanghai [1938], Kamei Fumio) Edwin Lutyens’ Cenotaph sketch (Source Lutyens Edwin, Edwin Lutyens’ Cenotaph sketch, 1919, at: https://www. iwm.org.uk/collections/item/object/17077) “Statue Square in the mid 1930’s. Queen Victoria Statue on the background” (Source Lau Yun-woo, “Statue Square in the mid 1930’s. Queen Victoria Statue on the background,” Mid 1930s, Hong Kong Public Records Office, Hong Kong Special Administrative Region, China) Liberation Day Ceremony in Hong Kong, 1945 (Source Suzuki Gen, Hong Kong returned to Britain, August 1945, at: https://gwulo.com/atom/23568) Chinese War Memorial (Source Photo by the author) “Statue Square as Car Park” (Source Photograph of Statue Square, 1950s, Hong Kong Public Records Office, Hong Kong Special Administrative Region, China, file number: HKRS70-3-364) City Hall Memorial Garden in the 1960s (Source “City Hall High Block,” 1960s, Architectural Services Department, at: https://www.archsd.gov.hk/archsd/ html/teachingkits/tk3/central/accessibleversion/en/ acc_city_hall/1960s.html)

56 57

62 72

73 74 74 75

96

105

119 124

130

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LIST OF FIGURES

Fig. 4.1 Fig. 4.2 Fig. 4.3

Fig. 4.4

Fig. 4.5

Fig. 4.6

Fig. 4.7

Fig. 4.8

Fig. 4.9

Fig. 4.10

Fig. 4.11

National Martyrs’ Shrine in Taipei (Source Photo by the author) Gokoku Shrine in Taipei (ca. 1942) (Source Public Domain) a, b Two maps of Taipei City (1907 and 1932) (Source Center for GIS, RCHSS, Academia Sinica, at: http://gis. rchss.sinica.edu.tw/mapdap/?p=5652&lang=en) Territorial Map of Imperial Shrine Taiwan Shrine (1906) (Source ZUSHI Minoru Collection, Database of Japanese shrines built abroad during the Japanese imperial period, The Research Center for Nonwritten Cultural Materials, Kanagawa University, at: http://www.himoji.jp/dat abase/db04/permalink.php?id=2210) Painting of Taiwan Grand Shrine by Yoshida Hatsusaburo (1930) (Source Government Propaganda Materials of Taiwan Expo, Public Domain) Hagiya Sh¯ ukin’s Ensan (1927), Watercolor (Source Archive of Taiwan Fine Art Expo, Photo number: T1E37. Original source: Catalogue of The First Round of Taiwan Fine Art Expo [Taipei: Association of Japanese Painting in Taiwan, 1928]) Meiji Bridge (Source Taiwan shenshe shewu suo and Taiwan jiaoyu hui, Photo Book in Commemoration of the 30th Anniversary of Taiwan Shrine’s Enshrinement [Taipei shi: Taiwan jinja jimusho]. National Taiwan University Library Collection) The National Center for Spiritual Research and Exercise (Source Taiwan zongdu fu, Taiwan no syakai ky¯ oiku [Taipei shi: Taiwan zongdu fu]. National Taiwan University Library) a, b Aerial view of Yuanshan Area taken US Airforce (1945) (Source Hundred Years of Taipei Historical Maps, Center for GIS RCHSS, Academia Sinica, at: http://gis srv4.sinica.edu.tw/gis/taipei.aspx) Map of Yuanshan Area (1957) (Source Hundred Years of Taipei Historical Maps, Center for GIS RCHSS, Academia Sinica, at: http://gissrv4.sinica.edu.tw/gis/tai pei.aspx) Map of Yuanshan Area (1967) (Source Hundred Years of Taipei Historical Maps, Center for GIS RCHSS, Academia Sinica, at: http://gissrv4.sinica.edu.tw/gis/tai pei.aspx)

xi

160 166

169

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178

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180

188

190

196

197

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LIST OF FIGURES

Fig. 4.12 Fig. 4.13 Fig. 4.14 Fig. 4.15 Fig. 4.16

Fig. 4.17 Fig. 4.18 Fig. 4.19

Fig. 4.20

Fig. 4.21

Fig. 4.22

Fig. 4.23 Fig. 5.1 Fig. 5.2 Fig. 5.3 Fig. 5.4

Old Yuanshan Hotel in the 1950s (Source Public Domain) Postcard showing Copper Dragon in Taiwan Shrine (Source Public Domain) Golden Dragon Today (2019) (Source Photo by the author) The National Palace Museum, Taipei, in the 1970s (Source Public Domain) Chung-shan Building (Source Wong Wei-te, “Chung-Shan Building,” at: https://www.flickr.com/photos/wongwt/ 25722909830, CC BY-SA 2.0, at: https://commons.wik imedia.org/w/index.php?curid=49840944) Sun Yat-Sen Mausoleum in Sun’s Funeral, June 1, 1929, Nanjing (Source Public Domain) The Bell-shaped Sun Yat-sen Mausoleum (Source Public Domain) Sun Yat-sen Memorial Hall, Taipei (Source CEphoto, Uwe Aranas or alternatively © CEphoto, Uwe Aranas, “Taipei Taiwan Sun-Yat-sen-Memorial-Hall,” CC BY-SA 3.0, at: https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php? curid=49734793) Bird’s Eye View of The National Martyrs’ Shrine (Source “Yao Yuan-jhong on the Design of the Taipei Martyrs’ Shrine,” The Martyrs’ Shrine, at: http://library.taiwansch oolnet.org/diplomacy2006/huigogo2/index2/index2_3. html) Design draft of the Martyrs’ Shrine (Source “Yao Yuan-jhong on the Design of the Taipei Martyrs’ Shrine,” The Martyrs’ Shrine, at: http://library.taiwanschoolnet. org/diplomacy2006/huigogo2/index2/index2_3.html) Plum blossom pattern of the eaves tiles (Source “Yao Yuan-jhong on the Design of the Taipei Martyrs’ Shrine,” The Martyrs’ Shrine, at: http://library.taiwanschoolnet. org/diplomacy2006/huigogo2/index2/index2_3.html) The Sanctuary of the Martyrs’ Shrine (Source Photo by the author) “Main Tower of The New First Army Cemetery” (Source Chinese-American Weekly 256 [1947]: 145) Memorial Pavilion and Bridge (Source Public Doman) Entrance of the Cemetery (1947) (Source Public Domain) Tomb for the Seventy-Two Martyrs (1930s) (Source Public Domain)

199 201 203 212

212 215 217

223

224

225

226 227 255 256 258 263

LIST OF FIGURES

Fig. 5.5

Fig. 5.6 Fig. 5.7 Fig. 5.8

Fig. 5.9 Fig. 5.10 Fig. 5.11 Fig. 5.12

Fig. 5.13 Fig. 5.14 Fig. 5.15 Fig. 5.16 Fig. 5.17 Fig. 6.1 Fig. 6.2 Fig. 6.3 Fig. 6.4 Fig. 6.5 Fig. 6.6

Entrance of the 19th Route Army Martyrs’ Memorial Park (Source By Lee Chin-tung, “19th Route Army Martyrs’ Memorial Park,” CC BY-SA 4.0, at: https:// commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=7007905) Pavilion in Zhu Zhi-xin Tomb (Source Photo by the author) German Pavilion in 1937 World Expo Paris (Source Public Domain) Hand-drawn Plan of the Cemetery by Yang Yi-li (Source Zhu Hong-yuan, Sun Li-jen shang jiang zhuanan zhuizong fangtan lu [Taiwan: Xuesheng shuju youxian gongsi, 2012], 237) The Copper Eagle (Source Public Domain) New First Army’s Blue Eagle Emblem (Source Public Domain) The Monument to Retrocession of Southern Guangxi (1942) (Source Public Domain) Statue of Sun Yat-sen in front of Sun Yat-sen Memorial Hall, Guangzhou (Source By Zhang Zhu-gang, “Sun Yat-sen Memorial Hall, Guangzhou,” CC BY-SA 3.0, at: https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid= 24716739) Soldier’s Statue on Haizu Square, original version (Source Public Domain) Ehrenmal Treptower Park in Berlin (Source By tm-md, CC BY-SA 2.0) Main Tower of the Cemetery (2015) (Source Photo by the author) Memorial Pavilion (2015) (Source Photo by the author) Linwang and Sun Li-jen (1947) (Source Public Domain) Jiefangbei Square Today (2015) (Source Photo by the author) Tourist Map of Liangjiang Movie City and the reproduced War Victory Stele (Source Public Domain) a, b Draft design for Spiritual Fortress (1941) (Source Chongqing Municipal Archive) Spiritual Fortress (Source Public Domain) a, b Draft design of War Victory Stele and after its completion (Source Chongqing Municipal Archive) The first page of Die Neue Baukunst (Xin Jianzhu), First Issue (1936) (Source Die Neue Baukunst (Xin Jianzhu) 1 (1936): 1)

xiii

265 267 280

283 284 285 287

291 292 293 296 298 303 316 318 330 332 340

348

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LIST OF FIGURES

Fig. 6.7 Fig. 6.8

Fig. 6.9

Fig. 7.1

Fig. 7.2 Fig. 7.3 Fig. 7.4 Fig. 7.5 Fig. 7.6 Fig. 7.7 Fig. 7.8

The First National Day Celebration at the Liberation Stele (1950) (Source Public Domain) The Peace Dove at the Liberation Stele on August 1, the Army Day, 1950 (Source Chongqing Zhengbao, Special Memorial Issue for the First Anniversary of the Liberation of Chongqing, 1950) Welcoming Ceremony of Soviet Cultural Professionals at the Liberation Stele (1952) (Source China Pictorial, [December 1952]: 1) Taoyuan Martyrs’ Shrine (Source By Si ren meng, “Taoyuan Martyrs’ Shrine,” CC BY-SA 4.0, at: https:// commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=63713303) Image from Torii by Shitamichi Motoyuki (Source Courtesy of the artist) Image from Torii by Shitamichi Motoyuki (Source Courtesy of the artist) Photographer: Li Huo-zeng c. 1940 (Source Courtesy of Sunnygate Phototime and Chien Yung-pin) Author unknown (Source Courtesy of Yang Yeh) Author unknown (Source Courtesy of Yang Yeh) Taoyuan Martyrs’ Shine. Image from Becoming/ Taiwanese by Tsao Liang-pin (Source Courtesy of the artist) Image from KenKou Shrine by Chen Fei-hao (Source Courtesy of the artist)

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382 383 384 385 386 386 387 389

CHAPTER 1

Introduction

Encountering WWII Monuments in Greater China My interest in war monuments in Mainland China, Taiwan, and Hong Kong started with my puzzling encounters with them and the rupture from the present I feel in them. In 2008, when I was still writing my doctoral thesis on memory and space in Berlin and Shanghai, I visited for the first time Sihang Warehouse, then a gray-looking office building which had newly rebranded itself as a “creative centre,” a fashionable way of revitalizing old, underused industrial buildings and warehouses along Shanghai’s water routes since the mid-2000s. The warehouse was not too different from other “creative centres” in Shanghai at that time. It accommodated various companies of “creative industries,” such as photo studios, advertising companies, and design companies. What made it different was its “hidden menu,” a commemoration room for the resilient resistance of the “Eight Hundred Heroes” of the Nationalist Army led by Colonel Xie Jin-yuan (1905–1941) right in the Sihang Warehouse in 1937. On a Friday afternoon, which was allegedly the only time when the structure was open every week, I went on an exploration by myself. No sign was there indicating what the small “illegal structure” was for. The door was half closed and I opened it to look at the total darkness inside. No sign of anyone there. I reached out to grope along the wall in search of the light switch, my back turned to the inside of the room. I found the switch and turned it on. When I turned around, I was startled © The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Nature Singapore Pte Ltd. 2020 L. Pan, Image, Imagination and Imaginarium, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-981-15-9674-2_1

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by the bronze statue of Xie Jin-yuan, most stunningly and incongruously with a red scarf of the Young Pioneers, a Communist youth group, tied around his neck. The room was only around 40 square meters, and the exhibition in the room consisted only of some plastic boards with their sketchy descriptions of the Battle at the Sihang Warehouse and a display table with a glass cover, underneath which were miniature dioramas of the scenarios of the battle. I looked around the room for 10 minutes when a staff came in and apologized that she was late but usually the room was open only by appointment. When I asked her who were the usual visitors, she told me the room was, though simple in its setup, a “patriotic education centre” in the Zhabei District, so middle and high schools periodically organized tours to visit, which explained why the Nationalist Officer’s statue was seen with a red scarf. Taiwan tourists came too, she added, which made up another group of visitors. For many in Taiwan, “Eight Hundred Heroes” and Sihang Warehouse was the national icon of the war against Japan. Thus, the setup of the original site of Sihang Warehouse seemed to align also with the United Front Policy practiced by the Communist Chinese Government. Similarly, I also had a strange feeling of disjunction when I visited the National Revolutionary Martyrs’ Shrine in Taipei. Probably more than anywhere else in that city, I was very aware of the “otherness” of the space in the shrine upon entering the its three-arched main gateway. The feeling of such “otherness” is twofold. First, the Qing Dynasty architectural style of the shrine, which resembles that of royal palaces in Beijing, reminded me that this space was relocated from some other place. Second, after fully realizing that this was the “divine space of the national martyrs” of the Republic of China (ROC), I could not stop thinking about the nation’s interrupted history in the Mainland and its quasi-continuity in Taiwan. On the empty square of the shrine, a group of Korean tourists were waiting for the guard changing ceremony, which was the sole attraction in the area. As a tourist myself, I carefully observed the movement of the guards and watched the look of solemnity on their faces. The legitimacy and dignity of the occasion seemed to have been transferred onto the bodies of these young guards at every measured step that they took and at every spin of their guns. The Korean tourists were busy taking photos and following the guards. For these tourists, the changing of the guards may well have been merely a performance, for as soon as the ceremony was over, they walked away, leaving me alone in the vast and empty square.

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There is perhaps no better illustration of the politics of war memories in the three societies of the Mainland China, Taiwan, and Hong Kong than a series of WWII-related events that happened in the year of 2015. On September 3, 2015, on the occasion of the 70th anniversary of the victory of WWII, the government of the People’s Republic of China held a large Victory Day Parade in Beijing which, was the first military reviewing parade held other than on the National Day in history. Notably, for the first time in its history, the State Council of the PRC has announced two batches of national level anti-Japanese war memorial facilities and historic sites in September 2014 and August 2015. The inclusion was an unprecedented solemn gesture in accentuating war monuments as a significant part of the national agenda of “the great rejuvenation of the Chinese nation” (zhonghua minzu weidafuxing ). In Hong Kong and Taiwan, while similar celebratory events for the victory of the War were also held, they were more overtly controversial. In Hong Kong, discussions arose about the forgetting of Hong Kong’s own history during the war and its own commemorative tradition under the British colonial rule between 1945 and 1997. As the political and economic cleavage between Hong Kong and Mainland China deepens quickly in recent years, WWII commemorations that follow the steps of those held in the Mainland are inevitably interpreted by certain local media as another evidence of the “invasion” on the part of Mainland China’s ideological propaganda. In Taiwan, the Nationalist Government spares no efforts in eulogizing the KMT Party’s contribution to the victory of the War against Japan which hopefully would give a boost to the identification with the Kuomintang government. Meanwhile, the younger generations of Taiwan show strong resistance toward a “one China” view of history. The question of how Taiwan’s WWII experience shall be remembered is still a contested terrain with memories of Taiwan firstly as a Japanese colony, and then as a “war booty” of the Republic of China under the KMT’s rule. The island’s growing sense of independence and its own nationalism after the Kuomintang relaxed its authoritarian rule in the late 1980s further complicates its war narratives. Taiwan has to face its colossal neighbor and geopolitical foe across the Taiwan Strait against the intricate background where political distrust is mixed with the current and prospective economic integration with Mainland China. Through the study on five war monuments, the book illustrates past and ongoing controversies and contestations over the Chinese nation, sovereignty, modernism, and identity. Despite their historical affinities,

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the three major Chinese (huaren) societies in question, namely, Mainland China, Hong Kong, and Taiwan, vary in their own ways of telling, remembering and forgetting WWII. These divergences are not only rooted in their different political circumstances and social experiences, but also in their current competitions, confrontations, and integrations. To achieve this goal, the book will focus on five cases/forms of war monuments, all of which were built either prior to or between 1945 and 1965 and in various ways, remain physically today. They are/were dedicated or adapted to commemorating the heroes or victory of WWII. They are the Cenotaph (Heping Jinianbei) in Hong Kong, the War Victory Stele (Kangzhan Shengli Jigongbei, now the Liberation Stele (Jiefangbei)) in Chongqing, the New Army Number One India-Burma Corps Memorial Military Cemetery (New 1st Army Cemetery (Xinyijun Yinmian Zhenwang Jiangshi Gongmu)) in Guangzhou, the National Revolutionary Martyrs’ Shrine (zhonglieci) in Taipei and Shanghai Sihang Warehouse (now Shanghai Sihang Warehouse Memorial Museum (Sihang Cangku Jinianguan)). In my examination, I do not only look at the historical transformations of the monuments but also their pertinence to the status quo of the intriguing politics of war memories in the three societies. At this point, I would like to first make some clarifications of the name of the war. Here, I use the term WWII, rather than the war’s two other names commonly used in the region, “Second Sino-Japanese War” and “Chinese War of Resistance Against Japan” for three major reasons. First of all, I intend to problematize the writing of WWII history, which has so far been largely Europe-centered and thus 1939, the year when Nazi Germany invaded Poland, is usually taken as the starting point of WWII. Although the process of war in China was complicated, with Japan’s initial expansion into Manchuria in 1931 and China’s official declaration of the War in 1941, I consider the Marco Polo Bridge Incident on July 7, 1937, whereupon Japanese waged a nationwide invasion of China, as the beginning of the World War. With the surrender of Nazi Germany and Imperial Japan in 1945, World War Two ended in different theaters around the world. Second, as the book covers cases in the Mainland, Hong Kong, and Taiwan, to use “Second Sino-Japanese War” and “Chinese War of Resistance Against Japan” to refer to the battles in this area is apparently inappropriate. While Hong Kong was a British colony when it fell into the hands of the Japanese in December 1941 as a part of the Pacific War theater, Taiwan was Japanese colony during the entire war period and Taiwanese soldiers actually fought as Japanese subjects against Chinese

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and the Allied force. Third, after Japan seized Burma in 1942 and tried to block the transportation of goods in and from China in its southwest frontiers, the US, Britain, and China came together to fight together against Japan in this region, merging the Chinese theater with the Pacific theater. As Burma was a British colony before the Japanese occupation and the US too declared war against Japan in 1941 after the Pearl Harbour Incident, both countries found necessity to stand with China against Japan. The US assistance to the Chinese Nationalist (KMT) troops was most evident when the Chinese Expedition Force (CEF), to which New Army Number One belonged, was among the best-equipped and trained Chinese military units between 1942 and 1945 in Burma and India. The US supplied China with goods by air from India and helped to train Chinese pilots and mechanics. Thus, the use of the other two names, which fashioned the war as a regional and national war, perhaps indicates the intention on the part of the Chinese government (both Nationalist and Communist) in appealing to strong nationalistic sentiments in order to mobilize the mass support during and after the wear, and as such, fails to capture the complex nature of the fighting that took place.

Theoretical Outline and Previous Research Against the background of these complicated entanglements and controversies over the war memory and commemoration, which are no longer solely about the war per se but more revealing of the current sociopolitical predicaments in the region, this book searches for ruptures, rather than coherence, in the WWII narratives and their manifestation in public space in the three societies. As Nelson and Olin argue, “unlike a lifeless art object suspended on the white walls of a museum, the monument does not privilege the past at the expense of the present. Rather it engages both to make claims for and against the future.”1 The memories of the war in China and its neighboring areas continue to be haunted by their inconsistencies, insufficient public discussions, and individual traumas that remain less visible than the grand narratives of the nation. The book has benefited largely from works done on commemorative culture and war monuments are related to European and US history. The works of Sharon Macdonald and Rudy Koshar explore monuments in 1 Robert S. Nelson and Margaret Rose Olin, Monuments and Memory, Made and Unmade (Chicago, IL: University of Chicago Press, 2003), 6.

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relation to Germany’s modern experiences of war and totalitarianism.2 Kirk Savage and Marita Sturken provide insights into visual culture and American public memory after the end of WWII.3 Cross-continental research on western commemorative culture and public space has been done by Andreas Huyssen, Jay Winter, and James Young.4 Meanwhile, the following scholarship on the region’s commemorative space also shed light on the current book. The book finds affinity with writings on Chinese ritualistic architecture and monuments and their social implications in the Republic of China by Lai De-lin,5 Liu Guo-fu and Fu Chao-qing6 ; the idea of monumentality and ruins in Chinese art history by Wu Hung7 ; the making of memorial space of Communist regime in Beijing’s Tiananmen Square by Hung Chang-tai8 ; museum culture in relation to the memory making of the Chinese Revolution, the SinoJapanese War, cultural heritage and ethnic minorities in post-Mao China 2 Sharon Macdonald, Difficult Heritage: Negotiating the Nazi past in Nuremberg and beyond (London; New York, NY: Routledge, 2009), and Rudy Koshar, From Monuments to Traces: Artifacts of German Memory, 1870–1990 (Berkeley, CA: University of California Press, 2000). 3 Kirk Savage, Monument Wars: Washington, D.C., The National Mall, and the Transformation of the Memorial Landscape (Berkeley, CA: University of California Press, 2009), Marita Sturken, Tourists of History: Memory, Kitsch, and Consumerism from Oklahoma City to Ground Zero (Durham, NC: Duke University Press, 2007), and Marita Sturken, Tangled Memories: The Vietnam War, the AIDS Epidemic, and the Politics of Remembering (Berkeley, CA: University of California Press, 1997). 4 Andreas Huyssen, Present Pasts: Urban Palimpsests and the Politics of Memory (Stanford, CA: Stanford University Press, 2003), Andreas Huyssen, Twilight Memories: Marking Time in a Culture of Amnesia (New York, NY: Routledge, 1995), James Edward Young, “The Counter-monument,” Critical Inquiry 18, no. 2 (1992): 267–296, and Winter, Sites of Memory, Sites of Mourning: The Great War in European Cultural History. 5 De-lin Lai, “Chinese Modern: Sun Yat-Sen’s Mausoleum as a Crucible for Defining Modern Chinese Architecture” (Ph.D. disserstion, The University of Chicago, 2007), and De-lin Lai, Zhongguo jianzhu geming: Minguo zaoqi de lizhi jianzhu (Taipei shi: Boya shuwu youxian gongsi, 2011). 6 Guo-fu Liu and Jing-fu Wie, Guo Hun Dian (Changchun: Jilin renmin chuban she, 1993), and Chao-qing Fu, Zhongguo gudian shiyang xin jianzhu: ershi shiji zhongguo xin jianzhu guanzhi hua di lishi yanjiu, 1st ed. (Taipei shi: Nantian Shuju, 1993). 7 Hung Wu, Monumentality in Early Chinese Art and Architecture (Stanford, CA: Stanford University Press, 1995), and Hung Wu, A Story of Ruins: Presence and Absence in Chinese Art and Visual Culture (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 2012). 8 Chang-tai Hung, Dibiao: Beijing de kongjian zhengzhi (Hong Kong: Oxford University Press, 2011).

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by Rana Mitter9 and Kirk Denton10 ; and how commemorative space and collective memories are used in contemporary China as agencies of nationalism, propaganda, popular culture and consumption by Lu Tracey Lie-dan and Marzia Varutti.11 However, studies of war memory and commemoration have resided mainly in history studies and been conducted within one of two main realms. On the one hand, they are bound up with the study of rituals, national identifications, invention of tradition, imagined communities and the forces that form meanings of the monument for a collective consciousness.12 Thus, commemorative space and collective memories are regarded as agencies of nationalism, propaganda, popular culture, or consumption. On the other hand, they are held to be significant primarily for individual psychological reasons, as an expression of mourning, or as a human reaction to death, violence, and trauma.13 The two polarized emphases on the state and the civil society overlook other important, if not vital, factors that influence the ways a society comes to terms with war experiences. My approach to studying war memory and commemoration focuses on two major aspects: first, the material space of war remembrance

9 Rana Mitter, “Behind the Scenes at the Museum: Nationalism, History and Memory in the Beijing War of Resistance Museum, 1987–1997,” The China Quarterly 161 (2000): 279–293, and Rana Mitter, China’s War with Japan, 1937 –1945: The Struggle for Survival (London: Allen Lane, an Imprint of Penguin, 2013). 10 Kirk A. Denton, Exhibiting the Past: Historical Memory and the Politics of Museums in Postsocialist China (Honolulu: University of Hawaii Press, 2014). 11 Tracey Lie-dan Lu, Museums in China: Materialized Power and Objectified Identities (London: Routledge, 2014), and Marzia Varutti, Museums in China: The Politics of Representation after Mao (Woodbridge: The Boydell Press, 2014). 12 Eric J. Hobsbawm, Francis Newton and American Council of Learned Societies,

Nations and Nationalism since 1780: Programme, Myth, Reality, 2nd ed (Cambridge, England: Cambridge University Press, 1992), Maurice Halbwachs and Lewis A. Coser, On Collective Memory (Chicago, IL: University of Chicago Press, 1992), and Benedict R. O’G. Anderson, Imagined Communities: Reflections on the Origin and Spread of Nationalism (London: Verso, 1983). 13 Jay M. Winter, Remembering War: The Great War between Memory and History in the

Twentieth Century (New Haven, CT: Yale University Press, 2006.), Jay M. Winter, Sites of Memory, Sites of Mourning: The Great War in European Cultural History (Cambridge, New York, NY: Cambridge University Press, 1995), and Jay M. Winter and Emmanuel Sivan, War and Remembrance in the Twentieth Century (Cambridge, United Kingdom, New York, NY: Press Syndicate of the University of Cambridge, 1999).

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culture and, second, the aesthetic dimensions of the war commemorative artefacts. The first approach is inspired by Pierre Nora’s famous conceptualization of les lieux de memoire (realms of memory) that encompasses memory studies in all “material, symbolic and functional” senses.14 Here memory, as opposed to history, refers neither to a purely individual feeling or psychological condition, nor to an artificial product of state ideology. His emphasis on the spatial significance of religious institutions, archives, museums, monuments as “instruments” of memory introduces the dimension of space to the understanding of historiographical writings. The second approach is fundamentally informed by Jacques Rancière’s reconceptualization of the relations between politics and aesthetics. In his The Politics of Aesthetics ,15 Rancière revisits the relationship between aesthetics and politics by revealing an underlying similarity between the principles of the two regimes. Rancière “does not wish to reconstitute politics in a sealed space that would be preserved from contamination by other spheres of activity.”16 His idea of the “dissensus” connects the two regimes from the perspective of “the sensible.” According to Rancière, dissensus is “a conflict between a sensory presentation and a way of making sense of it, or between several sensory regimes and/or ‘bodies’ … This ‘natural’ logic, a distribution of the invisible and visible, of speech and noise, pins bodies to ‘their’ places and allocates the private and the public to distinct ‘parts’—this is the order of the police.”17 Rather than juxtaposing these concepts in their own purely conceptual enclosure, Rancière regards politics as “the set of procedures whereby the aggregation and consent of collectivities is achieved, [it denotes] the organization of powers, the distribution of places and roles, and the systems of legitimizing this distribution.”18 This (re)distribution is in turn a “distribution of the sensible,” occupying a specific position of both separating and 14 Pierre Nora, “Between Memory and History: Les Lieux de Mémoire,” Representations, no. 26 (Spring, 1989), Special Issue: Memory and Counter-Memory, 19. 15 Jacques Rancière, The Politics of Aesthetics: The Distribution of the Sensible (London, New York, NY: Continuum, 2004). 16 Samuel Allen Chambers, The Lessons of Rancière (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2013), 198. 17 Jacques Rancière, Dissensus: On Politics and Aesthetics, translated by Steven Corcoran (London, New York, NY: Continuum, 2010), 139. 18 Jacques Rancière, Disagreement: Politics and Philosophy (Minneapolis, MN: University of Minnesota Press, 1999), 28.

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sharing with other parts in the same order.19 The ability and inability of what is to be seen and what is to be heard in time and space thus implies an “aesthetics” at the core of politics.20 Based on such a recognition of the fluidity and interconnection between politics and aesthetics, the book emphasizes the visual dissensus of the war monuments. I thus blend methodologies and theoretical tools from cultural studies, media and visual studies, art history and visual ethnography. I remap WWII memories in the region through commemorative artefacts—that is, material and visual forms of national myths, rather than words and texts, so as to transverse the linguistic enclaves constructed by state-bodies and modern ideas of political sovereignties. The physical changes and conditions of the monuments and their visual transitions on different media may deviate from, betray or even subvert the intended dominance of the writings by their powerful makers. So far, few researches has been done on connecting the three Chinese societies as a dynamically interrelated and contradictory whole. Moreover, existing studies on postwar politics and memory have always been employed in the interpretation and analysis of single events (e.g., war, revolution, riot or massacre, etc.). Even less research is concerned with the role of aesthetical and visual existence of public monuments with regard to the formations of the feeling, knowledge, and action in contemporary period in all three societies. Neither can any research be found on the historical evolution of a certain monument from an earlier time to today. Thus, this book hopes to fill in the gap in the studies of commemorative culture in the Great China area by focusing on the visual and spatial manifestations of war memories. I will not only unfold the complexity of the war memories in the region in the post-Cold War years, but also position war monuments in the relations between public space and history, art and memory, experience and representation, visual culture and war experience. In sum, there are three major differences between this book and the research outlined above. First, instead of investigating the monuments from the perspective of their written narrative, it focuses more on the visual and aesthetic context of the monuments and their implications in political and historical significations. Second, rather than putting Mainland China as the center of war narrative, it is interested in the

19 Rancière, The Politics of Aesthetics: The Distribution of the Sensible, 12. 20 Rancière, The Politics of Aesthetics: The Distribution of the Sensible, 13.

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extent to which the experience of WWII in Greater China can be seen as both interrelated and isolated so as to question the writings of war memory constrained by the boundaries of sovereignty, ideology and the nation-state. Third, this research takes the present as the observational vantage point, from which both historical and current developments of the monument are studied as an integrated whole. The book endeavors to animate the specific experience of modernity in Mainland China, Taiwan and Hong Kong by showing the intricate tension between the object and the subject, the elite and the masses, the sacred and the profane.

Defining War Monuments in Greater China: Why These Five Monuments? In previous efforts that have been made to define monuments and monumentality in Chinese art history, a famous example can be found in Chinese American art historian Wu Hung’s controversial work Monumentality in Early Chinese Art and Architecture (1995). In this work, Wu concentrates on ritual objects, from the grand city of Changan, the royal graveyards and cemeteries, to bronze vessels, ceramics, and jades used in the rituals in ancient China and analyzes their role as “commemorative objects within their socio-political contexts.”21 For Wu, “these objects commemorated a nameless past through rituals rather than through records. They realized their monumentality in constantly refreshing the memories of bygone ages…and in transferring these memories into the ritual behavior of the living generation.”22 In other words, the making of a monument in ancient China was a process of “enchantment” of the object through the baptism of ritual (li). This process determines the concept of monumentality as the embodiment of two interdependent aspects of power of the monument makers: power over and power to.23 Wu also considers monument in ancient China as a work of “public art,” which was, as all public artefacts are, subject to re-appropriation and reinterpretations of later generations and users. Drawing on these three key

21 von Falkenhausen, Lothar, “Wu Hung, Monumentality in Early Chinese Art and Architecture. Stanford, CA: Stanford University Press, 1995. Xviii 376 Pp,” Early China 21 (1996): 183–199. 22 Wu, Monumentality in Early Chinese Art and Architecture, 24. 23 Wu, Monumentality in Early Chinese Art and Architecture, 70.

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words, “ritual,” “visual form” and “power” as the triangular structure that defines a monument, I attempt to offer a preliminary conceptualization and overall characteristics of WWII monuments in the region. Ritual: Publicness and Urban Environment In modern society, most monuments celebrate the victory of a war, commemorate the founding of a nation, memorialize a hero (usually male, occasionally female), or a traumatic moment. In Greater China, the modern idea of monument (jinianbei) came hand in hand with the region’s various bloody experiences of modernity: revolution, colonization, wars, and massacres in the same century. Among all kinds of monuments, “war memorials are,” as Nuala Johnson points out, “of special significance because they offer insights into the ways in which national cultures conceive of their pasts and mourn the large-scale destruction of life.”24 While ancient Chinese rituals that enchanted a monument, especially those held for the socially elite and privileged, were usually performed in a publicly inaccessible space and thus the monument’s visibility had a strong hierarchical and class implication, modern monuments in China are public agencies of the modern nation-state that requires a visuality to connect and mobilize the masses for their self-identification with the abstract nationhood. Unlike the spectators of the ancient monuments who were limited to a certain group that had the power to the space and objects through invisibility, modern Chinese monuments have to be in a public space of open access for everyone to see. The targeted spectators of modern Chinese monuments include the state who designs it and everyone in the public, both in and outside China. If we think of martyrs’ shrine, which was built when the war was going on, as an example, Chinese modern war monuments are intended not only for the dead but also for the living to motivate them to make sacrifice for the state in the future. They were built as a utopia, or best, Foucaultian heterotopia, for the afterlife, a promise for the glory and privilege after death. As the war and the state behind them became a secular religion, war monuments also serve as a quasi-religious field, a field of national spirit. Conversely, the publicness of modern Chinese monuments empowers the state first with its everyday existence, and then with the rituals that are 24 Nuala Johnson, “Cast in Stone: Monuments, Geography, and Nationalism,” Environment and Planning D: Society and Space 13, no. 1 (1995): 51–65.

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held in their space and the images of them that are circulated in mass media. Here, the ritual can be a one-time, or regular ceremony, or an iconic representation that freezes the ritualistic moment or even an image of the commemorative space in a particular setting. In this sense, the publicness of war monument in modern China has its close relevance with urban and its media environment. In this book, all the monuments are closely related to their surrounding space, and in turn the entire cities where they are located. As a result, a large part of the book is not about the monument per se but dedicated to the discussion of the production of its surrounding space, in the process of which, the monument may be reinterpreted, re-highlighted, forgotten, hidden, or renamed. Mutually inclusive, the history of the monument is embedded in city’s history while the city’s space was also produced by the monuments. The monuments’ relations with the city are also reflected in the relations they have with their visitors and spectators in the public space. In contemporary Greater China, the commodification of the monument also plays a role in the publicness of the monument. Although all the monuments are erected as a solemn site for commemorating the national heroes, some of them have to face the common fate of becoming sites for touristic and cultural consumption. For example, while most of the martyr’s shrines constructed by the Nationalist Party before their retreat to Taiwan were destroyed during the Cultural Revolution in Mainland China, ironically, those in Taiwan have now become touristic attractions for travel groups from the Mainland, Korea, and even Japan. The uniqueness of Sihang Warehouse Memorial Museum lies in the fact that the bullet holes on the facade of the building are simulated and refurbished as artificial war ruins. In Chongqing, while the Victory Stele remains as the Liberation Stele, the precedent of the Stele, the “Spiritual Fortress,” was re-erected in a film studio, where war films are shot and tourists are welcomed. The “theme-park-ness” of all these cases reveals interesting relations between war memory and cultural consumption of nationalism in the region today. Rather than focusing on written narratives of war memory, this book defines war monuments in the context of the formation of collective (un)consciousness through the lens of the everydayness of public environment in Greater China.

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Visual Languages: Contested Realm of Modernism As modern monuments are fundamentally a form of visual and haptic artefact in the public realm, the relations between their visual forms and the way they shape broad public political acquiescence are also a significant aspect of understanding Chinese war monument. There are three major modern visual forms of the monument in China in the first half of the twentieth century: the colonial (eclectic) modernism that was transplanted directly or with minor revisions from the colonizing state (e.g., the Goddess of Peace Statue for the Fallen from the Commonwealth in WWI on the Bund in Shanghai), the Chinese classical retro style that tried to combine the beaux-art order and grandeur of memorial space planning with overt Qing Chinese Palace style (e.g., Sun Yat-sen Mausoleum in Nanjing), and a localized style of a more universal modernism, which was deeply influenced by practices of Bauhaus and other functionalismoriented architectural trends in the 1930s and 1940s in Europe (e.g., War Victory Stele in Chongqing). The three styles typify and illustrate intriguing moments of creating visual languages of modernism in twentieth-century China. There were competitions among them. For one thing, with the establishment of foreign concessions and colonies since the defeat of China in the Opium Wars with Western powers and navy wars with Japan, monuments became one of the most direct ways of power manifestations of various forces in Chinese cities. For another, the KMTled new Republican Chinese Government also sought to communicate their legitimacy and power to the public. The last style, namely, the localized style of universal modernism, was relatively peripheral but exactly because of this peripherality, I would like to emphasize its importance as an alternative aesthetical power to the dominance of the other two. Thus, Chinese war monuments are also characterized by this contested discourses and forms of visual style that reveal the impossibility of having only a linear, unified and “purely” native form. Built in 1923, the Cenotaph took up classical revival in its transitional form from classism to modernism. Its concise style spoke to the designer’s wish to build a war monument free from any particular religious or cultural symbolism so that it may be accepted by all countries in the British Empire. In 1931, Scottish architecture firm Akin and Dallas chose a functional style for Sihang Warehouse’s design, whose sturdy structure and ample storage of wart-time supplies made it easily a battlefield right in the center of a metropolis. Under the order of Chiang Kai-shek,

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Yao Yuan-zhong’s (1931–) design of the National Martyrs’ Shrine in Taipei had to follow the orthodoxy of Liang Si-cheng’s (1901–1972) Qing Structural Regulations (1934) to achieve a visual representation of “Northern Palace Style” similar to that of the Forbidden City. The retro style of the Shrine reveals the difficulty of modernism’s legitimacy when put in competition with the traditional styles in war monuments and commemorative space. The designers of The New 1st Army Cemetery in Guangzhou and the War Victory Stele in Chongqing, respectively, Guo Yuan-xi (1905–1966) and Li Lun-jie (1912–2001), were important yet unknown advocates of Bauhaus Modernism in China in the 1930s and 1940s. The two monuments are rare remaining artefacts that crystalize this short and underexplored history of architectural modernism in China at that time. Power Struggles: Monuments Suspended by Other Urgencies Lastly, considering them as physical, symbolic and imagined objects that were produced by struggles of powers and their entanglement and multilayered-ness, I would characterize WWII monuments in Greater China with an oft-observed marginality among other monuments in their respective society today. From the wartime to the postwar period and then to the post-Cold War present, the complicated matrix of power contestation in the region originated from a series of international and domestic political maneuvers such as British and Japanese colonialism and imperialism, the Civil War between the Nationalist and the Communist, the Cold War reshuffling of friends and foes during WWII, and the postCold War transformations of all societies’ domestic political narratives. The fluctuations of the position of war monuments in public and national memory well illustrate the vicissitudes of the political circumstances in Greater China that have created critical moments of change. As a result, the public memories related to the war do not proliferate; instead, they are perpetually replaced by “more urgent” war/political narratives and end up being selectively deducted. In this process, war monuments, as the medium and agency of the representation of this memory design by the state, are also subtracted and marginalized visually, discursively and sometimes even physically. On the one hand, all three monuments in Mainland China experienced first of all the shift of the main subject of history writing of the war after the Nationalist-Communist Civil War between 1945 and 1949,

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and secondly China’s own ideological shift in the post-Mao period. As a result, for example, the original inscriptions of Chiang Kai-shek on the Victory Stele were removed, and the Stele was renamed “Liberation Stele” in memory of the Communist victory over the Nationalist after 1949. To conceal the monument erected by the KMT, the PRC government located the main part in the Guangzhou New 1st Army Cemetery within a military restricted zone, which bars the public from seeing it. On the other hand, in both Hong Kong and Taiwan, the history of colonialism has rendered the writing and preservation of WWII memories extremely contentious. The successive regimes from the Mainland (in 1945 to Taiwan and in 1997 to Hong Kong) added to the complicatedness of the war memories. In postwar Taiwan, the monuments left by the Japanese colonization were demolished and transformed to Chinese ones by the KMT Government. Since the mid-1980s, the democratization of the island’s politics opened up new possibilities of framing, interpreting, and using the Chinese monuments. Later, the deSinicization led by the Democratic Progressive Party (DPP) in the early 2000s further questioned the legitimacy of the KMT-built monuments, which can be epitomized in the wave of removing Chiang Kai-shek Statues around Taiwan in the 2000s. In Hong Kong, the handover of the city’s sovereignty from the British colonizer to the People’s Republic of China (PRC) in 1997 is undoubtedly a turning point in its commemoration of WWII. These changes in the official war narratives and the subjectivities of these narratives exerted great influence on how WWII is remembered and forgotten through the monuments. (See Table 1.1) Therefore, even though WWII in the region was among the bloodiest and most significant historical happenings for all three societies in the twentieth century, intriguingly and ironically, the war monuments and the war memories they intended to evoke among the public are constantly being marginalized and suspended, making ways for updated purposes of mobilizing public sentiment and sometimes leaving little space and time for the monuments to play their role in healing the wounds and trauma left by the war. In his Anti-Japan (2019), Leo Ching examines the lack of “decolonization” in the former Japanese colonies such as Taiwan and South Korea through his analysis of the still prevailing anti-Japan sentiment in East Asia. He points out that

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Table 1.1 Transformations of official WWII narratives and their subjectivities in three societies

Wartime

Postwar time/Cold War

Mainland China

Hong Kong

Taiwan

Official war narrative

Resistance to Japan

Conquering China

Subjectivity

Nationalist Party/the ROC Liberation War, anti-KMT

British perspective; Pro-KMT Government and anti-Japan after 1941 British colonizer

Official War narrative Subjectivity

Post-Cold War/Now

Official War narrative

Subjectivity

Communist Party/the PRC Anti-Japan on demand/ United Front with Nationalist Party

Communist Party/the PRC

British perspective

British colonizer Hong Kong’s sacrifice and contributions to the Anti-Japanese War

British colonizer; Hong Kong SAR/the PRC

Japanese colonizer Anti-Communism and reclaiming the Mainland Nationalist Party/the ROC Pro-Japan sentiments continued and downplayed rituals of commemorating the war from the KMT tradition The KMT (the ROC)/the DPP (Taiwan)

Japan’s war defeat signaled the end of its empire. The ensuing Cold War and American hegemony that aided Japan’s rapid economic recovery all contributed to the “forgetting” of colonial wounds. While the postcolonial (divided) nation-states of Taiwan and South Korea signed normalization treaties with Japan that supposedly resolved all reparations and compensations for Japan’s military aggression, these states were driven by economic imperatives rather than by desires for a political reconciliation based on sincere and deep reflection. As a result of this incomplete or suspended decolonization and deimperialization, anti-Japanism remains a powerful sentiment in the region, though with intensities that vary from country to country whose state apparatuses often appropriate this sentiment to conceal or deflect domestic problems and social contradictions.25

25 Leo T. S. Ching, Anti-Japan (Duke University Press, 2019), 23–24.

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He thus echoes Chen Kuan-sing’s call for “the simultaneous processes of deimperialization (for the former colonizer), decolonization (for the former colonized) and de–Cold War (for everyone) in East Asia and beyond (2010)”26 in contemporary East Asia, where legacies of all these political and cultural processes suspend and obscure war memories. For this reason, although there are many other WWII monuments in contemporary Greater China, the most important ones in the Mainland include the Museum of the War of Chinese People’s Resistance Against Japanese Aggression in Beijing (est. 1995), the Memorial Hall of the Victims in Nanjing Massacre by Japanese Invaders in Nanjing (est. 1985), the 731 Museum in Harbin (est. 2001), and the September 18th History Museum in Shenyang (est. 1991), I didn’t choose to elaborate on those war monuments, which are all built after a relatively recent time point, namely, since the 1980s. Rather, I carefully choose the five representative cases that may divulge the transmutations of WWII commemoration from the immediate postwar years to today, thus placing the research at a vantage point from which historical trajectories can be examined in the present. All of the five cases have their own kind of marginality and uncertainty in their meaning. They underwent ups and downs, remembrance, and forgetfulness. At certain moments, they are iconic representations of national memory while at other moments they were ruins, torn between high visibility and total invisibility, and visited by intended and unintended audience. Meanwhile, despite their distinctive historical and social contexts, the aesthetical and spatial manifestations of the five monuments are not divided but interrelated in their visual dialogue and intertextuality. The monuments are chosen also because they present a comprehensive overview of different types of war monuments in the three societies in terms of their purposes. The Cenotaph and the Victory Stele are monuments in memory of the victory of the war and were erected by the government; the Military Cemetery and the Martyrs’ Shrine were built as ritualistic spaces for consoling the spirit of the martyrs and their families; Sihang Warehouse is a historic relic where actual battles of the war took place. It is in the interplay between the appearance and the function that monuments are dynamically gaining and losing their life. In this vein, the book aims to display the unspoken politics of Chineseness (and the denial of it), legacies of Western/Japanese colonialism

26 Ching, Anti-Japan, 9.

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and their influence on the narratives of WWII memory in the region. It illustrates and compares how different places in Greater China are struggling to come to terms with their own, and each other’s past. In fact, though the book’s seven chapters are written separately, the memory of each monument is sometimes shared across societies, and sometimes the cases are interconnected at certain moments. In terms of visual memory, after the battle of defending Sihang Warehouse, filmmakers in Shanghai, Hong Kong, and Taipei produced films, all of which were named “Eight Hundred Heroes” based on the battle. The three films were produced in two different years and three different places: 1938 in Shanghai, 1938 in Hong Kong, and 1974 in Taipei, each taking its own approach with different degrees of melodrama to invoke from the audience a respect toward the resilient fighting of the Nationalist Army. In other cases, the same group of soldiers are commemorated by several monuments. For example, KMT soldiers who were forced by the Japanese army to work as coolies in Papua New Guinea during the Asia Pacific War included members of the “Eight Hundred Heroes” who fought to defend the Sihang Warehouse in Shanghai in 1937. Together with the remains of soldiers from Burma and India that belonged to the Chinese Expedition Force between 1941 and 1945, the Taiwanese government also collected since 2000 the ashes of dead soldiers from former WWII battlefields overseas, such as Papua New Guinea, India, and Burma, and set the memorial tablets (lingwei) in Taipei’s Martyrs’ Shrine.27 Even wartime animal traveling subjects connect the memory of the war, following the postwar exiles of people across the Taiwan Strait. Linwang (1917–2003), an elephant that was captured in Burma by the New 1st Army from the Japanese after the latter’s surrender, accompanied the military unit to return to Guangzhou, where it “participated” as a part of a labor force in the construction of the Cemetery. It was later transferred to Taipei with Sun Li-jen’s own relocation to Taiwan and became a most popular star animal in Taiwan until its death in 2003. The last two chapters (Chapters 5 and 6) are most closely related in terms of the lineage between Guo Yuan-xi and Li Lun-jie, who was actually student of Guo in Xiangqin University in Guangzhou in the 1930s. The last two war monuments in Guangzhou and Chongqing pose a parallel, if not contesting, force in 27 See “Zhongguo yuanzheng jun miandian zhenwang yingling ru si Taipei zhonglieci,” Beyondnewsnet, September 1, 2014, accessed November 2, 2018, at: http://beyondnew snet.com/20140901/9064/.

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Chinese architectural modernism vis-à-vis that the colonial modernism in Hong Kong detailed in Chapter 3, the Chinese Classical Retro Style in Taipei in Chapter 4. Meanwhile, there are also missing connections that these monuments are unable to cover. While the commemoration of the victims of the Japanese air bombing in the 1940s was fully legitimate in Chongqing, those who dies in the Taihoku Air Raid on Taipei launched by an Allied Force of the US and the Nationalist Chinese Airforce on May 31, 1945 were not mourned until 2014 in an Aboriginal Atayal ritual.28 Legacies of colonialism, Cold War confrontations, the narratives of Chinese Civil War, the monolithic histography under internal authoritarianism are all variants that influence the meaning and visibility of the war commemorative artefacts in the three societies.

Chapters Outline Chapter Two: Between Iconic Image and (Artificial) Ruins: Shanghai Sihang Warehouse and Chinese Modern Visuality of World War II Opened in 2015, Sihang Warehouse Memorial Museum is an architectural relic where the fierce and famous “Defense of Sihang Warehouse” during the Battle of Shanghai (August to November 1937) of the Second SinoJapanese War took place. However, for a long time, the warehouse was barely used as a commemorative site in Communist China’s war memory narrative. This chapter endeavors to bring the warehouse space from the background of the much-studied battle per se to the foreground of its architectural history, painting, photographic and cinematic representations, and its current form of a rare spectacle of artificial ruins in war commemorative culture in present-day China. Sihang Warehouse’s image and meaning are not only determined by its past as the valorization of the past has always been unstable. Research on the Sihang Warehouse as a commemorative space is very limited and focuses mainly on the process of the battle,29 General Xie’s 28 Rou-li Wang, “531 hong pa zongtong fudao ji meng jun zha siwang ling,” May 31, 2014, accessed November 2, 2018, at: http://www.stormmediagroup.com/opencms/ news/detail/9a820e22-e87c-11e3-aa1f-ef2804cba5a1/?uuid=9a820e22-e87c-11e3-aa1fef2804cba5a1. 29 Zhi-liang Su and Hao-lei Hu, “Lights and Shadows of the Lone Army of Sihang (Four Banks) Warehouse,” Dang’an Chunqiu (Memories and Archives), no. 7 (2015): 13–16; no. 8 (2015): 37–38; no. 9 (2015): 27–30; no. 10 (2015): 32–35.

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remembrances,30 and the architectural renewal of the building.31 My own previous study on the temporary exhibition room in the warehouse discusses possible reasons why the Sihang Warehouse sank into partial oblivion in Chinese war memory.32 Other than these, there is no other comprehensive discussion on the Sihang Warehouse’s spatial and aesthetic history as well as its most recent developments after the memorial was built. In most of the works on Chinese war commemoration, monuments are taken to mean “spatial carriers” of national/revolutionary ideals and their narratives. This means that the monuments are outcomes and agencies of those ideals and narratives. This chapter tries to recognize the visual power of the warehouse’s architecture and its representations per se. I interweave the warehouse’s spatial history into its visual history, namely, how it was/is represented in photography, film and in its current form of architectural spectacle to illustrate how the architecture and its visual form speak to, shape, and contest with each other. The chapter unfolds the process whereby commemorative space for modern and contemporary Chinese war memory and its meaning has been constructed, deconstructed, and reconstructed. Chapter Three: (Forgotten) Landscape of Imperial War Memories in a (Post) Colonial City: Hong Kong’s Cenotaph and the Statue Square Hong Kong’s Cenotaph, which is a replica of London’s Whitehall Cenotaph, was designed by British Architect Edwin Lutyens. The monument reveals how the British Empire established its visual network of imperial symbolism in its colonies in the early twentieth century. This chapter 30 Jin-yuan Xie and Jin-min Xie, Xie Jin-yuan kangri riji chao Xie Ji-min jiedu (Xie Jin-yuan anti-Japanese Journal Notes —Xie Ji-min Interpretation) (Shanghai: Shanghai Far East Publishers, 2015). 31 Shun-sheng Xue, Huimou suzhou hepan jianzhu (A Retrospect to Architectures ) (Shanghai: Tongji University Press, 2004), Yu-en Tang and Xun Zou, “Sihang cangku baohu yu fuyuan,” (Preservation and Restoration of the Joint Trust Warehouse) Tongji University Architecture Alumni, (May 2016): 90–91, Shi-yue Chen, “Sihang cangku bufen fuyuan ji,” (The Recovery of the Sihang Warehouse) Dongfang zaobao (East Morning Post), September 2, 2015, and Marta Kubacki, “On The Precipice Of Change” (Master’s thesis, University of Waterloo, 2014). 32 Lu Pan, In-Visible Palimpsest: Memory, Space and Modernity in Berlin and Shanghai (Bern: Peter Lang, 2016).

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underscores how the meaning of this monumental space has been transforming in relation to its neighboring environment. In Hong Kong, the grand unveiling ceremony of the Cenotaph after WWII symbolized the “rebirth” of Hong Kong in the resumed British colonization after the Japanese occupation. However, since then the visibility of the Cenotaph has been increasingly low in part because the British Hong Kong Government’s legitimacy became questionable after its swift surrender to the Japanese in 1941. Consequently, the pre-war visual representation of the loftiness of the royal authorities through the statues of royal members in the colony’s Central Square was replaced by a few politically overt designs for civic use after the end of the war. At the same time, after the 1997 handover, the rituals of the British Remembrance Day was replaced by the memorial ritual of the Chungyeung Festival, conducted in a less visible WWII memorial square built in front of the City Hall, signifying a move away from the major WWII commemorative space from the Cenotaph. Existing research on Hong Kong’s colonial architectural heritage focuses on two major directions. The first direction is the general changes in the city’s preservation policy before and after the 1997 handover in relation to identity formation and politics in Hong Kong.33 The other direction usually starts with the contemporary conditions and controversies of the sites of heritage, such as the old Star Ferry Pier and its clock tower before its demolition in 2006 and the new heritage trails built after 1997 in the New Territories.34 However, thorough studies on the changes that happened to the built structures during the colonial period are rare. Moreover, there has been no detailed study on the Hong Kong Cenotaph. In Tam Wing-sze’s Master of Philosophy thesis on Statue Square (2014), the Cenotaph is only briefly discussed in the purview of

33 Kenworthy Elizabeth Teather and Chun-shing Chow, “Identity and Place: The Testament of Designated Heritage in Hong Kong,” International Journal of Heritage Studies 9, no. 2 (2003): 93–115, and Joan Henderson, “Heritage, Identity and Tourism in Hong Kong,” International Journal of Heritage Studies 7, no. 3 (2001): 219–235. 34 Helen Grace, “Monuments and the Face of Time: Distortions of Scale and Asyn-

chrony in Postcolonial Hong Kong,” Postcolonial Studies 10, no. 4 (2007): 467–483, Tracey Lie-dan Lu, “Heritage Conservation in Post-colonial Hong Kong,” International Journal of Heritage Studies 15, no. 2–3 (2009): 258–272, and Sidney C. H. Cheung, “Remembering through Space: The Politics of Heritage in Hong Kong,” International Journal of Heritage Studies 9, no. 1 (2003): 7–26.

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Statue Square.35 This chapter explores the aesthetical and spatial landscape of Hong Kong’s earliest imperial war monument, the Cenotaph, from the city’s colonial past to its post-1997 present. I argue that, from the time of becoming a British colony to becoming a special administrative zone of the People’s Republic of China, early war commemorative artefacts in Hong Kong have been forgotten or marginalized in the city’s major narrative. Neither the normative intention of war monuments nor the memories of colonial style commemorative relics can find their place in the city’s immediate present. Chapter Four: Imagining Imaginarium in Taipei: From Taiwan Jinja to National Revolutionary Martyrs’ Shrine This chapter focuses on the National Revolutionary Martyrs’ Shrine in Taipei in the matrix of colonialism, nationalism, and war memories in East Asia. Tracing back to the topological history of the Martyrs’ Shrine, this chapter first scrutinizes the space-making process of the Shrine’s surrounding Yuanshan Area, in which Taiwan Shrine (Taiwan Jinja) and Gokoku Shrine (Gokoku Jinja) were built in the Japanese colonial period. Secondly, the chapter analyses the aesthetic and spatial style of the Martyrs’ Shrine and its nearby Grand Hotel in relation to war mobilization, commemoration, and nation-building through architectural forms. The changing nature and symbolism of Yuanshan and the actual space of the Martyrs’ Shrine reveal how various forces tried to “iconize” the area with their own modernization agendas and ideals, constituting the identities of being Japanese, Chinese, and Taiwanese. In the academia, commemorative shrines all around Taiwan have received increasing attention in recent years, particularly in the relationship between these structures and their predecessor Shinto shrines that were built during the Japanese colonial period. Recent studies on the “naturalization” history of ritual spaces from the Japanese colonial period to the KMT years under martial law may shed light on a critical turn in the present discourse about the Martyrs’ Shrine.36 In other words, this 35 Wing-sze Tam, “Public Space and British Colonial Power: The Transformation of Hong Kong Statue Square, 1890s–1970s” (Master’s thesis, Lingnan University, 2014). 36 Luan-feng Chen, “The Shrines Space Distribution Environmental View and Direction Concept of Shrines in Taiwan During the Japaness Occupied Periods,” The Journal of Social Studies Education, no. 7 (2004): 33–52, Nian Dong, “Taoyuan xian zhonglieci:

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shrine is seen as a thing of the past, not of the present, that can be examined in the postcolonial and post-martial law contexts of Taiwan. In his comparative research between the commemorative shrines in China and Taiwan and the Gokoku Shrines and Yasukuni Shrine in Japan, Tsai Chintang finds a parallel, if not an interconnection, between these two “sacred sanctums” for war sacrifices.37 He then examines whether such an interrelation remained after the war. Meanwhile, in his historical research on the establishment of a national commemorative system for the martyrs of the Anti-Japanese War, Chang Shih-ying points out that the national government’s efforts in conducting a census on the fallen soldiers “concerns the legitimacy of the regime.”38 However, as his analysis shows, the hasty and multi-level procedures of martyrs’ commemoration devalued the efforts made in anchoring the monument in the collective consciousness of the public.39 This “failure,” along with the defeat of the Nationalist Party and the destruction of the commemorative shrines on the Mainland, erased memories of the Anti-Japanese War across the Taiwan Strait and transformed this event into “an empty symbol.”40 Martyrs’ shrines in Taiwan are not completely devoid of social and ideological functions, but they have transformed into “difficult heritage”—that is, zhongguo wenhua yuantou xia de riben shenshe jianzhu he sixiang,” Historical Monthly, no. 219 (2006): 10–14, Nian Dong, “Taoyuan xian zhonglieci de youxing he wuwing wenhua zichan: Zhongguo gudian jianzhu gongfa, ziran xinyang he nongye wenhua,” Historical Monthly, no. 256 (2009): 76–91, Yu-chen Sharon Sung and Liang-yin Chen, “A Study of Spatial Hierarchy of Martial Arts Halls in Taiwan,” Architecture Science, no. 7 (2013): 21–36, and Yu-chi Li, “The Replacement of National ‘Belief’: From Hsinying Jinja to Martyrs’ Shrine of Tainan County” (Master’s thesis, National Cheng Kung University, 2016). 37 Chin-tang Tsai, “Zhonglieci yanjiu: ‘guoshang shengyu’ jianli de lishi yange,” (A Study of Martyrs’ Shrines: The History of the Establishment of “Sacred Spaces for the Nation’s Martyrs”) Conference for the presentation of the results of the National Science Council’s research plans in Taiwan History, Institute of Taiwan History, Academia Sinica, 2001, Chin-tang Tsai, “A Comparative Study on Taiwan’s Martyrs’ Shrine versus Japan’s Gokoku Shrine and Yasukuni Shrine,” Journal of National Taiwan Normal University, no. 3 (2010): 3–22, and Chin-tang Tsai, Cong shenshe dao zhonglieci: taiwan guojia zong side zhuanhuan (Taipei: Qun xue chuban youxian gongsi, 2015). 38 Shih-ying Chang, “Chinese National Government’s Survey and Commemoration of Anti-Japanese War Martyrs,” Bulletin of Academia historica, no. 26 (2010): 4. 39 Chang, “Chinese National Government’s Survey and Commemoration of AntiJapanese War Martyrs,” 4–5. 40 Chang, “Chinese National Government’s Survey and Commemoration of AntiJapanese War Martyrs,” 5.

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according to Sharon Macdonald’s definition, a spatial legacy associated with “a past that is recognized as meaningful in the present but that is also contested and awkward for public reconciliation with a positive, self-affirming contemporary identity.”41 Chapter Five: The Monument That Became Public Toilet: The New 1st Army Cemetery in Guangzhou This chapter investigates the case of the “New 1st Army Cemetery.” If other monuments in Mainland China are created in the discourse of “the War of Resistance against Japan,” this particular monument can be truly regarded as a WWII monument. It commemorates the fallen soldiers of the Chinese Expedition Force (CEF) in the battles and expeditions that involved not only the fights between the Chinese and Japanese within and outside Chinese soil, but also those that were operated by a lesser known allied force among China, Britain, and the US. After Japan’s defeat in August 1945, Sun Li-jen, the commander of the Army and the New 1st Army received order to take over Guangzhou and to attend the ceremony of accepting Japan’s surrender. It is therefore pressed upon Sun to build a formal monument for the fallen on the retrieved territory in China. The cemetery was completed in 1947 and two years later, the change of the regime from the KMT to the Communist soon made the monument “disappear” as its various parts are destroyed, hidden inside inaccessible military zones or surrounded by markets. As a monument of the largest scale in commemorating the fallen CEF soldiers, its invisibility has a lot to do with the ambiguity of the WWII narrative in both Mainland China and Taiwan. Moreover, the design and the planning of the cemetery reveal the designer’s unique consideration of monumentality in modern China. While other Republican monuments still took the outer form of Chinese palaces or European gardens with decorative and refined symbolism, the cemetery crystallizes a bold experiment in using “cold,” abstract and concise aesthetics to create an atmosphere of solemnity. The chapter also argues that the invisibility of the monument speaks to a history of violent dissembling of the commemorative space amid the rapid urban transformations of Guangzhou. It is in this process of violence

41 Macdonald, Difficult Heritage: Negotiating the Nazi past in Nuremberg and beyond,

1.

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that not only the history of the cemetery and its commemorative language but also the history of Guangzhou can be traced. For a long time, the CEF and their battles were inadequately studied. The mid-1980s witnessed the lifting of the martial law in Taiwan and the improvement of the relationship between the Communist and the Nationalist Party. Since then, there has been a gradual emergence of research and other forms of publications (e.g., memoirs, compilations of archival materials, websites, and veteran groups’ mailing lists) on the CEF, the battles in the India-Burma-China theater and Sun Li-jen in both the Mainland, Hong Kong and Taiwan. In 1995 and 2005, the 50th and 60th anniversary of the Victory of the War, books on the CEF were published in the Mainland.42 In 2015, the year of the 70th anniversary of the victory of the War against Japan, Zhu Hong-yuan’s Real Documentation of the Second Round of Sino-Japanese Battles in Burma: Detailed Reports on Top Secret Military Strategy of The New 1st Army’s Counterattack in Northern Burma (2015) and Chinese Expedition Force (2015) by Wu Xiu-huan and others were published. Both books provide highly detailed archival materials, such as the reports on the battles, war maps, copies of hand-written telegraph orders and the CEF’s military plans and strategic analysis, analysis on geographical conditions of the battlefields and weather. Yuan Mei-fang and Lyu Mu-jun’s Chinese Expedition Force, published in Hong Kong in 2015, is a collection of oral accounts of the CEF veterans on the battles. Research on Sun Li-jen can be divided into several major categories: biographical which accounts for the majority,43 investigation into the case of Sun’s unjustified coup44 and collections of 42 For example, Kang-ming Xu, Zhongguo yuanzheng jun zhanshi (Beijing: Jun shi ke xue chuban she, 1995), and Jing-feng Peng, Huige luori: Zhongguo yuanzheng jun Dian xi dazhan (Shanghai: Shanghai wenyi chuban she, 2005). 43 Sun Li-jen jiangjun yong si lu bianji weiyuanhui, Zhongguo jun hun: Sun Li-jen jiangjun yong si lu (Taipei shi: Sun Li-jen jiangjun jinianguan choubei chu, 1992), Qing-yu Xue, Sun Li-jen jiangjun chuan: Di er ci shijie dazhan zhongguo zhu yin jun xinyijun yinmian kangri zhanzheng shilu: fu Sun Li-jen zai Taiwan (Hohhot: Inner Mongolia University Publishing House Co., Limited, 2000), Ke-qin Shen, Sun Li-jen chuan (shangxia) zengding ban (Taipei shi: Student Book Co., Limited, 2005), and Jun Jie, “Jinian zhongguo yuanzheng jun jiangshi,” in De-mei Zheng, et al., War and Peace: International Symposium on the 70 th anniversary of the Victory of the Second Sino-Japanese War, Taiwan, July 23, 2015 (Taoyuan Shi: Guo fang da xue, 2015), 148. 44 Qing-yu Xue and Fu-jie Wang, Sun Li-jen: Bei ruanjin de di er ge Zhang Xueliang (Qingdao: Qingdao chuban she, 1998), and Shen, Sun Li-jen chuan (shangxia) zengding ban.

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Sun’s own writings.45 These materials contextualize the chapter with a broad backdrop for the construction of the cemetery. Chapter Six: Renaming Monument, Rewriting History: Chongqing’s War Victory Stele/Liberation Stele The Memorial Stele for the Liberation of Chongqing, or better known as the Liberation Stele, and its surrounding square has served as the center of Chongqing since the Republican years until now. The name of the stele and its inscriptions in the handwriting of Liu Bo-chen, the chairman of the Southwestern Division of the Central People’s Government of the PRC in the 1950s, may lead on to assume that the monument was built in commemoration of the “Liberation War”—a term the Chinese Communist Party uses to refer to the Civil War against the KMT troops between 1945 and 1949. However, the monument’s original name was War Victory Stele and it was actually built by the KMT government in 1946 to celebrate China’s victory in the Sino-Japanese War. Although the stele remains in its original physical form, the renaming of the monument erased the original meaning of the monument from public memory. This chapter elaborates on the history of the Victory Stele and its urban context, aesthetical design, and unique way with which it invented a multi-layered monumentality. The chapter starts with a retrospect of urban planning projects in the Republican years and an account of the formation of an urban commemorative space in the surrounding area of the monument. Next, the chapter focuses on the erection process of the monument’s predecessor the “Spiritual Fortress” and its relations with the National Spiritual Mobilization Movement (1939–1942). The structure, design, and details of the stele’s construction will be scrutinized in tandem with the discussion on its designer, Li Lun-jie and his involvement with “Lingnan Modernism,” which exerted an influence, though neglected, on the form of Chinese war monuments at that time. Finally, the chapter follows the transformation of the monument in its name, function, and appearance from 1949 to the present. Ironically, the replica of the original

45 Hong-yuan Zhu, et al., Zhong ri zai zhan Miandian shilu: xinyijun fangong mianbei ji jimi zhandou xiangbao (Zhonghua minguo sanshier nian zhi sanshisi nian), 1st ed. (Taipei shi: Taiwan xuesheng shuju, 2015).

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War Victory Stele can only be found in the space of fiction and representation—that is, in “anti-Japan” TV dramas, war films, and film studios (which also serve as theme parks) in today’s China. Although Chongqing was the temporary capital of wartime China between November 1937 and May 1946, the heart of WWII theater in Southwest China and its bordering Burma, and a major inland city with a long history, only a handful of research has been dedicated to studying the city and its wartime history. The writing of this chapter thus relies largely on a limited number of primary sources and secondary literature on Chongqing, Li Lun-jie and the Victory Stele. Eric N. Danielson’s “Revisiting Chongqing: China’s Second World War Temporary National Capital” (1995) might be one of the relatively recent works in English on the city. Since 2000, Chinese historians, such as Li and Yang (2004), Pan and Zhou (2011), Zhou, Chen and Zhang (2013), and Xu and Qin (2015),46 focus more on the devastative air raids on the city during WWII. In Chongqing Municipal Archive, government documents that discuss the design plans and the building of the Spiritual Fortress and the Victory Stele, and contracts related to the monument’s construction, and letters from the son of Chongqing Mayor Zhang Du-lun (1892–1958) to the US enquiring about the delivery of a four-face clock provide me with important information on the birth of the monument in the Republican period. However, all materials that were filed after 1949 was inaccessible and thus the process of the renaming and other details of the transformation that happened to the stele thereafter can only be obtained from sporadic media reports, magazines, and personal memories. The five articles that Li Lun-jie published between 1937 and 1944 in Die Neue Baukunst (Xin Jianzhu), a magazine that Li and his friends launched in Guangzhou to boost New Architecture and modernism in China, and another that he published in the journal New Chongqing (1941) offer a glimpse of his thoughts and practices. Peng Chang-xin’s Modernity, Vernacularity: Modern Transition of Lingnan City and Architecture in Modern Time (2012) is probably the most comprehensive

46 Jin-rong Li and Xiao Yang, Fenghuo suiyu: Chongqing da hongzha (Chongqing:

Chongqing chuban she, 2004), Xun Pan and Yong Zhou, Kangzhan shiqi Chongqing da hongzha rizhi (Chongqing: Chongqing chuban she, 2011), Yong Zhou, Quan Chen and Lu-lu Zhang, Chongqing kangzhan shi: 1931–1945 (Chongqing: Chongqing chuban she, 2013), and Feng Qin and Zong-mao Xu, Peidu Chongqing: da hongzha xia de kangri yizhi: 1938–1945 (Guilin: Guangxi shifan daxue chuban she, 2015).

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scholarly work so far that explores the “alternative modernism,” of which Li and Guo were a part, that was popular in Southern China in the 1930s and 1940s.

Glossary Gokoku Jinja 護国神社 Guo Yuan-xi 過元熙 Heping Jinianbei 和平紀念碑 huaren 華人 Jiefangbei 解放碑 jinianbei 紀念碑 Kangzhan Shengli Jigongbei 抗戰勝利記功碑 li 禮 Li Lun-jie 黎倫傑 Liang Si-cheng 梁思成 Linwang 林旺 lingwei 靈位 Sihang Cangku Jinianguan 四行倉庫紀念館 Taiwan Jinja 台灣神社 Xiangqin University 勷勤大學 Xie Jin-yuan 謝晉元 Xinyijun Yinmian Zhenwang Jiangshi Gongmu 新一軍印緬陣亡將士 公墓 Yao Yuan-zhong 姚元中 Yasukuni Shrine 靖国神社 Yuanshan 圓山 Zhabei 閘北 Zhang Du-lun 張篤倫 zhonglieci 忠烈祠 zhonghua minzu weidafuxing 中華民族偉大復興

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Wu, Hung. Monumentality in Early Chinese Art and Architecture. Stanford, CA: Stanford University Press, 1995. Wu, Hung. A Story of Ruins: Presence and Absence in Chinese Art and Visual Culture. Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 2012. “Wu nianlai de Zhongguo xin jianzhu yundong.” Die Neue Baukunst (Xin Jianzhu), yu ban 1, (1941): 1–3. Xie, Jin-yuan and Jin-min Xie. Xie Jin-yuan kangri riji chao Xie Ji-min jiedu (Xie Jin-yuan anti-Japanese Journal Notes—Xie Ji-min Interpretation). Shanghai: Shanghai Far East Publishers, 2015. Xu, Kang-ming. Zhongguo yuanzheng jun zhanshi. Beijing: Jun shi ke xue chuban she, 1995. Xue, Shun-sheng. Huimou suzhou hepan jianzhu (A Retrospect to Architectures ). Shanghai: Tongji University Press, 2004. Xue, Qing-yu. Sun Li-jen jiangjun chuan: Di er ci shijie dazhan zhongguo zhu yin jun xinyijun yinmian kangri zhanzheng shilu: fu Sun Li-jen zai Taiwan. Hohhot: Inner Mongolia University Publishing House Co., Limited, 2000. Xue, Qing-yu and Fu-jie Wang. Sun Li-jen: Bei ruanjin de di er ge Zhang Xueliang. Qingdao: Qingdao chuban she, 1998. Young, James Edward. “The Counter-Monument.” Critical Inquiry 18, no. 2 (1992): 267–296. Zhou, Yong, Quan Chen and Lu-lu Zhang. Chongqing kangzhan shi: 1931–1945. Chongqing: Chongqing chuban she, 2013. “Zhongguo yuanzheng jun miandian zhenwang yingling ru si Taipei zhonglieci.” Beyondnewsnet, September 1, 2014. Accessed November 2, 2018. At: http:// beyondnewsnet.com/20140901/9064/. Zhu, Hong-yuan et al. Zhong ri zai zhan Miandian shilu: xinyijun fangong mianbei ji jimi zhandou xiangbao (Zhonghua minguo sanshier nian zhi sanshisi nian). First edition. Taipei shi: Taiwan xuesheng shuju, 2015.

CHAPTER 2

Between Iconic Image and (Artificial) Ruins: Shanghai Sihang Warehouse and Chinese Modern Visuality of World War II

Introduction: A War Monument Lost and Found A new memorial site in Shanghai, the Shanghai Sihang Warehouse Battle Memorial, which takes the form of a museum, had a grand opening in September 2015 to celebrate the 70th anniversary of the end of WWII which China emerged victorious (Fig. 2.1). In the mind of many Chinese, the Sihang Warehouse is associated with “the Defense of Sihang Warehouse” (Sihang cangku baowei zhan), a four-day intensive confrontation between the Chinese Nationalist (or the KMT) Army and Japanese troops during the Battle of Shanghai (August– November 1937). After the Nationalist troops failed to defend Chapei (in today’s pinyin system: Zhabei) district in the northern part of Shanghai on the October 26, only one regiment was left to cover the massive retreat of the remaining forces to the west of the city. Under the leadership of Colonel Xie Jin-yuan (1905–1941), 423 Nationalist soldiers of the 524th Regiment under the 88th Division vowed to defend the warehouse, the temporary headquarters of the division, at pain of death. Major Western media reported the battle because the warehouse stood near Shanghai’s International Settlement, a British-American extraterritorial concession in Shanghai. As a result, the action of the Nationalist troops immediately brought the warehouse to the attention of people and mass media at home and abroad. Although the Chinese Nationalist army

© The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Nature Singapore Pte Ltd. 2020 L. Pan, Image, Imagination and Imaginarium, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-981-15-9674-2_2

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Fig. 2.1 Sihang Warehouse Memorial Museum (Source Photo by author, 2018)

eventually lost the Battle of Shanghai and the soldiers retreated on the November 1 to the International Settlement, the valor of Xie and his 423 soldiers, inflated deliberately to 800 so as to confuse the Japanese, made them national heroes, and would be remembered in history as the “Eight Hundred Heroes” (babai zhuangshi). Meanwhile, the Sihang Warehouse has become a symbolic site of the resilient spirit of the Chinese troops in the battle against Japan. Seventy years have passed since the idea of creating a commemorative space at the site of the Sihang Warehouse was first proposed. The original owner of the warehouse was a joint body of four private Chinese banks: Kin Cheng Banking Corporation, Yien Yieh Commercial Bank, Continental Bank, and China & South Sea Bank, together known as beisihang (North Four Banks). (The name sihang means “four banks” in Chinese). Completed in 1935, Sihang was partly a warehouse for storing various mortgaged properties from the banks’ clients, including textile products, grains, and construction materials, and partly rental property leased out to other firms. After the battle, during the period of “Reorganized National Government of the Republic of China,” or widely known as “The Wang Jing-wei Puppet Government” under Japanese control, the warehouse and its northern area were transformed into the seat of a new

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“Central Market,” with which the Japanese tried to “effect control over vegetables, salt, food-stuffs, and fruit to be imported into foreign areas in Shanghai.”1 After the war ended, when the four banks were required to retrieve the property of the warehouse, voices from the citizens of Chaipei proposed to Shanghai Social Affairs Bureau (shanghai shi shehui ju) the erection of a Memorial Tower for the Lone Battalion at Sihang Warehouse. However, the plan was eventually not realized.2 After 1949, the warehouse remained as a storage house and no efforts to turn the site into a commemorative space were recorded.3 In 1985, the erection of a monument in the warehouse was again put on the official agenda to celebrate the 40th anniversary of the Sino-Japanese War victory. In May, the proposal from Xie Jin-yuan’s youngest son Xie Ji-min (1936–) went through Shanghai Municipal Committee for Preservation of Cultural Relics and reached Shanghai Municipal Government for their approval in August. Just within one week, the Committee was instructed

1 “New Central Market Established,” The North China Herald, March 20, 1940, 14.

The Chinese language report can be found in “Wei zhongyang shichang ding mingri kaizhang” (‘Central Market’ Under the Puppet Government Scheduled to be Opened Tomorrow), Damei Zhoubao (Chinese Edition of the Sunday Mercury), March 3, 1940. In a report from the puppet government media Taiping, the opening and smooth working of Central Market was described as a sign of the good governance of the Japanese-led new government in Shanghai, which revived as a “key part of the East Asia Co-Prosperity Sphere.” See “Shanghai tebie shi zhongyang shichang yuqi jigou gaige qingxing,” Taiping (Peace) 2, nos. 7–8 (1943): 10. 2 “Shanghai shi shehui ju guanyu jianyi Sihang cangku jianli kangzhan gujun jinian ta an” (Shanghai Social Affairs Bureau’s proposal about the erection of a Memorial Tower), October 18, 1947, Shanghai danganguan, file number: Q6-10-382 (1997-07-01). 3 The tomb of Xie Jin-yuan was originally located in Jiaozhou Park (renamed in 1948 to Jin-yuan Park in memory of Xie), which is close to the lone battalion camp after the soldiers’ retreat to the International Settlement on Jiaozhou Road. In 1956, the widow of Xie Jin-yuan, Mrs. Ling Wei-cheng (1907–1991), wrote a petition to the Shanghai Civil Affairs Bureau for entitling her deceased husband as a national martyr and for the preservation of his tomb. The request was denied due to two reasons. Based on the feedback from the Ministry of the Interior, first, it was unnecessary and impossible for the current Communist Government to deal with the veteran issues in place of the Nationalist Government though a certain amount of subsidy was agreed to be provided to Xie’s family. Second, despite Xie having contributed significantly to the Resistance to the Japanese, he was assassinated by his subordinates rather than died in a battle. See “Shanghai shi minzheng ju guanyu xiejin yuan shifou keyi jiyu lieshi chenghao de baogao” (Shanghai Municipal Committee’s report about naming Xie Jin-yuan as a hero), 1956, Shanghai danganguan, file number: B2-2-48-27.

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that Sihang Warehouse should be listed as a memorial site for the SinoJapanese War and a stone tablet (105 cm long by 70 cm high) with the inscriptions “Eight Hundred Heroes Sihang Warehouse Memorial Site for Resistance against Japanese” was placed on it.4 The erection of the stone tablet, however, did not fundamentally change the main function of the warehouse. With the rapid marketization of Shanghai after China’s opening up in 1978, the commercial function of Sihang Warehouse continued in the following years. Being a part of the properties of Shanghai Shiyun Property Management (Group) Company (established in 1992 on the basis of Shanghai Commercial Joint Venture Company), which is affiliated to Shanghai First Commerce Bureau, Sihang Warehouse is used mainly to store products from other parts of China in the 1990s.5 In 1995, 10 years after the stone tablet was installed, Shiyun Company opened a “Showroom of the Heroic Deeds of the ‘Eight Hundred Heroes’” when the 50th anniversary of the victory of the War was celebrated. Occupying only a temporary structure on the top of the building, the 50-m2 room was barely noticeable to the public.6 In 2001, in the boom of construction of “creative industry parks,” Sihang Warehouse is “revitalized” as a “creative warehouse,” which accommodated studios of architecture, design, and other “culturally-related” business.7 Thus, after exactly 20 years, the construction of the new museum initiated a new transformational phase in the resurrection of the particular segment of China’s modern war memory. After rounds of negotiations between the district government and the current property owner of the warehouse, Shanghai Bailian Group Company Limited, the current museum reacquired the entire main body of the warehouse of 4000 square meters. Fully sponsored by the district government, the Museum exhibited much more authentic original and archival materials than the 4 “Guanyu jiang ‘Sihang cangku’ liewei kangzhan jinian didian de qingshi” (Instruction Request for Enlisting ‘Sihang Warehouse’ as Memorial Site of Sino-Japanese War), 1985, Shanghai danganguan, file number: A22-3-255-38. 5 Yue-dong You and Chun-fang Chen, Chronicles of Commerce of Shanghai Daily Industrial Products (Shanghai riyong gongyepin shangye zhi) (Shanghai: Shanghai she hui ke xue yuan chu ban she, 1999), 388–389. 6 See my previous research on the showroom in In-Visible Palimpsest: Memory, Space and Modernity in Berlin and Shanghai (Bern: Peter Lang, 2016 Eurosinica Vol. 15). 7 The major designer of the creative warehouse was Liu Ji-dong Studio. See more in Shun-sheng Xue, Huimou Suzhou hepan jianzhu (A Retrospect to Architectures by the Suzhou Creek) (Shanghai: Tong ji da xue chu ban she, 2004), 100.

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cheap reproductions that were originally put there, equipped with multimedia installations to enrich the audience’s experience. The added temporary structures (including the showroom) were accordingly removed and the original facades of entrances were refurbished according to its prewar appearance. Most notably, the western wall of the warehouse, which was heavily damaged by shells during the battle, was also “restored” to its “original” state. The possible reasons that the Sihang Warehouse sank into partial oblivion in the major war memory in the Chinese context can be summed up as follows: as a part of the main national myth-making efforts of the Chinese Communist Party (CCP)-led People’s Republic of China, the Civil War (or the Liberation War) narrative marginalized not only the Nationalist Party’s contribution to the war against Japan but also the war against Japan itself. Accordingly, symbolic or even “sacred” war relics in the KMT’s war narrative have for a long time been neglected both literally and symbolically. Although the tension between the Mainland and Taiwan was eased following a series of peace negotiations in the 1980s, the memory and narration of how the War was fought by both KMT and CCP are still contingent upon the fluctuations of the cross-strait relations. Although China has already built many sites to commemorate the War of Resistance against Japan (kangzhan) around the country, the establishment of the Memorial is still worthy of notice. First, the Museum does not follow the long predominant official narrative of the Sino-Japanese War in People’s Republic of China, which emphasizes almost solely the contributions of Chinese Communist Party while forgetting the role of the Nationalists.8 Arguably, even though the People’s Republic of China’s 8 Xie Jin-yuan was not recognized as a martyr until 2016 and Sihang Warehouse was not recognized until 2015 as one of the second batch of 100 national level Anti-Japanese War memorial facilities and historic sites. These facts illustrate how difficult it has been for Sihang Warehouse to be acknowledged openly as a significant site of WWII memory at the national level. The possible reasons why Sihang Warehouse sunk into partial oblivion in the major war memory in the Chinese context have been discussed in my previous research. I concluded that two major influences on the making of memory of Sihang Warehouse may account for the situation: the Civil War narrative that marginalized the Nationalist Party’s contribution in the war against Japan prevailed the post-1949 China and how a war jointly fought by both KMT and CCP is remembered and narrated depended on the fluctuation of the cross-strait relations. See Pan, In-Visible Palimpsest: Memory, Space and Modernity in Berlin and Shanghai. See also Kirk A. Denton, Exhibiting the Past: Historical Memory and the Politics of Museums in Postsocialist China (Honolulu: University of Hawaii Press, 2014), 133, where he argues that “the War of Resistance against Japan has played a key

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official narrative of the KMT’s fighting against the Japanese has undergone dramatic changes since the 1980s, a war museum that is solely built to commemorate a battle fought by the KMT troops, CCP’s major rival in the Civil War, is still rare. Second, the Sihang Warehouse Memorial Museum does not exist only as a real site of war relics, but also functions as a commercial structure from the semi-colonial to contemporary Shanghai. In this vein, the history of Sihang Warehouse is also entangled with the urban history of everyday space of the modern Chinese city. Third, the museum features an aesthetical component rarely seen in other WWII monuments in modern and contemporary China. When Sihang Warehouse was turned into a war museum, bullet holes and cracks left by the battle were simulated and refurbished as artificial war ruins on one side of the main walls of the building. Unlike many other Chinese WWII memorials, which aesthetically evoke the heroic fights against the enemy through the representations of the bodies of soldiers, scenes of battle, the Warehouse features ruins, and accurately presents artificial ruins in its major representative form. Thus, the construction of the new museum initiated a new phase in the visual resurrection of the particular segment of China’s modern war memory. These interesting characteristics of the Museum urge us to reconsider the multilayered relations between war memory, urban spatial transmutations, and aesthetical formations of contemporary commemorative space in present-day China. The major factors that brought back the memory of the Sihang Warehouse are multiple. According to the official introduction to the memorial, the Museum serves three major purposes. First, it was built as a new base for patriotic education. The war against the enemy in WWII was also rewritten as a highlighted national myth of “China Dream” to achieve the Great Rejuvenation of the Chinese Nation, which President Xi Jin-ping highly emphasized in 2012. Second, it serves as a new platform for cross-Strait exchanges between Mainland China and Taiwan. The Chinese government took the opportunity of the 70th Anniversary of the victory of the War to recognize the Nationalist Party’s contributions to the United Front in a renewed cross-Strait relationship in recent years. A third reason is recent urban developments in the area around the Museum. With the launch of the large-scale real estate urban renewal project of Suhewan (http://www.suhecreek.com/), capital and role in the narrative of the communist revolution propagated in the People’s Republic of China…(and) occupied a critical place in CCP narratives of modern history.”

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administrative power merged to form a sufficiently strong force to drive an overall planning agenda for the entire area. With its innovative appearance as a war monument, the Museum serves as a new tourist landmark of tourist attraction, which aims at contributing to the reinforcement of the cultural coherence of the area. This chapter endeavors to bring the Warehouse’s physical space from the background of the much-studied battle to the foreground. I start with a spatial history of Sihang Warehouse in terms of the changes of its function, ownership and its (sometimes invisible) symbolic meanings. The state of the Warehouse before and after the battle conjures an interesting link between transnational modernism and modern warfare. Second, I will discuss how (re)productions of Sihang Warehouse’s architecture and its visual representations in paintings, photography and films interconnect the fluid visual constructions of the war, war propaganda, and the making of an iconic image in Chinese nationalism. After the battle, the Warehouse was conceived in visual images for opposite purposes: Chinese media always showed it in a long shot from a distance, making it look intact amid the surrounding debris. The Warehouse was thus represented as a symbolic site of the stubborn resistance of the Chinese troop against Japan; for Japanese, on the contrary, the ruins of the house was often seen in close-up shots. It served as a token of the victory of conquering Shanghai. I analyze how these images feed into one’s perception of the monument and further transform its physical being. I will then go on to scrutinize the image of the current Sihang Warehouse Museum as a rare spectacle of artificial ruins in war commemorative culture in present China. Visually, I suggest that for Chinese, the Warehouse has transformed from a “positive icon” to a “negative icon.” By positive icon, I mean the image of the Warehouse that was circulated during the war featured its completeness in the Chinese war propaganda featured its completeness to evoke nationalistic emotions. Today’s Warehouse Memorial, however, is fashioned on the incompleteness of ruins, that is, it is shown in a “negative” form. Ironically, this negative icon was first used by Japanese war propaganda. Now the current image of the Warehouse in ruins of course serves a different purpose, which reveals a wish to restore the already disappeared “authenticity” of history embodied in the architecture. As the spatial history of the Warehouse shows, the forgetting of the Warehouse between 1949 and 2015 resulted in its disappearance from the public memory. When the memory of the battle related to the architecture is

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again allowed to come back on occasion of the 70th anniversary of the victory of the war, consequently, only the artificial recreation of the ruins is used to compensate for the loss while the Museum remains silent about the ruptures under the surface of historical continuity. Theoretically, the Sihang Warehouse can be seen as an example of Pierre Nora’s (1931–) “lieu de memoire” (1989), a site of memory where “a particular historical moment, a turning point where consciousness of a break with the past is bound up with the sense that memory has been torn—but torn in such a way as to pose the problem of the embodiment of memory in certain sites where a sense of historical continuity persists.”9

From Godown to Battlefield: Modern Architecture and Warfare in a Semi-colonial City Discrepant from popular belief that Sihang Warehouse was designed by Hungarian-Slovak architect László Hudec (1893–1958), who contributed to architectural landscape of Shanghai in the 1920s and 1930s with some of the most classical modernist buildings, the warehouse was a project commissioned by Atkinson & Dallas, Ltd. Started in 1898, the Scottish firm of civil engineers and architects attracted major clients from Tientsin and Shanghai, the newly acquired urban land of the British Empire in Asia.10 In the 1900s and 1910s, before designing the Sihang Warehouse, Aktinson & Dallas Shanghai architectural projects covered a wide range of styles and functions: they built the Mission for Seamen’s St. Andrew’s Church on Broadway in Hongkou, the Eurasian style Schereschewsky Hall at St. John’s University, the Italian Consulate in the International Settlement, the “Great World” entertainment complex on the crossing of Nanjing Road and Tibet Road in eclectic western style, the China Mutual Life Assurance Co. Building in an English Renaissance style, the

9 Pierre Nora, “Between Memory and History: Les Lieux de Mémoire,” Representations, no. 26 (Spring, 1989), Special Issue: Memory and Counter-Memory, 7. 10 Dictionary of Scottish Architects, “Dictionary of Scottish Architects, 1660–1980,” 2016, accessed July 11, 2017, at: http://www.scottisharchitects.org.uk/architect_full.php? id=202154.

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Banque de L’Indo Chine in the French Renaissance style, and the famous neo-classical Baroque Astor House near the Bund.11 Although identifying the individual architects who participated in the design of Sihang Warehouse is difficult, this Aktinson & Dallas building, which was completed in 1935, has a much concise style compared with earlier works. Complicated decorative elements are reduced.12 Unsurprisingly, the Warehouse was designed with a style that can easily achieve efficient and stable use of space. Unlike other small-scale warehouses made of bricks and woods, the Sihang Warehouse is one of the earliest reinforced concrete slab-column structure in town.13 The large rectangular iron grills windows and façade furbished with minimal decorative patterns of Sihang neatly formed a structure that gives one a strong impression of sturdiness. The Warehouse is a huge gray architecture, and was one of the tallest in the region. It is 64 meters wide, 25-meter deep, and 25-meter high, with five floors, occupying 0.35 acre of land with over 20,000 square meter construction area. The inner structure was divided into three main parts, two on the western side and one on the eastern side, which is connected by passages, wards, and stairs. The interior of Sihang warehouse is characterized by a tall cement-reinforced supporting pillars of Basilica style and its flat slab structure made by reinforced prefabricated boards, a pioneering construction strategy in Chinese warehouse architecture.14 As a work of modern architecture, Sihang warehouse was also equipped with telephones, the most efficient telecommunication device at that time.

11 Edward Denison and Guang Yu Ren, Building Shanghai: The Story of China’s Gateway (Chichester, UK and Hoboken, NJ: Wiley-Academy, 2006), 69, 71, 88, 95, 98, 109 and 113. 12 This global trend of modernist architecture can be observed in many other residential or commercial buildings in the 1930s Shanghai. New functional buildings of the time such as The Commercial Bank of China (1934), Aurora University (1936), Messageries Maritimes Building (1936–1939) or The Liza Hardoon Building (1938) are all characterized by more square-shaped body with strong vertical straight lines scraping towards the sky. See Denison and Ren, Chapter Five “Rise and Fall,” in Building Shanghai: The Story of China’s Gateway, 126–193. 13 Yu-en Tang and Xun Zou, “Sihang cangku baohu yu fuyuan” (Preservation and Restoration of the Joint Trust Warehouse), Tongji University Architecture Alumni (May 2016): 90. 14 Xue, Huimou Suzhou hepan jianzhu, 100.

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The original name used by Atkinson & Dallas of Sihang was “godown,” a word used in South or East Asia. The term “godown” originated from a combination from Tamil, Kannada, and Malay, and was first adapted in Portuguese and then entered English in the late sixteenth century, which reveals a clear trajectory of how space of capitalist modernity traveled with colonialism and its languages. The location of the Warehouse also implies its trans-border nature. After the defeat of Qing China in the first Opium War in 1848, Shanghai was divided into the International Settlement, which was controlled mainly by the British and American power, the French Concession, and the Chinese territories. The warehouse is located in the Chinese Chapei area, one bridge, namely, the New Lese Bridge (today’s North Tibet Road Bridge), away from the International Settlement. Historically, Chapei is the industrial quarter of Shanghai and the seat of Shanghai North Railway Station, a literal and symbolic center of China’s early modernization of transportation and communication infrastructures. With the Suchow Creek on its south side, the warehouse was accessible from both the upper part of the Yangtze River region and the foreign concessions. This convenient and relatively cheap location made the nearby area a popular site for other warehouses: the Continental Bank Warehouse on its immediate eastern side and Godown for Bank of China. Both of warehouses stood on the further eastern side across the North Tibet Road, and have been sometimes misunderstood as a part of the Sihang Warehouse. The blueprint of the design layout indicates that the International Settlement Boundary went right through the eastern half of the building, which means that the warehouse straddled on the border between Chapei (now Jing’an District) and the western concession (Fig. 2.2). The style, structure, material, location, and function of Sihang made it an ideal stage of a modern warfare. The long-spread windowed façade formed a natural topology of crossfires. In the sturdy fortress-like building, numerous rooms continued the function of storing supplies for the battle. As the warehouse had already been used by the 88th Division of the KMT army as headquarters, food, first-aid supplies, ammunition, and a huge number of sacks for fortifications were already in stock. In an interview with the Battalion Commander Yang Rui-fu (1902–1940) in a magazine, the Special Edition in Memory of the Sihang Lone Battalion, published in 1946, he described elaborately how the warehouse was a perfect fortification in itself:

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Fig. 2.2 Blueprint of Sihang Warehouse (Source Courtesy of Sihang Warehouse Memorial Museum)

This warehouse is really a “natural fortress,” in which millions of sacks of grains were stored. Wheat and grains filled up the house from first to third floor, while on the fourth and fifth floor were cowhide and silk cocoon, all of which were very useful. We completed the fortifications from the first to third floor within only three days. We blocked all the windows and doors. The sacks on the southern wall piled up to five meters high; on each door on the northern side, we heaped fortification of ten meters high, from floor to ceiling. As materials on the fourth floor were scarce, and we wanted to lure the enemies to consume more ammunition (so that we did not build much fortification on that floor), but actually nobody among us lived on the fourth floor. The fortification on the fifth floor was completed yesterday. It was a very well made one as it was much taller than the Bank of Communication warehouse the enemies occupied. We could fully take sway over the enemies. They did not know how to tackle with us.15

15 “Special Edition in Memory of the Sihang Battalion,” Kangzhan 4 (1946): 6. Unless

otherwise indicated, all translations are my own. In addition, according to a list of goods documented by the Japanese army, what was still left in the warehouse after the battle included textile, cotton, beans, wood boards, bamboo sticks, rice, etc. See Shanhai Kaigun Tokubetsu Rikusentai, “Relics Records from the Battle of Shanghai, China Incident,” 1955, Japan Center for Asian Historical Records.

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The location of Sihang on the border of the western concession is equally crucial for the battle. The devastation of the city caused by the Japanese air raids in other parts of the city had been enormous, but when the fight took place right in the face of the western concessions, it could not but force the Western media to focus on the war. More importantly, numerous Chinese refugees who swarmed from the other parts of Shanghai to the relatively safer foreign settlement also got to watch from just across the Suzhou Creek the battle between their soldiers and the enemy fought at the tallest landmark nearby. At such a close range, the spectacle of the battle produced an unprecedented effect of rousing the Chinese citizens. From a safe distance, they witnessed the battle as a visual event. Thus, a modern commercial architecture mutated into a part of the war mechanism both physically and conceptually.

The Birth of National Iconic Image: Sihang Warehouse in Photography Chinese Photography: Positive Icon The images of the Sihang Warehouse were among the most widely circulated war images in photography and film in China and even abroad that came into the framing of new media forms, above all, photography. In his China’s War Reporters, Coble describes how compelling the images (both static and moving) that appeared in the mass media at home and abroad during the Battle of Shanghai were, even in comparison to the German bombing of the Basque village of Guernica, made widely known by Pablo Picasso’s painting, around almost the same time. These still photographs and newsreels, Coble writes: captured the carnage of what became known as ‘Black Saturday’ or ‘Bloody Saturday’. Although the pictures are horrific to look at even today, in 1937 aerial bombing of civilian targets was novel and truly shocking…. but although Guernica has been widely reported and was immortalized by the painting by Picasso, not nearly as much photographic evidence appeared. By contrast, in the Shanghai case, vivid photographs and motion

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picture coverage brought the gruesome images of civilian deaths to a global audience in a far more graphic form.16

Professional Chinese journalistic photographs did not begin to come onto the publication scene until the 1920s,17 even when the mass media was already playing a significant role in civic life of China, in particular in the semi-colonial Shanghai, where the censorship of KMT on public discussion had not fully unfolded.18 During the early war period, the KMT had not established an efficient mechanism for image-oriented journalism for war propaganda,19 and the photographic images that appeared on both local Chinese and western media since the mid-nineteenth century had largely been provided by foreign reporters.20 A proliferation of images on the Battle of Shanghai, especially those taken by Chinese photo journalists, however, represented a turning point in the production of war imagery in China. More powerful and direct than textual descriptions, the mimetic nature of pictures that reproduced war scenes and the devastations of the Japanese attacks offered a more effective tool of evoking empathy, anger and passion in resisting and fighting the enemies. Pictorials in Shanghai, rather than newspapers that are mostly in text, were at the very front of producing war images after August 13, 1937. The Young Companion (Liangyou), New Life Pictorial (Xinsheng Huabao), Sing Pao (Xin Bao), and China Pictorial (Zhonghua Tuhua Zazhi) and others released special issues on the latest war developments.21

16 Parks M. Coble, China’s War Reporters: The Legacy of Resistance against Japan (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 2015), 65. 17 Wei Zhang, Xifeng dongjian: wan qing min chu Shanghai yi wen jie (The Cultural Exchange) (Taipei shi: Yao you guang, 2013), 341. 18 Coble, China’s War Reporters: The Legacy of Resistance against Japan, 238. 19 Yi-hong Gao, “Zhanzheng jiyi zhi xingsu - yi 1937 nian Songhu huizhan weili”

(Master’s thesis, National Taiwan Normal University, Taiwan, 2015), 104. 20 Felice Beato (1832–1909), for example, was probably among the most famous western photographers who took images of China in the mid-nineteenth century during the second Opium War. His images of “ruined” China were consumed fondly by the Western audience at his time, as they wanted to see the stagnant and thus defeated ancient civilization in the East. See also Hung Wu, A Story of Ruins: Presence and Absence in Chinese Art and Visual Culture (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 2012). 21 Gao, “Zhanzheng jiyi zhi xingsu - yi 1937 nian Songhu huizhan weili,” 106.

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Images of the Sihang Warehouse appeared repeatedly in the main pictorials in wartime Shanghai.22 Although many images are anonymously released, the names of Wong Hai-sheng (1900–1981), Ouyang Pu (date unknown), Du Ao (date unknown), and Wang Kai (date unknown) appeared in some magazines.23 These images can well illustrate the making of the Sihang Warehouse as an iconic image of national resistance. In the images of the Sihang Warehouse found in most of the pictorials published between 1937 and 1945, certain elements of the Sihang Warehouse are repeated: a complete view of the Warehouse from the southern side of the Suchow Creek around 1 km away is always accompanied by a portrait photograph of Colonel Xie and the national flag of the Republic of China flying on the top of the building. This “standard” layout that consists of the warehouse, the flag and the Colonel’s image constituted an entire narrative of battle. Several points must be underlined about those more or less similar elements in the photographic images of Sihang Warehouse, a typical example of which can be found in the three pages of the combined issue of 18 and 19 of War Supplement of China Pictorial (Zhanshi Huabao Zhonghua Tuhua Zazhi Haowai).24 First, the Warehouse is often framed as a monument, intact and sturdy. The completeness of the Warehouse is usually contrasted with its surrounding debris, which was not necessarily shown within the same frame (Fig. 2.3). In this image, the Warehouse takes up a much larger space than the Chapei-on-fire image on the left. Most of the journalistic photographs released during the Battle of Shanghai focus on the urban ruins left by the savage air raids of the enemies in the most prosperous city in China to invoke emotions of anger and mourning among Chinese and overseas 22 The pictorials include Combat Pictorial (Zhandou Zazhi), The War Pictorial of The Young Companion (Liangyou), The Culture of China and USSR (Zhongsu Wenhua), Kuo Wen Weekly (Guowen Zhoubao), Sing Pao War Pictorial (Xinbao Zhanqing Huakan), Resist Japan Pictorial (Kangri Huabao), Ta Mei Pictorial (Damei Huabao), National Defense Pictorial (Kangzhan Huabao), War Supplement of China Pictorial (Zhanshi Huabao Zhonghua Tuhua Zazhi Haowai). 23 H. S. Wong was famous for his photo “Bloody Saturday,” which depicts a wounded crying baby sitting among the ruins after the Japanese air raids on the Northern Railway Station in Shanghai on August 13, 1937. The other photographers were active photo journalists who provided images to various Shanghai pictorials during that time. 24 “The Lone Army in Chapei,” War Supplement of China Pictorial (Zhanshi Huabao Zhonghua Tuhua Zazhi Haowai), nos. 18–19 (1937): 37–39.

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Fig. 2.3 “Sihang Warehouse where Our Heroes of Chapei last entrenched: National Flag Flying over Sihang Warehouse” (Source News Weekly [Shanghai] 43, no. 14 [November 8, 1937]: 1)

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Fig. 2.4 “The Immortal Eight Hundred Heroes and Sihang Warehouse” (Source Dikang Pictorial [Shanghai], no. 2 [November 3, 1937]: 9)

readers. By contrast, the typical photograph of the Warehouse has always represented it as a remote object for gazing, not for empathy. Second, the national flag endows a symbolic meaning to the architecture. In one image in Resistance Pictorial captioned “Our national flag flies once again in Chapei,”25 the flag is apparently so enlarged manually that it appears out of proportion (Fig. 2.4). The presence of the flag is also a result of the courageous effort of a young girl scout, Yang Hui-min (1915–1992), who carried the national flag of the Republic of China to the hands of Xie Jin-yuan by secretly swimming across the Suzhou Creek at night on October 28, 1937. The flying national flag thus represents the unity of the civic society and the military. Third, perhaps in keeping with the practice of decorating private portrait photos with signature and handwritings, the portraits of the battle commanders were printed with the writings turning public what was the previously private communicative practice. Since the Qing Dynasty, portrait photos with one’s signature and notes have been given as gifts or 25 “Our National Flag Once More Flying in Chapei,” Chuangdao (Guide) 2, no. 1 (1937): 48.

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Fig. 2.5 “The lone army in Chapei” (Source War Supplement of China Pictorial [Zhanshi Huabao Zhonghua Tuhua Zazhi Haowai], nos. 18–19 [1937]: 39)

souvenirs between family members, relatives, friends, clients, and subordinates. In the three-page photo report found in War Supplement of China Pictorial, portraits of war heroes and their brave words create the visual representation of a memoir ready-made for visual consumption. Meanwhile, on the lower right-hand corner of a photo (Fig. 2.5), civilians on the other side of the International Settlement are “watching the heroic movements of the lone army.”26 All these (repeated) strategies used in creating the visual narrative of the Sihang Warehouse served to attract pictorial readers and, more importantly, form an iconic image of the battle. For Chinese audiences who saw these images, the building became a witness to the fights. Even if the battle was eventually lost, the images served as a moralebooster, a sacred site that embodied the spirit of the Chinese nation among ruins. At the core of the iconic images for nationalistic sentiment, according to Hariman and Lucaites, is “a more or less idealized sense of who we are and what we ought to be, and they allow anyone to

26 “The Lone Army in Chapei,” 37.

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have a sense of personal affiliation with large-scale events.”27 The image of the Sihang Warehouse conveys the ideal of citizenship communicated between sacredness of the iconic image and the intimacy of the portrait photo with the handwritings. On the lower right-hand corner of the image, civilians on the other side of the International Settlement were “watching the heroic movements of the lone army.”28 At such a close range, the spectacle of the battle produced an unprecedentedly significant effect of firing up the Chinese citizens. The gender balance of this war narrative is also worth noting. While the fighting soldiers were superior examples of the brave Chinese masculinity, the presence of the flag in the image, which was brought there by a girl scout, speaks to citizenry that requires the participation of everyone, regardless of one’s gender, age, or role as either a solider or a civilian. A modern war is a collective visual event like the theater, especially when situated in an urban environment. The civilians, including those who are captured in the picture and those who view it on mass media, are spectators of a war’s images and imagination. The iconic image can be seen as the poster for the performance. The stories of the battle, of the soldiers, and of the girl were condensed into those iconic photographs, which functioned as “a mode of civic performance” and “a kind of primitive theater.”29 In this theater, the civilians, who were viewing the images, of which sometimes they are a part, became spectators of the visual event and their emotions and imaginations were evoked by both the actual battle scene and the visual representations in media. Therefore, their authenticity did not come from the truthfulness of the historical facts,30 but rather from the framing, even from its artistic values realized by the media technology accessible to the public of that time.

27 Robert Hariman and John Louis Lucaites, No Caption Needed: Iconic Photographs, Public Culture, and Liberal Democracy (Chicago: University of Chicago, 2007), 2. 28 “The Lone Army in Chapei,” 37. 29 Hariman and Lucaites, No Caption Needed: Iconic Photographs, Public Culture, and

Liberal Democracy, 30–31. 30 Many previously uncertain details of battle, for example, the actual number of soldiers,

the flag-presenting process and the exact casualty on the both sides were explored and verified again by historians of today. See, for example, Zhi-liang Su and Hao-lei Hu, “Lights and Shadows of the Lone Army of Sihang (Four Banks) Warehouse,” Dang’an Chunqiu (Memories and archives ), no. 7 (2015): 13–16; no. 8 (2015): 37–38; no. 9 (2015): 27–30; no. 10 (2015): 32–35.

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Other Perspectives Two more sets of photographs from different angles of framing the Sihang Warehouse in the wartime can be brought into compare with the Chinese journalistic rendition of the architecture. The first set was published in the Japanese war pictorials, such as Shanghai Front Pictorial: Sino–Japanese Incident 1937 . This book, edited by Nagazawa Torao (date unknown) and published in Shanghai, was a propaganda picture book that collects images of battlefield after the battles, the marching of the Japanese troops into Shanghai, and new landmarks, such as the Shanghai Shrine and other monuments of the deceased soldiers in the city as a commemorative documentation of the war in Shanghai. In this book, the image of Sihang Warehouse is rendered in three different ways. The first shows a partial image of the façade of the warehouse in dust from the west side, where sandbags and weapons stood in the foreground (Fig. 2.6). The second shows a close-up of two Japanese soldiers entering the Warehouse, capturing the moment of, as the caption suggests, “(attacking) Chinese Soldiers in Sihang Warehouse.” Resembling a

Fig. 2.6 Breaking into Sihang Warehouse (Source Nagazawa Torao, Shanghai Front Pictorial: Sino–Japanese Incident 1937 [Wakayama: Taisho Photo Studio, 1937])

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Fig. 2.7 Japanese soldiers dare to charge on Sihang Warehouse (Source Nagazawa Torao, Shanghai Front Pictorial: Sino–Japanese Incident 1937 [Wakayama: Taisho Photo Studio, 1937])

moving image caption, the third image illustrates the swarm of Japanese soldiers entering the warehouse (“Japanese soldiers dare to charge on Sihang warehouse”) (Fig. 2.7). In these three images, Sihang Warehouse is seen only partially and in debris. The pictorial portrays the warehouse as a conquered fortress. The moments of occupation are represented as moments of victory. The space is less emphasized than the action of the soldiers. Photos by Hyland Lyon (1908–1973), an American who sojourned in China between 1934 and 1941, serve as another reference for comparison. Having worked as a Hollywood stuntman and a photojournalist in Associated Press, Lyon arrived in China first as an airplane mechanic. Less than a year after his arrival, Lyon became a co-pilot for the “Young General” Zhang Xue-liang (1901–2001) and eventually Zhang’s wife Edith Chao’s bodyguard.31 Thanks to his privileged identity, Lyon arrived

31 Jing-yue Zhang, “Chenfeng bashi nian de zhongguo jiyi: song hu kangzhan sheying shishang yiduan wensuoweiwen de chuanqi” (The Memory of China Sealed for 80 Years),

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earliest among other Western journalists at the frontier of the battlefield and could take photos of the sites that were otherwise inaccessible to Chinese and foreign journalists. Lyon’s took a total of about 1600 photos of the Battle of Shanghai in 1937, more than the sum of all the photographs taken during the same period by other photographers.32 In 2014, the photo collection of Lyon of the Battle of Shanghai was opened to the public in China Guardian Autumn Actions. Scholars of war history were excited by perspectives of these photos and the information the collection contains, some of which were brought to public attention for the first time.33 My interest here, however, is the contrast between Lyon’s “neutral” representation of the Warehouse in the war and the two sets of propaganda images provided by the Chinese (the intact and flag-fluttering images that monumentalize the warehouse) and by the Japanese (the ruined partial view that highlights the warehouse as a conquered site). I zero in on two images by Lyon (Figs. 2.8 and 2.9) for discussion: the first shows the warehouse in raging fire at the back, probably shot during air raids and in the middle of the battle; the second is the only existing image shot from the back of the warehouse after the Chinese troops had retreated. Four Japanese soldiers are seen walking in a row through the debris behind the building. The stunning realism of these two images provides a spectacle of war violence. The first image illustrates the warehouse on the verge of destruction, and the second image conveys a sense of morbid coldness after a fierce fight.

Zhongguo jiade 2014 qiuji paimai hui tu lu (China Guardian 2014 Autumn Auctions, November 23, 2014), 2014, no page numbers. 32 Even though Lyon was working for the Associated Press as a journalist, most of his photos were not published but only kept in private hands. 33 Zhang Jing-yue summarized three major aspects of new evidence emerging from Lyon’s images: (1) the northern side (i.e., the back side) of the warehouse, which was never seen in other photos; (2) the image of the retreat of the Chinese soldiers to the camp for the lone troop on Jiaozhou Road; and (3) the image of medical treatment of the soldiers from the warehouse in a hospital in the International Settlement. See Zhang, “Chenfeng bashi nian de zhongguo jiyi: song hu kangzhan sheying shishang yiduan wensuoweiwen de chuanqi” (The Memory of China Sealed for 80 Years).

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Fig. 2.8 Sihang Warehouse on Fire. Photo by Hyland Lyon (Source Courtesy of Sihang Warehouse Memorial Museum)

Fig. 2.9 The Northern side of Sihang Warehouse after the battle. Photo by Hyland Lyon (Source Courtesy of Sihang Warehouse Memorial Museum)

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Fig. 2.10 Liu Hai-su’s Sihang Warehouse, 1938 (Source Courtesy of Shanghai Liu Haisu Art Museum)

Liu Hai-su’s Sihang Warehouse Puzzles Another important, though less well known, medium of images of Sihang Warehouse is painting. Two major paintings that depict Sihang Warehouse are by Liu Hai-su (1896–1994)34 (Fig. 2.10) and Liang You-ming (1906–1984).35 Existing research on both paintings is rare despite the fame of the two painters and their intricate relations with the SinoJapanese war art. Reasons are manifold. Among the numerous works of Liu, an influential figure in modern Chinese art history, the painting of Sihang Warehouse, now as a part of the collection of Liu Haisu Art Museum in Shanghai, is probably the only one themed with the Sino-Japanese War experience. However, the painting is left out in the 34 Liu Hai-su, a prominent Chinese painter in the twentieth century, excelled in Chinese painting and oil painting. 35 Liang You-ming, a well-known historical painter and art educator who worked in Western and Chinese styles in oils, watercolors, and pastels. He is also an official war artist for the Kuomintang army.

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discussions of Liu’s works. Even though Liu held exhibitions in both China and Indonesia to solicit donations from Chinese salvation charities in 1939, rumors spread that Liu might in fact collaborate with the Japanese after he flew with the Japanese military plane from Jakarta to Shanghai. The controversy over whether Liu was a hanjian, that is, a traitor of the Chinese nation, continued to cast a shadow over his fame after the end of the war, continuing beyond 1949.36 In comparison, the paintings of Liang are much more explicit in its war motifs: his reputation (together with his two brothers) stemmed particularly from his watercolor drawings of the fierce battles between the Japanese and Chinese air forces.37 His oil painting “Sihang Warehouse,” which depicts the architecture on fire from the east of the building, was acquired for a collection by Republic of China Armed Forces Museum in Taipei. Unsurprisingly, the work of Liang has rarely been discussed in the Mainland after his migration to Taiwan in 1949. The following discussion focuses mainly on Liu’s “Sihang Warehouse” for several reasons. First, the painting has a relatively “weak” “antiJapanese” theme, making it a much more open and thus interesting image for various interpretations and reinterpretations. A comparison of Liu’s paintings with Liang’s shows that unlike the latter, Liu’s painting is almost

36 Views of Liu are polarized: on the one hand, he was seen as a patriot who generously helped his compatriots during the war. See “Liu Hai-su zai zhaowa - juxing huazhan chou kuan chengxian zhengfu,” Du shu tong xun 2 (1940), and “Kangzhan yilai de Shanghai mei zhuan,” The Education Magazine 31, no. 1 (1941). These accounts give a detailed review of Liu Hai-su and the Shanghai Academy of Fine Arts’ National Salvation Action, and his own writing in Meishujie, “Bacheng yiri.” On the other hand, he was also deemed as a traitor to the Chinese nation. See for example, in an article named “Liu Hai-su Achieved Nothing” (Liu Hai-su yishi wucheng ), in The Ugly Hisotry of Hanjian (Hanjian chou shi), a 5-issue magazine published between October and December 1945 in Shanghai, no. 5: 10–12. The author described Liu as an active seeker of collaboration with Japan for his own benefits but only ended up with a title as honorary board member of “SinoJapanese Cultural Council.” Xu Bei-hong (1895–1953), another world-famous modern Chinese painter, launched his charges against Liu’s collaboration in the 1950s with two letters sent to Zhou Yang (1908–1989), Party Sectary of Department of Culture, PRC. In the letters, Xu, chairman of Chinese Artists Association at that time, refused to accept Liu as representative for the Congress Meeting of Writers and Artists (Wenyi gongzuo zhe daibiao dahui) in 1953. Until her own death in 2015, Xu’s wife Liao Jing-wen continued the charge against Liu after Xu’s death. 37 Example of Liang’s photographs on military exercises in the 1920s can be found in Zhang-shen Lu, Liang You-ming Artworks in Sino-Japanese War (Beijing: Beijing shidai huawen shuju, 2015).

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a static recapture of the architecture itself, without explicit depiction of it as a battlefield. Second, the painting brings forth many questions: what is the name of the painting? Has the color of the flag been modified? Is this painting a “life sketch” (xiesheng ) or just a copy (linmo) of a widely circulated journalistic photograph of the Warehouse? The painting reveals profoundly the ideological struggles over the narrative of Sihang Warehouse in different historical moments: the war period, the Lone Island period (when Shanghai’s foreign settlement was besieged by Japanese occupation), the early postwar period, and the post-1949 period. A scrutinized analysis of its production also evokes contemplation on the relations between discourse of artistic creation in the twentieth century China, inter-media transition and competition, and the making of national myth. The painting of Liu debuted on the cover of Meishujie,38 the first issue of a journal affiliated to Shanghai Art College, founded by Liu Hai-su in 1912 that played a central role in launching a new era of modern Chinese art education by introducing Western system of art education into China. The short-lived Meishujie published only three issues between September 1939 and March 1940, a time when the Chinese territory of Shanghai was already controlled by the Japanese. Freedom of publication barely existed in the foreign settlement with numerous limitations there. Similar to many Chinese cultural practices that had to teeter on a high wire in the besieged state, the content of the first issue was not overtly “anti-Japanese” nor did it show any strong emotion of nationalism. The journal included a special column named “Where should the art world (Meishujie) go?” (Meishujie wangnaerqu?), with 10 short essays by various artists expressing their thoughts on the future of Chinese art and literature, four longer essays on the appreciation of ancient Chinese painting, and various suggestions for young beginners in sketch drawing, children’s concert, and news in the art world. Apart from the cover image, six works by artists at home and abroad were also included. None of these works was politically sensitive.39 Interestingly, probably because the image of Sihang Warehouse was immediately recognizable since photographs of the Warehouse were circulated widely in the mass media, the original name of the painting was not a straightforward “Sihang Warehouse” but a date,

38 “The Painting of Liu Hai-su,” Meishujie 1, no. 1 (1939): cover page. 39 “The Painting of Liu Hai-su.”

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“October 28, The twenty-sixth Year of Republic Era (Minguo ershiliunian shiyue 28ri),” which was the day when the Yang Hui-min the girl scout carried the national flag of China to the hands of Xie Jin-yuan. In 1947, when the war had already ended for two years, the painting appeared again in a magazine Jinghu Zhoukan (Beijing-Shanghai Weekly) with a new name “The Sihang Warehouse defended painstakingly by the Eight Hundred Lone Battalion” (Babai gujun ku shou zhe sihang cangku).40 While the image of the painting on the cover of Meishujie was in black and white, the reprint was in full color. According to Liang Xiao-bo, the title was also altered again to “Hai-su 1938” after 1949, to avoid clashes with the new historical narrative of Communist China that marginalized KMT’s contribution in the war.41 Nowadays, the painting is titled “Sihang Warehouse” (Sihang cangku) and is displayed in Liu Haisu Art Museum in Shanghai. The changes are not limited to the naming of the painting, but include also the color of the flag on top of the building. Liang briefly mentioned that Liu actually changed the color of the flag from that of the white-blue-red Republican flag to an entirely red one after 1949.42 Without concrete evidence, the flag color on a magazine published during the Shanghai Lone Island period can also be ambiguous in its symbolism (and similarly to the title, which was changed twice after). The second puzzle is whether the painting is a work of life sketch or a copy from a photograph. In the Liu Haisu Art Museum in Shanghai, the description plate of “Sihang Warehouse” hanging beside the original painting quoted an account from a friend of Liu, artist Wen Zhao-tong (1909–1990), who claimed himself to be the witness of Liu’s xiesheng (life sketch) excursion that produced the painting:

40 “The Sihang Warehouse Defended Painstakingly by the Eight Hundred Lone Battalion” (Babai gujun ku shou zhe sihang cangku), Jinghu Zhoukan 1, no. 12 (1947): page unknown. 41 Xiao-bo Liang, “Kuangre de yishujia, weida de aiguo zhe - liuhai su kangzhan shi qi shiliao shiyi,” accessed December 14, 2017, at: http://www.lhsamb.com/article/%E5% 88%98%E6%B5%B7%E7%B2%9F%E7%A0%94%E7%A9%B6/341. 42 Liang, “Kuangre de yishujia, weida de aiguo zhe - liuhai su kangzhan shi qi shiliao shiyi.” Meanwhile, as the pictures were printed in black and white, the original color cannot be ascertained.

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(Hai-su) went to the south bay of Suzhou river, climbed up to the roof of the opposite the warehouse, set up the easel and mixed the paints. On a huge canvas, he drew the warehouse based on what he saw.43

However, several points of details may cast doubts on Wen’s account. If it was an outdoor sketch by Liu, the year should be 1937 instead of 1938, as painted on the lower right-hand corner of the painting. Another puzzle is the relation between the painting and the photographic images that bear high similarity in composition and perspective. Photographs with similar composition appeared frequently in magazines both during and after the war. In 1937, magazines, such as Chuangdao (Guide),44 The Culture of China and USSR (Zhongsu Wenhua),45 and Sing Pao War Pictorial (Xinbao Zhanqing Huakan)46 published the same image (with slightly different clipping angle) in their report of the Sihang Warehouse battle. When his former subordinates assassinated Colonel Xie on April 20, 1941, Oriental Pictorial (Dongfang Huakan)47 used the same image of Sihang Warehouse in a special column to commemorate his martyrdom. We can compare a complete and colored image that can be found in A Grand Pictorial History of the Sino-Japanese War and Founding of the Nation (Kangzhan jianguo dahuashi) which was published in 1948 with Liu’s painting (Fig. 2.11). On page 54 of that book, the image represents the warehouse from the perspective from the southern side of the Suzhou Creek. The national flag looks unnaturally clear and red—probably a result of post-processing. Comparing this photo with the Liu’s painting, we can see an overall resemblance. In his painting, Liu simplified the details of the warehouse and the alley houses on the foreground in an impressionistic manner, 43 Zhao-tong Wen, “Liu Hai-su’s Oil Painting Sihang Warehouse,” Changshu News, September 3, 1985. 44 “Our National Flag Once More Flying in Chapei,” 48. 45 “Sihang cangku de babai zhuangshi,” The Culture of China and USSR (Zhongsu

Wenhua) 1, no. 2 (1937): 80–81. 46 “Zhendongle shijie de liushou Chapei de gujun: Suzhou Hebei de Sihang cangku, yinggai shi zheci kangzhan zhong zui ke jinian di defang,” Sing Pao War Pictorial (Xinbao Zhanqing Huakan), no. 5 (1937): 4. 47 “Si zai jiannan quan da jie, wan fang jizhan diao zhonghun: babai gujun Xie jin-yuan tuan zhang xunguo: (shang) babai gujun jianshou bu tui zhi zuihou zhendi, si nian qian zhi Shanghai Chapei Sihang cangku,” Oriental Pictorial (Dongfang Huakan) 4, no. 4 (1941): 9.

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Fig. 2.11 (Photography) View on Sihang Warehouse (Source A Grand Pictorial History of the Sino-Japanese War and Founding of the Nation, 1948, 54)

with blurred human figures. Liu used luminous colors of red, green, blue, and yellow. The thick paints applied on the roofs of the alley houses are characteristic of Liu’s works, which are influenced by European postimpressionists.48 In the comparison of the two images, it is hard not to speculate on the possibility that Liu, if he did not copy the photo, he must have at least seen the photo and taken it as reference. Xiesheng (Life Sketch) or Xin-Xieshi (Neo-Realism)? My main goal here is not to determine whether Liu copied the photo; the possible “misbelief” or “mistake” of the Museum or Wen Zhao-tong may reveal more about how different media of the representation of reality are bound up with the making sense of the community and the nation. In this regard, my opinion is that the keywords are “xiesheng ” (life sketch) and “xieshi” (realism) and their discursive meanings in early twentieth century China. The Shanghai Art College that Liu founded emphasized 48 See Yi-de Ni, “The Art of Liu Hai-su,” Yishu Xunkan (Art Thrice-Monthly) 1, no. 6 (1932): 2–4.

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the western style of “xiesheng ”—life sketching, and outdoor sketching— as a major feature of Western art.49 Similar to many other terms, xiesheng in modern Chinese is a borrowed Japanese word, shasei. Gu Yi argued the College promoted xiesheng to steer students to accept a new painting skill, which is described as entirely new and different from the Chinese painting training that prioritizes studying and imitating existing classics (linmo).50 Gu contended that the discourse of xiesheng in the early twentieth century China is intimately linked to the discourse of the New Cultural Movement and the idea of modernity: to xiesheng is to nurture a scientific mind and sharpen one’s capacity to visualize the real world. Exaggerating the Western characteristics of xiesheng intentionally ignored and downplayed the fact that xiesheng also has its own tradition in Chinese art tradition. Gu concluded that as a crucial concept in Chinese modern art, “xiesheng is a result of inter-discursive practice. Neither did xiesheng overlap with the ‘authentic’ western idea of life sketching, nor the xiesheng tradition in ancient China, which focused mainly on flower and bird painting.” When xiesheng became a term that spoke immediately to the configuration of modernity, it also guaranteed automatically a more direct access to reality than a painting by linmo, which is a remediation of mediation at its best. In this light, xiesheng is a public performance endowed with more “life” as a “real” experience and witness with its direct access to the site of the event. This “lifeness” of a xiesheng painting is arguably authentic and powerful to nurture an emotion related to the site of depiction, which, in this case, is also a monument of a glorious battle against the enemy during the war. A painting by xiesheng enhanced the warehouse as an iconic image in the war narrative by reassuring the viewer through the aura of an artwork, which is irreplaceable by a reproducible photographic image. The irreproducibility of the painting corresponds to the irreproducibility of the war experience and the memory of the Warehouse. Wen’s account on the process of Liu’s xiesheng may not have been fabricated entirely. Although we cannot prove what actually happened, we can still read Wen’s account as a selective narrative of the power 49 See Jane Zheng, The Modernization of Chinese Art: The Shanghai Art College, 1913– 1937 (Leuven: Leuven University Press, 2016), Chapters 3 and 4. 50 Yi Gu, “Zai lun xiesheng,” Huang Binhong yu xiandai yishu si xiang shi guoji xueshu yantao hui wenji (Huang Binhong and the Evolution of Modern Ideas in Art: an international forum) (Hangzhou: Zhongguo meishu xueyuan chuban she, 2016), 122–135.

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of xiesheng that illustrates well how its discursive meaning as a necessity in producing war memories. However, the question remains: if Liu’s painting is a result of linmo of a photograph, how can we understand the media transition from a journalistic photograph to a painting in its aesthetic debates on realism, and in turn, the relation between realism and the role of art during the war period in modern China? The question may be put in the context of the discussions on neorealism by Lu Xun (1881–1936) and the Western painting circles, including the abovementioned Ni Yi-de (1901–1970) and Liu Hai-su. Two kinds of realism were discussed in the art circles in the 1930s China. In 1930, Lu Xun first used the term “neo-realism” in his speech at China Art University (Zhonghua yishu daxue). He criticized the grotesque style prevailing in the Western painting circles in China, while promoting a Soviet-style “healthy” and “revolutionary” neo-realism.51 Meanwhile, under the pen name Ni Te, Ni Yi-de published (and likely “plagiarized”) an article “The Key Points of Neo-Realism” in Yishu Xunkan in 1932, the quasi-manifesto of neo-realism “On the painting: The Key Skills (or techniques) in Neo-Realism” (1929) by Maeda Kanji (1896–1930), a Japanese painter known for his shajitsu (realism) paintings.52 In his article, Ni did not display any interest in the leftist ideological elements of the neo-realism that Lu Xun was propagating. In fact, he “ignored the context” of the left movement behind the writing of Maeda’s article and focused mainly on the issue of form in relation to Cezanne’s idea on form.53 If we take the direct translation of Maeda’s writing as the identification of Ni with his ideas, Ni seemed to believe that the ultimate goal of neo-Realism, after fulfilling the dimensions of quality (zhigan) and of quantity (lianggan), is to illustrate the “characteristic” of the

51 Tao Cai, “‘Xin xieshi zhuyi’ de liu bian: zhezhong de lilun celue yu ‘gudao’ shiqi Ni Yi-de de yanghua chuangzuo,” Literature & Art Studies, no. 2 (2014): 141–152. On page 144, Cai also pointed out that Lu Xun may have learnt about the idea of neo-realism from Okamoto T¯ oki (1903–1986), who was a key figure in the proletarian art movement in Japan. 52 An official translation of Maeda’s article was not published until 1933 in Maeda Kanji, “Huihua lun,” Taosheng 2, no. 29 (1933): 246 and no. 37 (1933): 328. Translation by Xu Bai-ling. 53 See Cai, “‘Xin xieshi zhuyi de liu bian’: zhezhong de lilun celue yu ‘gudao’shiqi Ni Yi-de de yanghua chuangzuo,” 144.

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artist (texing /gexing ).54 Ni compared neo-Realism with photography and argued that though photography can realize a perfect perspective, it lacks zhigan and lianggan that paintings can achieve.55 Liu Hai-su was no outsider to this discussion. In 1936, Liu wrote a long essay addressing young Chinese painters: “On Revolutionary Ideas of Art” (Yishu de geming guan). In this article, although Liu did not mention the term “neo-realism” directly, his argument on what art is and what it is not also deals with the inner self of artists and the “reality” of the outside world: Art is expression, not decoration. This is a belief I have always held and will always hold. Expression is about oneself, not about objectivity. I express my entire life and personal individuality completely in art. The vicissitudes that take place in our time reach into our senses, which then produce our consciousness and influence us. If you see a thing and faithfully reproduce it, then the work can only be a documentation (shelu), just as in photography (zhaoxiang ).56

Similar to Ni Yi-de’s (translated) viewpoint, Liu also emphasized the difference between a perfect copy of reality and real artistic expression. He even went so far as to call for courage among young artists to conquer nature by prioritizing their own subjectivity over the “real” form of the world: Documentation is not art…In fact, if you want to be a painter or a sculptor, you have to say straightforwardly and boldly, ‘I want to be the father of nature’…As scientists compete with nature, artists have to do the same! When it comes to overcoming nature, as scientists have various inventions,

54 Te Ni, “The Key Points of Neo-Realism” (Xin xieshi de yaodian), Yishu Xunkan 1, no. 9 (1932): 18. 55 Ni, “The Key Points of Neo-Realism,” 18. Following Ni’s line, Wen Zhao-tong published in Li xue his view on neo-Realism in 1935, defining it as “representing the objective real world with the artist’s subjective and absolutely freedom of using colors and lines. The precondition for the absolute freedom is a profound understanding of the objective object.” Wen furthered his discussion on neo-Realism’s straightforwardness in its relation to creating “art for the public (dazhong yishu).” See Zhao-tong Wen, “Xin xieshi huapai de renshi,” Li xue, no. 4 (n.d.): 4–5. 56 Hai-su Liu, “Yishu de Gemingguan,” Guohua, no. 3 (1936): 6.

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artists have different creations as well. We must endeavor to be the father of nature…57

Under the circumstances of war, many Chinese painters were reconsidering the relation between neo-realism and its role in mobilizing the masses. Ni wrote in Meishujie’s second issue in 1939 that wartime art in China can be divided into two phases.58 The first phase was from the Marco Polo Bridge Incident in 1937 to the end of the Battle of Wuhan in 1938. In this phase, artworks prioritized passion over technique and rationality, and the great deeds of the soldiers as well as the cruel atrocities of the enemies were major motifs. The second phase since 1939 required added rationality because impressing the masses with sensational images of the war was no longer necessary as they had seen and known much about it. The second phase was thus that of “realism” (xieshi).59 If Liu’s painting on Sihang Warehouse also falls into the category of Ni’s second phase of anti-Japanese war art, then it echoes with neorealism in many ways. On the one hand, the propagandistic impact of the image is relatively weak and thus real. If one had no knowledge of the context of the Sihang Warehouse Battle, then the painting would seem like an ordinary landscape painting. On the other hand, the painting can be viewed as a re-memorization of the battle and the symbolic landscape through a remediation from photography to painting. The painting speaks precisely to Liu’s denial of perfect photographic documentation as art. Thus, the painting is a representation of his own memory and perspective of the building, with his subjective interpretation of the scene and his specific use of color and form. In a similar vein, the painting of Liu brings to light several interesting perspectives from which we can understand the formation of modern visuality in China. Chinese wartime art in the 1930s did not merely face the question of what kind of neo-realism was urgently needed, that is, whether it was the revolutionary Soviet realism with a strong ideological message or the subjective style of realism reflecting the inner reality of the artist as a subject of the war experience. When all media were competing for exposure and power in the visual narrative of the war, 57 Liu, “Yishu de Gemingguan,” 7. 58 Te Ni, “Cong zhanshi huihua shuo dao xin xieshi zhuyi,” Meishujie, no. 2 (1939):

2. 59 Ni, “Cong zhanshi huihua shuo dao xin xieshi zhuyi,” 2.

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the painting and its possible “transition” from photography also posed another question: facing the same war scene, which has more right to claiming access to reality and war memory, a speedy documentary capture via photography or an oil painting produced at a certain remove in time? Interestingly, Liu’s painting found an isolated but partially free space in the “Lone Island,” where he might be developing an uncertain and aloof relationship between himself and the massive absorption of art into the national war propaganda machine.60 This uncertainty may also be noticed in the painting and color of the national flag. If, as mentioned above, the manipulation of photography can further defy its default capability of representing reality and if xiesheng was regarded as the most “scientific” way to represent reality, then Liu’s painting boldly challenges both representations. The renaming, remediation, and “creation” of xiesheng narrative by Liu’s painting unfolds an intricate story of the making of visual modernity and visual memory in WWII China.

Competing Narratives: Sihang Warehouse in Moving Images Sihang Warehouse in Film Industry In comparison with photography and painting, moving images of Sihang Warehouse are even more difficult to find and are less known to the public. Currently, two major genres of materials exist on the subject: documentaries and feature films. Between 1938 and 1974, three feature films dedicated to the defense of Sihang Warehouse were created under the same name Eight Hundred Heroes. Two of these films were produced and released to the public in 1938. The Eight Hundred Heroes of Ying Yun-wei (1904–1967) gathered some of the most important leftwing art/film workers, including the two main characters (Yuan Mu-zhi (1909–1978) as Xie Jin-yuan and Chen Bo’er (1907–1951) as Yang Huimin) as well as the screenplay writer, Yang Han-sheng (1902–1993). This silent film was produced by The China Film Production Factory (Zhongguo dianying zhipianchang ), which was directly under the Board of Political Training of the Military Affairs Commission of the Chinese National Revolutionary Army. The first half of the film was set in the 60 In Cai Tao’s discussion on Ni Yi-de, he also noticed Ni’s similar state during the lone island state. See Cai, “Xin xieshi zhuyi de liu bian,” 148.

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Warehouse and proceeded to scenes with dialogues and the battle alternately set inside and outside the building as well as the rooftop and by the windows. In the second half, the general public in the film made up of the rickshaw puller, the butcher, primary school students, refugees, middle-class wives, workers, and Boy/Girl Scouts, became the protagonists of the film through their supportive actions to donate money and goods. The symbolic moment of the solidarity between the army and the people reached its peak when Yang Hui-min, the Girl Scout, presented the national flag to Xie Jin-yuan in the Warehouse. Hong Kong’s film of Eight Hundred Heroes was shot in Cantonese and was directed by Loo Soo (date unknown) and produced by the Chung Nam Kwong Wing Motion Pictures Company. It took a very different story-telling path. In place of the real-life Xie Jin-yuan and Yang Hui-min, fictional characters who were ordinary people were the major characters. The name of Xie Jin-yuan was not even mentioned throughout the film, and the heroism of fighting was embodied by a pair of brothers, who were among the eight hundred heroes. The brave Girl Scout was depicted as a daughter of a rich family who defied the efforts of her family in preventing her from participating in the wartime resistance. The melodramatic narrative and character design were much more complicated and entertaining than the Shanghai version made in the same year. Interestingly, although the characters were all fictional, documentary footage of the war in Shanghai and of people welcoming soldiers as they retreated to the British sector were edited into the end of the film, as if to anchor the film back to reality. The original film no longer exists, but from the synopsis and the screenplay of the film, it would seem that the Warehouse is represented as a major site for evoking patriotic emotion. In fact, scenes of the architecture appeared probably only in relation to the representation of the national flag. Similarly, the third film of Eight Hundred Heroes made in 1974 by the China Movie Studio in Taiwan also laid little emphasis on the warehouse as the main icon. As a propagandaentertainment production, the film added a great deal of special effects in showing scenes of air raids, explosions, and fire during the war. The film also features Brigitte Lin Ching-hsia, one of the most popular movie stars in the late 1970s in Taiwan and Hong Kong, as Yang Hui-min. Based on the oral accounts of the real Yang Hui-min and of living family members of the heroes, the film features a reenactment of the entire sequence of development of the real battle as well as a few melodramatic plots such as the conflict of Yang and her parents, the romance between Xie and

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his wife, and the soldiers’ life-defying act of protecting the national flag on the building rooftop. Despite their differences in balancing reality and fiction, none was filmed on site of the real warehouse. Therefore, the image of the Warehouse as seen in photos and paintings is almost absent in the films. The warehouse in these three films were recreated visually because of the impossibility of access to the site, with the Japanese occupation of Shanghai, the remoteness of Hong Kong, and the new capital of the Republic of China “on exile.” Emphasis on the architecture of the warehouse as a holistic icon that invites questions of authenticity was also understandably avoided. Documentaries The existing documentary films come from three sources: Chinese film companies, Japanese war propaganda films (senki eiga) and American/British newsreel footage. In this section, I focus on three cases: The Battle of Shanghai 1937 by Minxin Film Company (1937) under Lai Man-wai (1893–1953); the newsreel of Fox News, Defense of Sihang Warehouse (1937); and Shanghai (1938) of Kamei Fumio (1908–1987). These three sets of moving images are similar to photographic representations of the Warehouse in that they provide us with references to how an iconic symbol of the war was made and unmade. Lai Man-wai, also known as the “father of Hong Kong Cinema,” was actively involved in producing revolution and war-related documentary shorts alongside feature films during the first three decades of the twentieth century. The Battle of Shanghai 1937 , similar to many other anti-Japanese films at the time, aimed at evoking sympathetic emotion and sense of responsibility in Chinese viewers as well as calling viewers to action and resistance. The film begins with several lines of explanation, as if the filmmakers were worried that the audience would find the film style unfamiliar, claiming that the film “aims at illuminating the meaning of the anti-Japanese War to all Chinese compatriots and friends of China. It has a different nature from the films that have a structure and plot, and thus we hope you can watch it as a news documentary.” The 26-minute documentary short agglomerates images of gruesome scenes of civilian casualties on Nanjing Road, the North and South Railway Stations, the ruins of Chapei and Pudong, rubbles of cultural heritages such as Longhua Temple (Longhua Si), flocks of frightened refugees, and the destruction of Chinese enterprises, such as the China Flour Factory. Meanwhile, campaigns that support Chinese

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troops from various age groups and walks of life are also emphasized, particularly through anti-Japanese songs sung by children. In this flow of images, the shots of Sihang Warehouse are short and were edited in between cruel images of the destruction of the city, probably to cast a ray of hope on the gloomy situation. After a long-distance shot that offers a glance of the warehouse in the battle from the International Settlement, a sequence that shows a close-up view of the national flag follows. The third shot pans back to the Shanghai citizens who gathered behind the fences on the foreign territory and looked eagerly toward the warehouse. The filmmaker used the editing pace to form a similar formula of representing the Warehouse as a symbolic monument as in the photography: the space, the iconic and the gaze. Unsurprisingly, the newsreel of Fox News adopts a relatively quick pace in showing real scenes of the battle around the Warehouse. The interest of the US in the battle originates directly from the fact that, as mentioned above, the battle took place just one creek away from the border between the Chinese Chapei and the British and American International Settlements. Overall, the images are informational rather than metaphorical, and included shots of Chinese and Japanese soldiers in battle. The film captures close shots of Chinese soldiers shooting from one window and those of running Japanese soldiers who tried to break into the Warehouse from the western side of the building. The camera also looks detachedly from behind two US police officers watching the fire and smoking. While the US was being militarily neutral, Fox News seemed to have come under the influence of Chinese propaganda. The newsreel shows a typical shot of the intact Warehouse and a two-second, upfront, and close-up shot of the Chinese national flag swaying in the wind. Kamei Fumio’s Shanghai (1938) The realism of documentary films seems to be more reliable than still images, because time-based documentations of the event presupposes a higher degree of ostensible reality. During the Sino-Japanese war, Chinese and Japanese filmmakers explored the possibility of using moving images to serve their respective purposes, be it propagandistic or subjective. If the viewpoint of Chinese filmmakers responded to the urgency of national resistance, Japanese state-sponsored filmmakers simultaneously established their own legitimate narrative of the war that nullified that of the enemy’s. In this particular context, the Chinese iconophilia of

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Sihang Warehouse can be juxtaposed with the Japanese depiction of the architecture in Kamei Fumio’s Shanghai (1938). The controversial film belongs to a series of productions by the Second Production Unit of Toho Studios where Kamei was assigned to make bunka eiga (documentary films) for Japanese public war propaganda.61 Although Kamei’s films were produced ostensibly as war propaganda, they were seen to have put an ambiguous light messages on the nature of the war and its propaganda, its cruelty, the resistance of the Chinese (despite the fact that they were supposed to show willingness to collaborate with the Japanese), and images of (non)fighting Japanese soldiers. A good example is Kamei’s use of Chinese propaganda film footage. Probably inspired by Soviet cinema, Kamei experimented with the “counter-use” of film images produced by the enemy.62 He used footage of the execution of Chinese national traitors (hanjian) from Kangdi daxuezhan (The Bloody War against the Enemy) of the Hua’an Film Company, probably as an illustration of the cruelty of the Chinese military force on its own people. “In Kamei’s Shanghai, however,” as Anastasia Fedorova argues, “Chinese footage does not only serve as a means of degrading the enemy, it actually reviews similarity between Chinese and Japanese propaganda.”63 The ambiguity of the meaning of Sihang Warehouse which appears twice in Shanghai is thus obvious. The opening of the film consists of four sets of images. Probably also under the influence of Soviet cinema, Kamei began the film with the image of the clock tower of Shanghai’s famous neo-classicist style Custom House at noon. The clock tower is a symbolic icon of the city and its cosmopolitanism as a result of trades with the West as well as its colonialism. The next scene pans at a distance over the area around the Warehouse from the southern side, with the clock chiming in the background. The scene was not explained with any voiceovers, and its perspective bears high similarity with other abovementioned films, such as shots of Sihang Warehouse in The Battle of Shanghai by Lai Man-wai. The third shot returns to the clock tower with the same 00:00 image, followed by a view of the ruined Chapei, with all houses roofless. The opening sequence can be interpreted differently, such as that the opening 61 Kees Bakker, “They Are Like Horses with Blinders on,” Studies in Documentary Film 3, no. 1 (2009): 20. 62 Anastasia Fedorova, “The Aesthetic of Montage in the Films of Kamei Fumio,” Cinema Studies 10 (2015): 10. 63 Fedorova, “The Aesthetic of Montage in the Films of Kamei Fumio,” 10.

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Fig. 2.12 Wall of the west side of Sihang Warehouse after the battle (Source Screen shot from Shanghai [1938], Kamei Fumio)

suggests the arrival of a new era or “Japan’s rough interaction with the natural flow of Chinese time.”64 The opening sequence could also be a direct illustration of how devastating the war could be in a short period. Thus, the image of Sihang Warehouse does not mean to monumentalize soldiers of either side and is instead much like a time-object of a trauma shared by the filmmaker and the viewer. The second Sihang Warehouse scene in the film appears at 41:50. The scene starts with an animated operational map of the attack of Japanese soldiers and then turns to the actual battle locations as the camera pans along the route of assault. A full shot of the western wall of the building with numerous bullet holes follows (Fig. 2.12). This wall also became iconic in Japanese war propaganda as a remaining war site (senseki) that commemorates victory. An image of the wall taken at an angle similar to that in the film also appeared in a postcard from that period (Fig. 2.13).

64 Fedorova, “The Aesthetic of Montage in the Films of Kamei Fumio,” 12.

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Fig. 2.13 Ruins of Sihang Warehouse (Source World War II database at: https://ww2db.com/image.php?image_id=25116)

The images of ruins do not stop here. What follows is an extraordinary depiction by Kamei of the Warehouse, which was never seen in other representations, a view of the architecture from inside (Fig. 2.14). With melancholic background music, the camera pans from the darkness of the interior of the warehouse to the sunny outside. Once more, the viewer sees a series of ambiguous or even aestheticized sequences of the battlefield: the shape of the steel door at the entrance, the ruined city viewed through the bullet holes in the warehouse, a strong beam of light illuminating the sacks inside, ghost-like reflections of a lamp hanging from the ceiling and moving shadows of soldiers in a mirror (Fig. 2.15), walking British soldiers seen from the frame of the broken wall, and their smiles as they stand on the rubble of the roof top of the building (Fig. 2.16). The camera invites viewers of the film to identify themselves with the building as an active viewer of its own scars and the outside instead of, as in all the other visual representations of the building, of taking it only as an object of gaze. The movement of the shots is stunning because it almost deconstructs the monumentality of the Warehouse, either as a site of patriotic spirit or resistance on the Chinese side, or as a site of victorious

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Fig. 2.14 View from inside the ruins of Sihang Warehouse (Source Screen shot from Shanghai [1938], Kamei Fumio)

Fig. 2.15 Mirror and dangling lamp (Source Screen shot from Shanghai [1938], Kamei Fumio)

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Fig. 2.16 British soldiers walking by (Source Screen shot from Shanghai [1938], Kamei Fumio)

conquest from the Japanese perspective, into fragmented impressions of the remains of a disaster, waging an “outside-in” criticism on the war memory mechanism that produces narratives through “realistic” cinema. For Wu Hung, such a perspective may also be seen as an “internalization of war ruins.” Once a viewer identifies him or herself with the victim, survivor, or eyewitness in a picture, a scene of war ruins, in Mark Seltzer’s words in Wu’s quotation, “bends event-reference to self-reference, transferring interest from event to the subject’s self-representation.”65 This “iconoclastic” depiction of the warehouse may also be considered in relation to another recurring shot in Shanghai, that of long pieces of wooden plates found around the city that serve as temporary monuments for deceased Japanese soldiers. These wooden pieces embodied the unidentified soldiers and their dead bodies, but looked too coarse and vulnerable to bear the heaviness of their sacrifice for the grand agenda of the empire.

65 Wu, A Story of Ruins: Presence and Absence in Chinese Art and Visual Culture, 144–145.

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After all, government directives stipulated that in these bunka eiga, filmmakers “[should not] exaggerate the cruelties of war with overly realistic depictions.”66

Artificial Ruins as Negative Icon Ruin Memorial in China In light of Kamei’s treatment of the images of warehouse ruins, it is thus intriguing to consider why the current Sihang Warehouse Museum adopts the look of the bullet-ridden ruins, which shows how iconic images of war relics in China influence their physical existence. If the images of the Sihang Warehouse ruins were used in Japanese propaganda to claim their victory, how do we understand the artificial restoration of war ruins as part of the Sino-Japanese War commemorative space in today’s China? What is the relation between the ruin images of the Warehouse and its refabricated ruins? The direct instructions from the Propaganda Department of CPC Shanghai Municipal Museum to the designer of the commemorative space of the Sihang Warehouse is that it should “respect history, and to re-present (zaixian) the war scenes at that time in a comprehensive, complete and accurate manner.”67 Yet, to what extent do the recreated ruins validate the narrative of the history of “Defense of the Sihang Warehouse” as well as the history of the Warehouse? If the Chinese representations of the Sihang Warehouse in both photographs and moving images become a “positive icon,” this iconic quality is created by the intactness of the building and ultimately by the implied the symbolic message of the resilience of the Chinese in their fight against the Japanese. In comparison, images of ruins evoke emotions of grief, anguish, and hatred to mobilize resistance and to attest to a moment of national awakening. As discussed in Wu Hung’s A Story of Ruins: Presence and Absence in Chinese Art and Visual Culture,68 visual representations of war ruins in modern China can be traced to the Second

66 Bakker, “They are Like Horses With Blinders on,” 20, and Peter B. High, “Japanese Film Theory and the National Policy Film Debate: 1937–1941,” Kokusai kankei gaku kiy¯ o 2 (1986): 133–149. 67 Tang and Zou, “Sihang cangku baohu yu fuyuan” (Preservation and Restoration of the Joint Trust Warehouse). 68 Wu, A Story of Ruins: Presence and Absence in Chinese Art and Visual Culture.

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Opium War. When Italian–British photographer Felice Beato first came to China, his depictions of the historical ruins of China were picturesque. However, under the different circumstances of the Sino-British War, the meaning of the beauty of an ancient empire and its ruined relics changed. Serving as “an eyewitness account by a British subject,” Beato’s photography “most convincingly celebrated the triumph of a brilliant military operation through which the Anglo-French force defeated China in a decisive battle.”69 The ruins of iconic palaces, temples, and pagodas “symbolized China’s failure to become a modern nation, thereby legitimating the foreign invasion as a necessary step to bring the ancient country into modern history.”70 Thus, war ruins in China were seen from a colonialist point of view to facilitate colonization and induce terror.71 With the help of a widely circulated print and film technology, the Sino-Japanese War actually changed this symbolic and iconic meaning of war ruins from being evidence of the defeat of China to marking a turning point of a new, modern Chinese nation at the moment of life and death. Wu calls ruin images an important part of the making of “a national allegory with the twin theme of suffering and survival.”72 In search of possible answers to the previous questions I raised, I will start with a comparison between the Warehouse and other war ruins as commemorative spaces. There are two important characteristics of war ruin memorials. First, war ruin-turned memorials are built mainly on real ruins. The real ruins are themselves the main messages of such memorials and they speak through their first-hand spatial “archival state” that remains all the way through the temporal continuum to the present day. Second, the ruin-turned memorials sometimes serve as a warning for future generations on the devastating aftermaths of war or as a symbol of victimhood. The Kaiser Wilhelm Memorial Church in Berlin, for example, is regarded as a site for people to reflect upon and remember the tragedy and its origins and thus to promote peace in perpetuity. In such cases, the self-reflective function of the ruins memorials is essential. Other ruins monuments are usually the consequence of a destructive action and thus try to send out a message of victimhood. In comparison to the Kaiser

69 Wu, A Story of Ruins: Presence and 70 Wu, A Story of Ruins: Presence and 71 Wu, A Story of Ruins: Presence and 72 Wu, A Story of Ruins: Presence and

Absence in Chinese Art and Visual Culture, 124. Absence in Chinese Art and Visual Culture, 132. Absence in Chinese Art and Visual Culture, 137. Absence in Chinese Art and Visual Culture, 140.

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Wilhelm Memorial, ruins of the Dome at the Hiroshima Peace Memorial in Japan seem similarly to enshroud itself in the discourse of praying for peace and sounding a warning to the future. Nevertheless, it also conveys a sense of Japan’s victimhood and elides Japan’s guilt in its own war crimes. One can find more ruins memorials in China that intend to show the nation’s suffering as the victim of military aggression. For example, ruins of the infamous Unit 731 Exhibition Hall near Harbin, where the Japanese Imperial Army tested chemical and biological weapons for military use, was kept after the Japanese army tried to destroy the site in order to eliminate evidence of their crimes. Yuanmingyuan, which is the ruins of an imperial palace and garden that “was almost completely pillaged and destroyed by British and French troops in 1860,”73 may be counted as the most well-known ruin image in current Chinese war remembrance culture. Sihang Warehouse as Artificial Ruins However, the Sihang Warehouse Museum and its artificial ruins seem to have subverted these two characteristics of war ruins monuments. The new ruins of the Warehouse are artificial and do not aim at warning, that is, at least not on a self-reflexive level, or highlighting victimhood. Even humiliation and suffering are not the main messages of the ruins, as in the case of Yuanmingyuan. Let’s start with the issue of artificiality. In my interview with the museum vice-director Ma You-jiong, he explained the decision process of using the ruins image in the museum renovation: Our museum is different from other Sino-Japanese war museums because it is the site of an actual battle. In fact, the architecture itself is a war relic. The municipal government proposed to build a public square representing the battlefield, in which the sculptures and setting of the environment during that time will be replicated to reenact the original fighting scenes. Different proposals were submitted but even after a long time, final decisions still couldn’t be made. In the end, the architecture firm responsible for the renovation of the building proposed to recreate the hole-ridden West Wall as they found a lot of images of the war ruins and thought it

73 Lilian M. Li, “The Garden of Perfect Brightness-I,” MIT Visualizing Cultures, accessed December 14, 2017, at: https://ocw.mit.edu/ans7870/21f/21f.027/garden_ perfect_brightness/index.html.

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was very characteristic of the architecture…So, the wall is not a fabrication but a restoration based on all kinds of historical materials including photographs and memoirs…We are planning to juxtapose a huge photograph of the ruins beside the restored wall in the near future to visualize the parallel between the past reality and the present recreation.74

From this answer, we can observe a direct influence of the past visual representations of the Warehouse, particularly the photographs, on the decision to create the artificial ruins. The purpose of the ruins image is to bring back the “historical scene” (lishi xianchang ) even if it is simulated. The simulation indicates that a new method of making contemporary Chinese war commemorative space is at work. Unfettered by the dichotomy between the original and the copy, Chinese monument builders do not appear to be bothered by the priority of the first-handness that constitutes the idea of authenticity in other cultures. A kind of “image-centrism” (that is, the pursuit of visual resemblance) rather than “object-centrism” (that is, the recognition of the original historical objects over others) prioritizes a motion-picture-like spectacle. Incidentally, the bullet holes were remade under the supervision of the Props department of the August First Film Studio, the most important military filmmaking institution since the establishment of the People’s Republic of China. Thus, the reconstruction of the ruins as a reenacted spectacle interestingly reverses the temporal relation between monument/finished architecture and its ruins. The Warehouse became ruins when the battle was fought. When the original ruins disappeared after renovation, new but fake ruins emerged. The new ruins changed the original meaning of the ruins in the wartime visual renditions, transforming them into a witness, albeit recreated, to the fierceness of the battle. Modern architecture, similar to many other objects in a highly production-consumption-oriented society, is not designed to be durable like a monument, but are consumables with a ruined future decided on and planned at the beginning of construction. “If all architecture is finished,” Jacques Derrida argued in his A Letter to Peter Eisenman (165), “if it carries within itself, each time in an original style, the traces of its future destruction, the future anterior of its ruin, if architecture 74 You-jiong Ma (vice-director, Sihang Warehouse Museum), in discussion with the author. Summarized and translated from the interview with Director Ma on May 5, 2017 at the Warehouse Museum.

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is haunted, that is to say, marked by the spectral silhouette of this ruin, at work even in its base of stone, in its metal or glass, what brings the architecture of these times…back to the ruin, to the experience of ‘its own’ ruin?”75 The answer from the ruins of Sihang Warehouse Museum is quite stunning because the ruins are literally rebuilt. If, as stated by Svetlana Boym, to rebuild ruins of a completed structure alludes to a kind of “restorative nostalgia,” then ruins of modern architecture should fall into the other category of nostalgia “that is reflective rather than restorative and dreams of the potential futures rather than imaginary pasts.”76 Moreover, this ruin does not refer only to its physical decay. In what Boym and Douglas Murphy described as “ruinophilia” or “ruinenlust,” respectively, the architecture of the twentieth century, characterized by its ephemerality as a result of rapidly changing “political and cultural attitudes held towards them,”77 is waiting for the optimal moment for its reappearance with “expressions of tomorrow.”78 Ruins of modern architecture can also be seen as a Benjaminian “dialectical moment” of the present, which suggests a palimpsest, a visualization of spatialized forgetting and remembering. With rapid industrialization and modernization, “this new obsession with the past reveals an abyss of forgetting and takes place in inverse proportion to its actual preservation… It is as if the ritual of commemoration could help to patch up the irreversibility of time.”79 Ironically, the more faithful the artificial ruins are to the original, the less “authenticity” of history we may tease out of them. Several of my friends who had visited the Museum were surprised when I told them the ruins were fake. The new ruins intend to “patch up the memory gaps,”80 which were covered by the lifelike spectacle of the artificial ruins. It is

75 Jacques Derrida and Hilary P. Hanel, “A Letter to Peter Eisenman,” Assemblage, no. 12 (1990): 7–13. 76 Boym (2001) famously formulated two kinds of nostalgia, namely reflective and restorative nostalgia. The former “puts emphasis on nostos and proposes to rebuild the lost home and patch up the memory gaps,” and the latter “dwells in algia, in longing and loss, the imperfect process of remembrance.” See Svetlana Boym, The Future of Nostalgia (New York: Basic, 2001), 41. 77 Douglas Murphy, The Architecture of Failure (Ropley: Zero, 2012), 60, and Boym, The Future of Nostalgia, 41. 78 Murphy, The Architecture of Failure, 1. 79 Boym, The Future of Nostalgia, 17–18. 80 Boym, The Future of Nostalgia, 41.

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thus noteworthy that Director Ma admitted that the biggest difficulty in setting up the Museum was the lack of original objects that can be put on display. Among the exhibits in the Museum, only a very limited number of the objects, for example, memorial badges, Chinese and Japanese soldiers’ military uniforms, and newspapers and magazines, were “original.” The Museum exhibits consist mainly of recreated objects. The battle scenes are reenacted with copper human figures, dioramas of miniature scenarios of the field hospitals, terrain models of the topographic scene of the battle, interactive games, and oil paintings. What is most appealing for the visitors is a 3D-video that simulates the battle. In fact, the Sihang Warehouse Museum’s spatial reenactment of the historical moment only provides the public with a highly selective part of the architectural memory by turning it to a spectacle of a reimagined war memory. Together with the restoration of the original Sihang Warehouse structure, which was largely altered after 1949, the spatial and symbolic vicissitudes of the Warehouse are forgotten. The replica tries to retrieve its war aura at the cost of disremembering the Warehouse’s previously marginal position in the official war memory narratives. The recreated ruins on the façade of the new memorial outside can thus be seen to echo coherently with the recreated museum displays inside. Precisely because the real ruins were actually forgotten and unexplained if not repressed, thus generating memory gaps, the newly built ruins are not witness to the past but serve only to obscure it even more. The next question is then how we can understand the intended meaning of the Sihang Warehouse Museum’s image of ruins as public war monument/sculpture if it, as mentioned above, doesn’t aim mainly at warning or displaying victimhood. In light of our discussion above of Boym’s division of nostalgia into the “restorative” and “reflective.” the artificial ruins of the Sihang Warehouse seem to have invented an intriguing blend of the two, that is, restorative nostalgia in reflective form. For Boym, “restorative nostalgia manifests itself in total reconstructions of monuments of the past, while reflective nostalgia lingers on ruins, the patina of time and history, in the dreams of another place and another time.”81 With a simulation of past “originals,” the current monument is reflective in form but restorative in nature.

81 Boym, The Future of Nostalgia, 41.

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As opposed to the Warehouse’s former use as a “positive icon,” I would call the new monumental design of the Sihang Warehouse Museum a “negative icon.” Here, I refer to two senses of “negative.” First, the image is negative as it is characterized by incompleteness, ruins and outcome of violent destruction after the battle. Second, it is negative as it implies a kind of denial, sometimes in form of loss, if not defeat. In Kamei, Sihang Warehouse can also be seen as a negative icon, which originally aimed at celebrating the victory of the battle on the Japanese side. However, the implication of the ruins is ambiguous as they may serve for a mourning toward the cruelty of modern warfare. The artificial ruins of the Sihang Warehouse, in comparison, takes the form of a negative icon, but its content (e.g., the museum display and its intended symbolic meaning) speaks to a nationalistic emotion, which of course differs from that in the wartime. Thus, as a negative icon, the Sihang Warehouse (Museum) is not a “counter-monument.” Defined by James Young as “brazen, painfully self-conscious memorial spaces conceived to challenge the very premises of their being,”82 a counter-monument sometimes takes the form of physical negativity under the ground level (e.g., Maya Lin’s Vietnam Veterans Memorial and Jochen Gerz’s Monument Against Fascism) to contrast the usually obelisk-style, phallic monument that emphasizes the perpetuity of its existence. Therefore, the image of the Sihang Warehouse today still resides in the safety zone of meaning—a milieu de signification—that celebrates an already determined narrative of history. Unlike a counter-monument that attempts to deconstruct the intended meanings of the previous monuments, or even that of its own, a negative icon is primarily a visual tool, which is not necessarily reflective upon the conventions of “positive icons.” In this sense, what Boym described as the “paradox of institutionalized nostalgia” remains valid for the ruins of the Sihang Warehouse: “the stronger the loss, the more it is overcompensated with commemorations, the starker the distance from the past, and the more it is prone to idealizations.”83

82 James E. Young, “The Counter-Monument: Memory against Itself in Germany Today,” Critical Inquiry 18, no. 2 (1992): 271. 83 Boym, The Future of Nostalgia, 17.

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Conclusion: An Open-Ended Story The transformation of the physical form of Sihang Warehouse and the willingness to retrieve its memory herald new trends in the culture of commemorative space in Mainland China. For a long period since the birth of the Republic of China, national war monuments in China were mainly giant phallic stone structures inscribed with the hand writings of political leaders. Nevertheless, the aesthetic turn is not only a result of a change in style. Renewal proposals of the neighboring area have always played a role in the meaning-making of the warehouse. As early as in 1947, a plan was already in existence as part of the interrupted Greater Shanghai Plan. “Urban Planning for the Western Zone of Chapei District” proposed to rebuild the war-damaged area into a new transportation node.84 However, the plan was not completed because of the Civil War and the change in regime. Serious plans to revitalize the warehouse were all unsuccessful as well. Possible reasons for these failures are twofold. On the one hand, although the warehouse was not turned officially into a commemorative space, its “invisible” value as a historic site was not neutralized fully. Thus, a caught-in-between situation of the architecture in terms of its function and positioning was produced. On the other hand, previous developments of the warehouse were mostly short term and contingent. With the recent launch of the large-scale real estate urban renewal project of Suhewan, capital and administrative power finally merged to become strong enough to conceive an overall planning agenda for the entire area. Thus, the image and meaning of Sihang Warehouse are no longer determined only by its own past, but by the long-term planning goals and visions of the area as well. In current Chinese cities, the “sudden” recall of a particular part of the once forgotten war memory may not merely be a political or historical “epiphany” or compensation of unspoken narratives of the past. In fact, such recall is probably involved in a new legitimacy that has less to do with the past than with the present and the future. The process is unavoidably involved with real and symbolic violence: the violence of demolishing nearby areas to pave the way for gentrification and the violence of forgetting the multilayered histories of the warehouse.

84 “Urban Planning for the Western Zone of Chapei District,” 1947, Shanghai danganguan, file number: Q5-3-5600-51.

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Therefore, the Sihang Warehouse Memorial Museum is not a commemorative war space that can be taken for granted. The significance of the Museum as a former nationalistic icon, its invisibility in later years, and its revival vividly disclose the vulnerability and unpredictability of war memories in contemporary China. Through its spatial and visual histories, we see that the Sihang Warehouse has always been caught between being a monument and a ruin. The media competed to craft simultaneously an iconic and anti-iconic image and memory out of the Sihang Warehouse; tensions abound in its various functions, physical existence, originality, and artificiality. Such competitions and tensions construct the visual modernity of the war, the war memory, and the site within and around them—the lieu de memoire. The story of the Sihang Warehouse also urges us to rethink the stability and instability of what have so far constituted and will continue to shape materials for the imagination of the modern Chinese nation. On a final note, two incidents related to the Sihang Warehouse are worth mentioning after the opening of the Museum. First, on August 3, 2017, four young Chinese men dressed in wartime Japanese navy and army uniforms took a photo of themselves in front of the restored entrance to the Warehouse as well as to the Museum, and posted it on their social media accounts. The photo evoked huge outcries from other Chinese who took offense at this action. The five young men, including the photographer, allegedly belonged to a Chinese sub-culture called jingri, an abbreviated name for “Spiritual Japanese,” or the extreme Japan-supporters in China. The young men eventually apologized “for hurting the feeling of their compatriots who will never forget that more than 35 million people in China died or were injured in World War II,”85 and explained that they were only military uniform lovers. Three of them were then in police detention and have been accused of having violated the law on jeopardizing public security.86 The restoration of the Sihang Warehouse intends to recall the memory of the heroic and resistant spirit of Chinese soldiers. Unexpectedly, the restoration also recalled the spirit of the past Japanese occupation and invasion in Shanghai among, surprisingly, Chinese youth. 85 Hui-zhi Chen, “5 Punished Over Japanese Uniforms Outrage,” Shanghai Daily (Online), August 24, 2017, accessed December 17, 2017, at: https://www.shine.cn/ archive/metro/society/5-punished-over-Japanese-uniforms-outrage/shdaily.shtml. 86 Chen, “5 Punished Over Japanese Uniforms Outrage.”

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Most recently, a film about the Sihang Battle called Eight Hundred was made. Directed by Guan Hu, the film was shot on location at the new Sihang Museum and was the first Mainland Chinese film production about the battle after 1949. The film’s premiere was originally scheduled on the first day of the Shanghai International Film Festival 2019 as the Festival’s opening film. It was pulled out at the last moment, however. Consequently, the film’s release, which was originally scheduled for the summer, was also canceled without any clear explanation.87 This suggests the continued political sensitivity of the heroic depictions of the KMT army in China under Xi Jin-ping, who has promoted in other contexts a return to the more conventional narratives of the “bulwark” role of CCP in the War of Resistance. As astonishing and confusing as the “Jingri Incident” and the censorship on the film are, they still exemplify well how unpredictable the past and future meanings of a monument can be. The story of the Sihang Warehouse remains open-ended.

Glossary Bacheng yiri 《吧城一日》 Babai gujun ku shou zhe sihang cangku 《八百孤軍苦守著四行倉庫》 babai zhuangshi 八百壯士 beisihang 北四行 bunka eiga 文化映画 Chapei/Zhabei 閘北 Chen Bo’er 陳波兒 Chuangdao 《創導》 Damei Huabao 《大美畫報》 Damei Zhoubao 《大美週報》 dazhong yishu 大眾藝術 Dongfang Huakan 《東方畫刊》 Du Ao 杜鰲 Guan Hu 管虎 Guowen Zhoubao 《國文週報》 hanjian 漢奸 Jiaozhou 膠州 jingri 精日

87 The film finally had its Chinese premiere on August 21, 2020.

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Jinghu Zhoukan 《京滬周刊》 Jing’an 靜安 Kangzhan Huabao 《抗戰畫報》 Kangri Huabao 《抗日畫報》 Kangdi daxuezhan 《抗敵大血戰》 Kangzhan jianguo dahuashi 《抗戰建國大畫史》 kangzhan 抗戰 Kamei Fumio 亀井文夫 Lai Man-wai 黎民偉 Li xue 《理學》 Liangyou 《良友》 lianggan 量感 Liang You-ming 梁又銘 Lin Ching-hsia 林青霞 linmo 臨摹 Ling Wei-cheng 凌維誠 lishi xianchang 歷史現場 Liu Hai-su 劉海粟 Longhua Si 龍華寺 Loo Soo 魯司 Lu Xun 魯迅 Maeda Kanji 前田寛治 Meishujie 《美術界》 Meishujie wangnaerqu 《美術界往哪兒去》 Minguo ershiliunian shiyue 28ri 《民國二十六年十月二十八日》 Nagazawa Torao 長沢虎雄 Ni Te 尼特 Ni Yi-de 倪貽德 Okamoto T¯ oki 岡本唐貴 Ouyang Pu 歐陽璞 Pudong 浦東 senseki 戦跡 senki eiga 戦記映画 shajitsu 写実 shasei 写生 shelu 攝錄 Sihang cangku 四行倉庫 Sihang cangku baowei zhan 四行倉庫保衛戰 Suchow Creek 蘇州河

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Suhewan 蘇河灣 Taiping 《太平》 texing /gexing 特性/個性 Wang Kai 王開 Wen Zhao-tong 温肇桐 Wenyi gongzuo zhe daibiao dahui 文藝工作者代表大會 Wong Hai-sheng 王海升 Xie Jin-yuan 謝晉元 Xie Ji-min 謝繼民 xiesheng 寫生 xieshi 寫實 Xinsheng Huabao 《新生畫報》 Xin Bao 《辛報》 Xinbao Zhanqing Huakan 《辛報戰情畫刊》 xin-xieshi 新寫實 Xu Bai-ling 徐百靈 Xu Bei-hong 徐悲鴻 Yang Rui-fu 楊瑞符 Yang Han-sheng 楊翰笙 Yang Hui-min 楊惠敏 Ying Yun-wei 應雲衛 Yishu Xunkan 《藝術旬刊》 Yishu de geming guan 《藝術的革命觀》 Yuan Mu-zhi 袁牧之 zaixian 再現 Zhang Xue-liang 張學良 zhaoxiang 照相 Zhanshi Huabao Zhonghua Tuhua Zazhi Haowai 《戰時畫報中華圖畫 雜誌號外》 Zhandou Zazhi 《戰鬥雜誌》 zhigan 質感 Zhonghua Tuhua Zazhi 《中華圖畫雜誌》 Zhongsu Wenhua 《中蘇文化》 Zhongguo dianying zhipianchang 中國電影製片廠 Zhonghua yishu daxue 中華藝術大學

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References Bakker, Kees. “They Are Like Horses with Blinders on.” Studies in Documentary Film 3, no. 1 (2009): 19–33. Benjamin, Walter. The Origin of German Tragic Drama. London: NLB, 1977. Boym, Svetlana. The Future of Nostalgia. New York: Basic, 2001. Cai, Tao. “‘Xin xieshi zhuyi’ de liu bian: zhezhong de lilun celue yu ‘gudao’ shiqi Ni Yi-de de yanghua chuangzuo.” Literature & Art Studies, no. 2 (2014): 141–152. Chen, Hui-zhi. “5 Punished Over Japanese Uniforms Outrage.” Shanghai Daily (Online), August 24, 2017. Accessed December 17, 2017. At: https://www.shine.cn/archive/metro/society/5-punished-over-Japaneseuniforms-outrage/shdaily.shtml. Coble, Parks M. China’s War Reporters: The Legacy of Resistance against Japan. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 2015. “Defense of Sihang Warehouse.” Fox News, 1937. Shanghai Video and Audio Archives. Denison, Edward and Guang Yu Ren. Building Shanghai: The Story of China’s Gateway. Chichester, UK and Hoboken, NJ: Wiley-Academy, 2006. Denton, Kirk A. Exhibiting the Past: Historical Memory and the Politics of Museums in Postsocialist China. Honolulu: University of Hawaii Press, 2014. Derrida, Jacques and Hilary P. Hanel. “A Letter to Peter Eisenman.” Assemblage, no. 12 (1990): 7–13. Dictionary of Scottish Architects. “Dictionary of Scottish Architects, 1660– 1980.” 2016. Accessed July 11, 2017. At: http://www.scottisharchitects.org. uk/architect_full.php?id=202154. Fedorova, Anastasia. “The Aesthetic of Montage in the Films of Kamei Fumio.” Cinema Studies 10 (2015): 4–26. Gao, Yi-hong. “Zhanzheng jiyi zhi xingsu - yi 1937 nian Songhu huizhan weili.” Master’s thesis, National Taiwan Normal University, Taiwan, 2015. Gu, Yi. “Zai lun xiesheng.” Huang Binhong yu xiandai yishu si xiang shi guoji xueshu yantao hui wenji (Huang Binhong and the Evolution of Modern Ideas in Art: an international forum). Hangzhou: Zhongguo meishu xueyuan chuban she, 2016. “Guanyu jiang ‘Sihang cangku’ liewei kangzhan jinian didian de qingshi.” (Instruction Request for Enlisting ‘Sihang Warehouse’ as Memorial Site of Sino-Japanese War) 1985. Shanghai danganguan. File number: A22-3-25538. Hariman, Robert and John Louis Lucaites. No Caption Needed: Iconic Photographs, Public Culture, and Liberal Democracy. Chicago: University of Chicago, 2007.

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High, Peter B. “Japanese Film Theory and the National Policy Film Debate: 1937–1941.” Kokusai kankei gaku kiy¯ o 2 (1986): 133–149. “Kangzhan yilai de Shanghai mei zhuan.” The Education Magazine 31, no. 1 (1941). Li, Lilian M. “The Garden of Perfect Brightness-I.” MIT Visualizing Cultures. Accessed December 14, 2017. At: https://ocw.mit.edu/ans7870/21f/21f. 027/garden_perfect_brightness/index.html. Liang, Xiao-bo. “Kuangre de yishujia, weida de aiguo zhe - liuhai su kangzhan shi qi shiliao shiyi.” Accessed December 14, 2017. At: http://www.lhsamb.com/ article/%E5%88%98%E6%B5%B7%E7%B2%9F%E7%A0%94%E7%A9%B6/341. Liu, Hai-su. “Yishu de Gemingguan.” Guohua, no. 3 (1936): 6–8. “Liu Hai-su zai zhaowa - juxing huazhan chou kuan chengxian zhengfu.” In Du shu tong xun 2 (1940). “Liu Hai-su Achieved Nothing” (Liu Hai-su yishi wucheng ). In The Ugly Hisotry of Hanjian (Hanjian chou shi), a 5-issue magazine published in Shanghai, no. 5 (October–December, 1945): 10–12. Lu, Zhang-shen. Liang You-ming Artworks in Sino-Japanese War. Beijing: Beijing shidai huawen shuju, 2015. Maeda, Kanji. “Huihua lun.” Taosheng 2, no. 29 (1933): 246. Maeda, Kanji. “Huihua lun.” Taosheng 2, no. 37 (1933): 328. Murphy, Douglas. The Architecture of Failure. Ropley: Zero, 2012. Nagazawa, Torao. Shanghai Front Pictorial: Sino-Japanese Incident 1937 . Wakayama: Taisho Photo Studio, 1937. “New Central Market Established.” The North China Herald, March 20, 1940, 14. Ni, Te. “Cong zhanshi huihua shuo dao xin xieshi zhuyi.” Meishujie, no. 2 (1939): 2. Ni, Te. “The Key Points of Neo-Realism” (Xin xieshi de yaodian). Yishu Xunkan 1, no. 9 (1932): 18. Ni, Yi-de. “The Art of Liu Hai-su.” Yishu Xunkan (Art Thrice-Monthly) 1, no. 6 (1932): 2–4. Nora, Pierre. “Between Memory and History: Les Lieux de Mémoire.” Representations, no. 26 (Spring, 1989), Special Issue: Memory and Counter-Memory, 7–24. “Our National Flag Once More Flying in Chapei.” Chuangdao (Guide) 2, no. 1 (1937): 48. Pan, Lu. In-Visible Palimpsest: Memory, Space and Modernity in Berlin and Shanghai. Bern: Peter Lang, 2016 Eurosinica Vol. 15. Shanhai Kaigun Tokubetsu Rikusentai. “Relics Records from the Battle of Shanghai, China Incident.” 1955. Japan Center for Asian Historical Records.

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“Shanghai shi minzheng ju guanyu xiejin yuan shifou keyi jiyu lieshi chenghao de baogao” (Shanghai Municipal Committee’s report about naming Xie Jin-yuan as a hero). 1956. Shanghai danganguan. File number: B2-2-48-27. “Shanghai shi shehui ju guanyu jianyi Sihang cangku jianli kangzhan gujun jinian ta an” (Shanghai Social Affairs Bureau’s proposal about the erection of a Memorial Tower). October 18, 1947. Shanghai danganguan. File number: Q6-10-382 (1997-07-01). “Shanghai tebie shi zhongyang shichang yuqi jigou gaige qingxing.” Taiping (Peace) 2, nos. 7–8 (1943): 7–12. “Sihang cangku de Babai zhuangshi.” The Culture of China and USSR (Zhongsu Wenhua) 1, no. 2 (1937): 81–82. “Si zai jiannan quan da jie, wan fang jizhan diao zhonghun: babai gujun Xie jin-yuan tuan zhang xunguo: (shang) babai gujun jianshou bu tui zhi zuihou zhendi, si nian qian zhi Shanghai Chapei Sihang cangku.” Oriental Pictorial (Dongfang Huakan) 4, no. 4 (1941): 9. “Special Edition in Memory of the sihang Battalion.” Kangzhan 4 (1946): 1–16. Su, Zhi-liang and Hao-lei Hu. “Lights and Shadows of the Lone Army of Sihang (Four Banks) Warehouse.” Dang’an Chunqiu (Memories and archives ), no. 7 (2015): 13–16; no. 8 (2015): 37–38; no. 9 (2015): 27–30; no. 10 (2015): 32–35. Tang, Yu-en and Xun Zou. “Sihang cangku baohu yu fuyuan” (Preservation and Restoration of the Joint Trust Warehouse). Tongji University Architecture Alumni (May 2016): 90–91. “The Lone Army in Chapei.” War Supplement of China Pictorial (Zhanshi Huabao Zhonghua Tuhua Zazhi Haowai), nos. 18–19 (1937): 37–39. “The Painting of Liu Hai-su.” Meishujie 1, no. 1 (1939): cover page. “The Sihang Warehouse Defended painstakingly by the Eight Hundred Lone Battalion” (Babai gujun ku shou zhe sihang cangku). Jinghu Zhoukan 1, no. 12 (1947): page unknown. “Urban Planning for the Western Zone of Chapei District.” 1947. Shanghai danganguan. File number: Q5-3-5600-51. “Wei zhongyang shichang ding mingri kaizhang” (‘Central Market’ Under the Puppet Government Scheduled to be Opened Tomorrow). Damei Zhoubao (Chinese Edition of the Sunday Mercury), March 3, 1940. Wen, Zhao-tong. “Liu Hai-su’s oil painting Sihang Warehouse.” Changshu News, September 3, 1985. Wen, Zhao-tong. “Xin xieshi huapai de renshi.” Li xue, no. 4 (n.d.): 4–5. Wu, Hung. A Story of Ruins: Presence and Absence in Chinese Art and Visual Culture. Princeton: Princeton UP, 2012. Xue, Shun-sheng. Huimou Suzhou hepan jianzhu (A Retrospect to Architectures ). Shanghai: Tongji University Press, 2004.

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You, Yue-dong and Chun-fang Chen. Chronicles of Commerce of Shanghai Daily Industrial Products (Shanghai riyong gongyepin shangye zhi). Shanghai: Shanghai she hui ke xue yuan chu ban she, 1999. Young, James E. “The Counter-Monument: Memory against Itself in Germany Today.” Critical Inquiry 18, no. 2 (1992): 267–296. Zhang, Wei. Xifeng dongjian: wan qing min chu Shanghai yi wen jie (The Cultural Exchange). Taipei shi: Yao you guang, 2013. Zhang Jing-yue. “Chenfeng bashi nian de zhongguo jiyi: song hu kangzhan sheying shishang yiduan wensuoweiwen de chuanqi” (The Memory of China Sealed for 80 Years). Zhongguo jiade 2014 qiuji paimai hui tu lu (China Guardian 2014 Autumn Auctions, November 23, 2014), 2014, No page numbers. “Zhendongle shijie de liushou Chapei de gujun: Suzhou Hebei de Sihang cangku, yinggai shi zheci kangzhan zhong zui ke jinian di defang.” Sing Pao War Pictorial (Xinbao Zhanqing Huakan), no. 5 (1937): 4. Zheng, Jane. The Modernization of Chinese Art: The Shanghai Art College, 1913– 1937 . Leuven: Leuven University Press, 2016.

CHAPTER 3

(Forgotten)Landscape of Imperial War Memories in a (Post)Colonial City: Hong Kong’s Cenotaph and Beyond

Introduction: Whitehall Cenotaph and Modernism of the British Imperial Wars Distinguishable from the other monuments discussed in the book, which were erected to celebrate the end of WWII from a local perspective, Hong Kong’s Cenotaph, built after WWI in 1923, illustrates a continuation of the visual grammar of the British Empire, and as such, does not fall into the system of Chinese nationalistic symbolism. The word “cenotaph” originates from Greek kenotaphion, meaning empty tomb or a specific form of monument to the dead whose bodies are buried elsewhere. Ancient cenotaphs were largely built in Christian churches. That in Santa Croce in Florence, for example, is dedicated to the memory of great thinkers such as Dante, Machiavelli, and Galileo, and those in the Westminster Abbey and St. Paul’s Cathedral in London likewise commemorate the death of other people of significance.1 However, today’s cenotaphs are predominantly associated with the Cenotaph in Whitehall, London, which was first built in honor of the nameless British and Commonwealth soldiers who lost their lives in WWI. After WWII, it became a monument to the dead soldiers of the British Empire in the two world wars. In the 1 The Editors of Encyclopaedia Britannica, “Cenotaph,” Encyclopaedia Britannica, Encyclopaedia Britannica, Inc., October 1, 2008, accessed July 15, 2018, at: www.britannica. com/technology/cenotaph.

© The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Nature Singapore Pte Ltd. 2020 L. Pan, Image, Imagination and Imaginarium, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-981-15-9674-2_3

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Western context, then, the London Cenotaph provides an archetype to the monuments of the contemporary world in remembrance of modern warfare and the nation. The Hong Kong Cenotaph was designed by Sir Edwin Lutyens (1869– 1944), a late-classicist architect known for other war monuments built around Britain and its imperial colonies between the 1920s and the 1930s.2 Untypical of war monuments of his time that were usually characterized by classicist ornamentations, Lutyens’ works are well known for their concise abstraction, which place them in the transitional period between classicism and modernism. His works follow the French Enlightenment tradition of Étienne-Louis Boullée’s (1728–1799) (particularly the unrealized conception of the Cenotaph for Sir Isaac Newton) and anticipate those of Le Corbusier (1887–1965) and Frank Lloyd Wright (1867–1959).3 In this vein, the design of the Whitehall Cenotaph illustrates Lutyens’ architectural achievements, which reveal a specific style of public landmark/art that was born out of the context of the modern era. The London Cenotaph was the first and the most popular among numerous other war memorials built around the same time in the city.4 Immediately after the unveiling of a temporary cenotaph in 1919 in Whitehall, “the base of the memorial was covered with flowers.”5 In response to the enthusiastic reaction of the public, the erection of a permanent commemorative structure on the same spot was proposed by the Cabinet.6 The proposed project was finished in 1920, and since then thousands of people have visited the monument and laid over a hundred thousand wreaths around it.7 The Cenotaph created a commemorative space in the public space. On Remembrance Sunday, ceremonies are held 2 A full list of the wall memorials and images can be found in Tim Skelton and Gerald

Gliddon, Lutyens and the Great War (London: Frances Lincoln, 2008), 166–180. 3 Jeroen Geurst, Cemeteries of the Great War by Sir Edwin Lutyens (Rotterdam: 010, 2010), 76, and Allan Greenberg, “Lutyens’s Cenotaph,” Journal of the Society of Architectural Historians 48, no. 1 (1989): 12–13. 4 Greenberg, “Lutyens’s Cenotaph,” 5. 5 Greenberg, “Lutyens’s Cenotaph,” 5. 6 “Conclusion Former Reference,” October 14, 1920, National Archives, London, UK,

file number: CAB 23/22/17. 7 Jenny Edkins, “The Cenotaph,” in Trauma and the Memory of Politics (New York: Cambridge University Press, 2003), 70.

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in London and in other countries and cities with close allegiance with the UK. The Whitehall Cenotaph is successful in that it is the only imperial war monument reproduced by the Commonwealth countries and regions. Outside Britain, three officially reproduced cenotaphs have the same design. The first one was unveiled in 1925 in Hamilton, Bermuda, the second in Hong Kong in 1928 and the last in London, Ontario, Canada in 1934. While those in Bermuda and Canada are downscaled versions of the original cenotaph (the former to two-third, the latter three-quarter), the one in Hong Kong is the closest replica of the Whitehall original.8 Many reasons can account for the Whitehall Cenotaph’s success. First, the modest but solemn design of the Cenotaph evoked huge resonance among the public. In fact, in 1918, Lutyens had already designed a temporary war shrine in Hyde Park with a more complicated style. However, the public and the King did not like the design.9 Consequently, a temporary cenotaph was proposed by Lutyens, who, allegedly, finished the sketch within two weeks10 (Fig. 3.1). This time, a simple design was conceived because the monument was originally meant to be a temporary erection.11 Visually, the Cenotaph consists of four major components from bottom to top, the steps, the lower base (plinth, base, and transition), the superstructure, and an empty coffin. Symmetrical on the front-back side and side faces, the Cenotaph is decorated with four major visual elements. The lower part of the front superstructure is inscribed with the words “The Glorious Dead.” Upwards, stone wreaths are placed at the front and back, and lastly, below the coffin on the top, the inscription of MCMXIV (1919), the year when

8 A fourth “pirated” Cenotaph is found in Auckland, New Zealand, in front of the Auckland War Memorial Museum. The architect team of the museum, Grierson, Aimer, and Draffin, built a downscaled cenotaph based on the Whitehall Cenotaph. They could not afford to buy the blueprints from Lutyens and sketched the image of the Whitehall original from newsreel films. The Auckland Cenotaph was unveiled in 1929, together with the opening of the museum. See “Auckland War Memorial Museum,” STQRY, accessed March 16, 2018, at: https://discover.stqry.com/v/auckland-war-memorial-mus eum/s/63db9169c2db8753ef79d394cad49780. Also see Skelton and Gliddon, Lutyens and the Great War, 178–179. 9 A letter from a reader in The Times newspaper criticized the design of the war shrine as ugly, while the King suggested a simplified style. See “War Shrine in Hyde Park,” 1918, National Archives, London, UK, file number: Work 16/26/8. 10 Greenberg, “Lutyens’s Cenotaph,” 8. 11 Skelton and Gliddon, Lutyens and the Great War, 43.

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Fig. 3.1 Edwin Lutyens’ Cenotaph sketch (Source Lutyens Edwin, Edwin Lutyens’ Cenotaph sketch, 1919, at: https://www.iwm.org.uk/collections/item/ object/17077)

WWI ended. On the sides are three flagpoles (and flags). The vertical planes of the monument are not straight, but comply with the radials of a circle, whose center is 1000 feet high above the ground, creating an elevating effect of sublimity while directing viewers’ attention from below up to the empty coffin on the top.12 The overall characteristic, according to Allan Greenberg, is “an outward appearance of simple repose which, on close observation, shows itself to be dependent on the mere complex rhythms of its masses.”13 He believes that “abstraction in the Cenotaph’s design, its ‘massive simplicity of purpose,’ was decisive in drawing forth successive waves of public approval.”14 In 1920, the Cabinet decided to build a permanent Cenotaph, which was unveiled on Armistice Day, without alterations of the original design.15 The permanent Cenotaph 12 Greenberg, “Lutyens’s Cenotaph,” 12. 13 Greenberg, “Lutyens’s Cenotaph,” 13. 14 Greenberg, “Lutyens’s Cenotaph,” 12. 15 See “Flags on Cenotaph,” May 8, 1929, National Archives, London, UK, file number: Work 20/305.

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was built on the same site of the temporary one.16 The only change was in the material. The permanent Cenotaph was constructed with Portland stone, replacing the temporary wood and plaster structure.17 Second, unlike war monuments that were erected in a separate space, such as the Memorial Park, the Whitehall Cenotaph stands right in the middle of the busy street in the heart of London, with all the traffic around Westminster Abbey, Trafalgar Square, and Downing Street. Apparently, this easy accessibility of the monument made it close to the public. However, this site means that the Cenotaph belongs to the realm of public space where questions of cleanliness and order, long-lasting ideal image, and even safety became part of the maintenance of the monument. Many problems arose in relation to the design and arrangement of the Cenotaph as a public entity. Debates and discussions arose concerning a host of questions: whether to have, for example, real (silk) or stone flags, an ever-burning light to illuminate the monument at night, fresh floral wreaths or plastic flowers, and a rubber pavement to mute the noise of the traffic around it.18 The question of managing the Cenotaph, in this way, became an administrative issue in a modern urban environment. The idea of the Cenotaph was not taken for granted from the beginning, as indicated in the invitation from Prime Minister Lloyd George (1863–1945) to Lutyens to design a monument for Armistice Day in 1919.19 Lutyens insisted on designing a cenotaph, rather than a French catafalque, a coffin supporting structure in Christian tradition. A cenotaph is different from a catafalque in three major ways. First, a cenotaph hoists up an empty tomb, which embodies an absence or lack and, thus,

16 In a letter written by the then First Commissioner of Works, Alfred Mond, an important figure that made the permanent Cenotaph possible, reasons for making the new Cenotaph remain at its original spot were explained: “The Cenotaph was not primarily instituted as a place to lay flowers which seems to be commonly assumed, it is historic monument recording a great event and great occasion in the history of the empire. On the peace march it was saluted to by all the Imperial and Allied Troops. Its retention is really a commemoration of that historic event.” See “Erection of Permanent Cenotaph,” 1919, National Archives, London, UK, file number: Work 20/139. 17 Edkins, “The Cenotaph,” 62. 18 On the question of flags, see “Flags on Cenotaph” and “Erection of Permanent

Cenotaph” and the lightening and pavement, see “Erection of Permanent Cenotaph.” About the material of wreath, see Edkins, “The Cenotaph,” 67–69. 19 Elizabeth Wilhide, Sir Edwin Lutyens: Designing in the English Tradition (New York: Harry N. Abrams, 2000), 47.

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openness to anyone rather than to a singular heroic figure who sacrificed for the wars. Second, a cenotaph is not for celebrating victory but for mourning the loss, making it a space for healing war trauma and for commemorating the sacrifice during the war.20 As Greenberg elucidated, the Cenotaph is “conspicuous for the absence of reference to battle, to war, or to cause of death. The focus on death itself accounts for Lutyens’ eventual rejection of statues of lions as an element to the design…the acceptance of death and a sense of the fragility and uniqueness of each individual.”21 The Cenotaph, in one word, is meant more for the numerous nameless dead for the public than for the powerful who glorify their victory. Lastly, the Cenotaph is a monument not only for the UK but also for the British Empire. As previously mentioned, Lutyens purposefully turned down the religious symbolism in the Cenotaph. Unlike most other war monuments found in Christianized regions around the same time, the design of the Cenotaph is free from any overt religious messages.22 Alfred Mond (1868–1930), First Commissioner of Works at that time, rejected the suggestion from the Cabinet members to include a Christian inscription when the design for the temporary Cenotaph was presented for discussion. He strongly argued that “the temporary structure was erected in order that, on the day of the Peace Procession, the Nation should visibly express the great debt which it owes to those who from all parts of the Empire irrespective of their religious creeds, had made the supreme sacrifice.”23 He quoted opposition from Lutyens that “any alteration in the design or inscription as he is of opinion that it would detract from the appearance and simplicity of his monument if a large additional amount of lettering were inscribed upon it.”24 Clearly, Mond and Lutyens

20 Objections are raised at the Cabinet’s discussions on whether to keep the temporary Cenotaph based on the reason that the Cenotaph “is too mournful for the mood of celebrating victory.” See “The Temporary Cenotaph in Whitehall,” n.d., National Archives, London, UK, file number: CAB 24/84/84. Also see Geurst, Cemeteries of the Great War by Sir Edwin Lutyens, 182, and Edkins, “The Cenotaph,” 66. 21 Greenberg, “Lutyens’s Cenotaph,” 20. 22 In Lutyens’ earlier works, such as the Southampton War Memorial, a Christian cross

decoration was still used. See Skelton and Gliddon, Lutyens and the Great War, 38–39. 23 See “Cenotaph in Whitehall,” n.d., National Archives, London, UK, file number: CAB 24/90/35. 24 “Cenotaph in Whitehall.”

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wished to create a commemorative space around the Cenotaph “where people of all creeds and callings could express in some measure the love they had for their lost ones.”25 The intention to build a monument for a kind of imperial cosmopolitanism can be illustrated in the meaning of the main inscription on the memorial “The Glorious Dead,” which was borrowed from a newspaper headline on July 14, 1919.26 Those three simple words aim at rendering the Cenotaph a monument that can be “saluted by the representatives of the troops of the Empire and of our Allies on the day when peace in the Greatest War in the World’s history was celebrated in London” and is dedicated “to guard against giving offence to the many non-Christian nations of the Empire who also contributed to a large extent to the Armies of His Majesty engaged in the recent conflict.”27 In the Pall Mall Gazette published on November 12, 1919, the Cenotaph was said to be “a more expressive way of marking the nation’s gratitude, to those who fell in the war than the burial of the body of an unknown soldier in Westminster abbey” and “the government’s intention is to re-erect the Cenotaph in permanent form on its present site, which, as its name implies, is intended to represent an Imperial grave of all those citizens of the Empire of every creed and rank who gave their lives in the war.”28 At the unveiling of the permanent Cenotaph, the Cabinet was again reminded that the Cenotaph was an imperial monument commemorative “man of many races and creeds and it was accordingly thought undesirable that the unveiling ceremony should have any distinctive denominational flavour.”29 Thus, the visual features of the Cenotaph were free from any religious dedication. After WWII, when the Remembrance Sunday ceremony held at the Cenotaph was changed from May to the Sunday before November 11 for commemorating the two world wars, the decision was subject to the preference of other Commonwealth member countries as the ceremony was to be held in the UK and

25 See “War Shrine in Hyde Park.” 26 Lloyd George proposed to inscribe them on the monument, see Skelton and Gliddon,

Lutyens and the Great War, 42. 27 See “Erection of Permanent Cenotaph.” 28 “Erection of Permanent Cenotaph.” 29 “Conclusion Former Reference.”

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other territories of the British Empire.30 To make a quick interconnection between the Whitehall Cenotaph and the one in Hong Kong at this point, I look at certain events. On the 1937 Remembrance Sunday on May 14, Hong Kong representative Ts’o Seen-wan (1868–1953) laid the wreath at the Cenotaph.31 Ts’o was the son of a well-known Chinese merchant who started a business in Macau and was educated in China and England as a solicitor. His major purpose of visiting London from Hong Kong was to attend the coronation of King George VI and Queen Elizabeth on May 12, just two days before the wreath laying at the Cenotaph, as a representative of the Chinese of Hong Kong.32 These features of the Whitehall Cenotaph may help us understand the aesthetic and moral origins of the Hong Kong Cenotaph. Despite the physical resemblance, the change of time and space created a new sphere for the monument in Hong Kong, its commemorative rituals and their meanings. In many former colonies of the Western powers in Asia, some monuments built by the colonizers remain standing after the declaration of independence of these colonies and other major political changes. They pose intriguing topics as their symbolic meanings have usually transformed over the years even if their physical form remains the same. In Vietnam, for example, the Statue of Léon Gambetta (1838–1882), the French statesman who played a pivotal role in the founding of the Third Republic (1870–1940), was built in Saigon in 1889 after the hero was memorialized as names for streets and squares all over the French empire. Soon after Gambetta’s death, a bronze Gambetta monument was inaugurated on April 14, 1884 in his hometown Cahors. Five years later, the government of Cochinchina proposed to commission a replica of the same statue in Saigon.33 In post-independence Indonesia, Dutch architectural heritage was at first received with “a mixture of condemnation, 30 See “Remembrance Sunday 1975 Plan of Positions at Cenotaph,” 1975, National Archives, London, UK, file number: HO 342/236, about discussions on the change of Remembrance Sunday and November 11 was preferred by the USA and India. 31 “Laying of Wreaths Cenotaph Ceremony,” 1937, National Archives, London, UK, file number: CO 323/1475/8. 32 Seen-wan Ts’o, Ts’o Seen-wan boshi zhuisi lu (Hong Kong: Qiao sheng chuban she, 1956). 33 See William Cohen, “Symbols of Power: Statues in Nineteenth-Century Provincial France,” Comparative Studies in Society and History 31, no. 3 (1989): 491–513, and Srilata Ravi, “Modernity, Imperialism and the Pleasures of Travel: The Continental Hotel in Saigon,” Asian Studies Review 32, no. 4 (2008): 475–490.

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disregard, embarrassment, and inactivity,” and then, in the past twenty years, middle-class Dutch and Indonesians revived an interest in and even an appreciation of the architecture built in the colonial period, shedding new light on the memory of the colonial past.34 In the following discussions, I explore the aesthetic and spatial landscape of the Hong Kong Cenotaph, the city’s earliest imperial war monument, from its colonial past through the early postwar years to the present. Hong Kong’s Cenotaph, an almost exact replica of the Whitehall prototype, reveals how the Britain established its network of imperial symbolism by means of a similar design of the war monuments as well as the Remembrance Sunday rituals that were held in London and the British colonies in the early twentieth century.35 Meanwhile, this chapter especially underscores how the meaning of the monumental space has been transforming in relation to its neighboring environment. In Hong Kong, the grand unveiling ceremony of the Cenotaph after WWII symbolizes the “rebirth” of a new Hong Kong, which emerged from the Japanese occupation to rejoin the rank of the revived British colonization. Since the end of WWII, nevertheless, its visibility has gotten lower and lower. Beginning from the 1950s, the Statue Square that makes up the surrounding space of the Cenotaph had lost its original function of embodying the visual connection between Hong Kong and Britain and subsequently the former’s loyalty to the latter. The Cenotaph was then subsumed to be a part of the Square to serve largely civic rather than ritualistic functions. In 1962, a new WWII memorial square and shrine were built in a self-enclosed space in front of the City Hall. Moreover, until the early 1980s, the Remembrance Sunday ceremony in Hong Kong was also performed in two other commemorative spaces, namely, the Chinese War Memorial and St. John’s Cathedral. This spatial triad illustrates that, unlike that in London, the Hong Kong Cenotaph alone is insufficient to represent “everyone” who was remembered in the colony under the narrative of empirical cosmopolitanism. After the 1997 handover, with the

34 Pauline K. M. Van Roosmalen, “Confronting Built Heritage: Shifting Perspectives on Colonial Architecture in Indonesia,” ABE Journal, no. 3 (2013): Urn:issn: 2275-6639. 35 In 1946, a new holiday known as Remembrance Sunday came to effect Kong. Remembrance Day, a Commonwealth Memorial Day, substituted the Day, which commemorated for the end of WWI mainly in France and UK. See Bill 1946,” 1946, Hong Kong Legislative Council, 247–248, accessed July 15, http://library.legco.gov.hk:1443/record=b1030969.

in Hong Armistice “Holiday 2018, at:

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loss of colonial legitimacy in postcolonial Hong Kong as a special administrative region, the Liberation Day ceremony was replaced by a half-public memorial ritual during the Chungyeung Festival in the Chinese tradition. Through the elaboration on the migration, temporal, and spatial narratives of the Hong Kong Cenotaph, I will bring to light the complicated relations between ritual, space, time, publicness, and colonial discipline in this particular case of Hong Kong’s war monument from its early colonial period to the postwar years. The chapter focuses on three major aspects: first, the reproduction and migration of the Cenotaph from the Whitehall original to Hong Kong; second, the making of space and time through Cenotaph memorial ceremonies, and finally, the spatial transformation of the Cenotaph and its surrounding area from its establishment to the present, with the outbreak of the 1966 and 1967 riots as a turning point in Hong Kong’s postwar history. The turbulences in these two years, largely regarded as result of direct and indirect influences from the Cultural Revolution in Mainland China, eventually urged the Hong Kong colonial government to rethink its strategy in local governance and cultural policy.36 The colonial rule had to go beyond the transplantation of the British royal symbolism and come to rely on showcasing its achievements of modern urbanization. Chinese usually built WWII memorials to express mourning for the loss of Chinese citizens or to celebrate the rebirth of the Chinese nation. The “reproduced” Hong Kong Cenotaph is, however, not built by the Chinese, and therefore exemplifies unique tensions among nation, empire, and colony that cannot be easily found in other cases of war monuments in this book. I argue that the social upheavals in the 1960s and the consequent “depoliticization” of British colonial rule have largely transformed the early war commemorative artifacts in Hong Kong, marginalizing them in the city’s major narrative and assigning them to the fate of being forgotten. In the context of the 1960s’ Hong Kong, “depoliticization” did not mean decolonization. On the contrary, it can be described as a particular political strategy of the broader project of colonization, central to which is the fetishism of an “a-political” communal identity of Hong Kong. This identity was largely

36 On Hong Kong’s 1966–67 riots, see Gary Ka-wai Cheung, Hong Kong’s Watershed: The 1967 Riots (Hong Kong: Hong Kong University Press, 2009), and Ian Scott, Political Change and the Crisis of Legitimacy in Hong Kong (Honululu: University of Hawaii Press, 1989).

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based on an image and self-image of Chinese inhabitants (not citizens) in Hong Kong as law-abiding, modern and healthy.

The Birth of the Royal Square in Hong Kong I regard two historical moments as the most important turning points for the Cenotaph after the end of WWII. The first moment was 1945 when Britain reclaimed Hong Kong from Japan’s hand. The second was 1967, when the colonial state reconceived the display of power in the city center. Like all public monuments, the Cenotaph is not an individual artifact. The spaces that it creates and the spaces that are created around it mutually influence one another. The Cenotaph was a part of the Statue Square, a space whose history and configuration reveal the power structure in the early colonial Hong Kong. Initiated by Sir Catchick Paul Chater (1846– 1926), the Statue Square was built in 1887 in commemoration of the Queen’s Golden Jubilee on the reclaimed land under the Praya Reclamation Scheme.37 The Statue Square was a space where Britain unilaterally showed off its power in the colony. Indeed, the square can be considered as a space where the government and the merchant class jointly nurtured royalty and power.38 The statue that gives the Statue Square its name referred first to the statue of Queen Victoria, which was unveiled on May 28, 1896 on her Majesty’s birthday in the center of the reclaimed land. With the setting of the Queen’s statue, many other statues appeared in the Square in the years that followed, including those of members of the British royal family, such as the Duke of Connaught, King Edward VII, Prince George of Wales (later King George V), Princess Mary of Wales (later Queen Mary), and Queen Alexandra.39 Sir Francis Henry May (1860–1922), the governor of the colony between 1881 and 1919, and Sir Thomas Jackson (1841–1915), a key figure of the HSBC Bank

37 See Liz Chater, The Statues of Statue Square, Hong Kong (Chater Genealogy Publishing, July 2009). An extract from biographical research of Sir Catchick Paul Chater. 38 See Wing-sze Tam, “Public Space and British Colonial Power: The Transformation of Hong Kong Statue Square, 1890s–1970s” (Master’s thesis, Lingnan University, 2014), 2–5, 15, 23, and 36. Tam thinks that the Statue Square is unique in that its emergence was not an entirely top-down scheme coming from the colonizer, but rather, a “bottomup” initiative from the merchant class represented by Sir Catchick Paul Chater and HSBC, the financial agency between Britain and Hong Kong, or even China. 39 See Chater, The Statues of Statue Square, 9.

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in Hong Kong, had their images cast in statues too. And, after WWI, the Hong Kong & Shanghai Bank War Memorial was unveiled on the same date as the Cenotaph. Aside from statues, business and recreational spaces that accommodated groups of powerful people in Hong Kong were also found on the Square. While the London Cenotaph is surrounded by various symbolic spaces of various powers, the site of the Cenotaph was also in close relation with Hong Kong’s own power centers—the Hong Kong Club, HSBC building, Cricket Club, and Supreme Court. These buildings constituted Statue Square in its original plan. The Hong Kong Club was the gathering place of the city’s most influential foreign and local businessmen, government officials, and legal and financial elites. The HSBC Bank building has served as the headquarters of the financial agency that facilitated the trades between China and Europe since 1865.40 The Cricket Club, founded in 1851, was another recreational space as the horse racecourse for the upper-class British community. Needless to say, the Supreme Court functioned as and symbolized the British legal system’s supreme position in Hong Kong. All the four harbor-facing buildings were in Western architectural style, shaping a highly visible colonial landscape and embodying the major powers that held sway over the colony: the upper merchant class at home and abroad, the British government and the colonial regime, the financial and capitalistic systems, and the legal system. Statue Square as a whole crystalizes modernity and civilization the British Empire brought to the Colony (Fig. 3.2). Before WWI, Statue Square served mainly as a space for royal rituals and celebrations. “These rituals or ceremonies held at Statue Square could be divided into two types: regular and irregular. Both of them were official activities. Regular rituals were held by the government at designated dates such as the celebration of the Queen’s jubilees and birthdays. Irregular rituals were held when the British royal family members visited Hong Kong or when the new governor took office.”41 As the Statue Square, a space with its symbolism of power, mainly functioned as a meeting point for the British and upper-class Chinese, the rituals were also intended for a limited number of the residents of the colony, rather than for the general 40 Tam, “Public Space and British Colonial Power: The Transformation of Hong Kong Statue Square, 1890s–1970s,” 22. 41 Tam, “Public Space and British Colonial Power: The Transformation of Hong Kong Statue Square, 1890s–1970s,” 40.

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Fig. 3.2 “Statue Square in the mid 1930’s. Queen Victoria Statue on the background” (Source Lau Yun-woo, “Statue Square in the mid 1930’s. Queen Victoria Statue on the background,” Mid 1930s, Hong Kong Public Records Office, Hong Kong Special Administrative Region, China)

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public. The completion of the Cenotaph after WWI did not change the nature of the square much, as only a limited list of attendees was invited to the commemoration ceremonies of the Cenotaph before the end of WWII. Although ordinary Chinese and residents of Hong Kong of other nationalities could be the spectators of such ceremonies, the implicit feelings of nationalism and loyalty to the British Empire that the Cenotaph tried to evoke were not shared by the larger public.42 Therefore, on the occasions of Armistice Day rituals, the Cenotaph did turn the Statue Square from a celebratory space first and foremost to a space of mourning and reminiscences. The public involvement only came as an afterthought.

The Reproduced Monument: Erection of the Hong Kong Cenotaph The London Cenotaph was originally built to commemorate the sacrifices of the people from all around the British Empire during WWI, and soon became a popular monument to be reproduced in other Commonwealth countries and regions. Although the reproduction of the Cenotaph as a monument in Hong Kong was not a sole case, many requests to reproduce the physical Cenotaph or its image reproduction for other purposes and in other sizes were unsuccessful.43 Between 1919 and 1921, W. H. Goss Falcon Pottery, Samuel Wright & Co., and J. R. Pearson Metal Craftsman and other companies requested to reproduce the Cenotaph in porcelain products, miniature replicas, or fibrous plaster models but were refused permission.44 In 1919, Raphael Tuck & Sons asked the Office of Works if they could reproduce two colored illustrations, one in picture and the other in postcard, which they had reproduced from their original painting of the Cenotaph. These companies proposed to sell the 42 Tam, “Public Space and British Colonial Power: The Transformation of Hong Kong Statue Square, 1890s–1970s,” 49. 43 A letter dated March 9, 1920 was sent to the Office of Works from Crown Agents for the colonies about the decision to erect a Memorial in Gambia for the members of a Gambia company of the West African Frontier Force who fell in action. The memorial was suggested to be based on the model of the Whitehall Cenotaph on a smaller scale. On June 9, 1920, W. A. Elliot (date unknown), an Architect in Canada and a Royal Flying Corps member, asked for instructions on the construction of the Cenotaph. See “Miniature cenotaph and its reproduction,” 1919–1929, National Archives, London, UK, file number: Work 20/205. 44 “Miniature Cenotaph and Its Reproduction.”

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miniature Cenotaph or illustrations of the Cenotaph as souvenirs—something mechanically reproduced and portable as private belongings—to the public on markets around the memorial.45 The companies claimed that the benefit would go to the public, in particular, to the discharged soldiers and sailors. Their requests, however, were turned down by the Office of Works. As can be seen from the document from the Office of Works dated January 12, 1921, Lutyens expressed strong objections to the reproduction of his design in any form as “models seen from time to time are certainly hopeless travesties of the Cenotaph.” The Office of Works, nevertheless, worried that “it is questionable how far the objections of the Architect will prove effective in preventing the manufacture of correct or incorrect models.”46 Besides the question of visual fidelity, the spatial configurations of the Cenotaph, namely, the site, accessibility, and history of erection, constitute the meaning and integrity of the artifact per se. Owing to the popularity of the Cenotaph, the requests for reproduction from the companies can be perceived as an early form of seeking commercial opportunities through monument tourism. In Hong Kong, the Chinese and the British, though playing different roles, contributed to the outcome of WWI. On the one hand, as a counterpart to Chinese Labor Corps in the Mainland, Hong Kong Volunteer Corps was also sent to serve as manual laborers and combat servicepersons in Britain and France on bilateral agreements during the war.47 On the other hand, “almost a quarter of the British population (579 out of 2457 men) in Hong Kong volunteered for military service outside the colony.”48 Financially, on top of its normal military contribution, Hong Kong gave a further support of Hong Kong $10 million.49 However,

45 “Miniature Cenotaph and Its Reproduction.” 46 “Miniature Cenotaph and Its Reproduction.” 47 For more about Chinese Labor Corps, see Brian C. Fawcett, “The Chinese Labour

Corps in France, 1917–1921,” Journal of the Royal Asiatic Society Hong Kong Branch 40 (2000): 33–111, Keith Stevens, “British Chinese Labour Corps Labourers Buried in England,” Journal of the Royal Asiatic Society (Hong Kong Branch) 29 (1989): 390, Guoqi Xu, Strangers on the Western Front: Chinese Workers in the Great War (ambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 2011), and Steve Yui-sang Tsang, A Modern History of Hong Kong (Hong Kong: Hong Kong University Press, 2004), 84. 48 Tam, “Public Space and British Colonial Power: The Transformation of Hong Kong Statue Square, 1890s–1970s,” 57. 49 Tsang, A Modern History of Hong Kong, 84.

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being far away from the main battlefield in Europe, Hong Kong’s involvement in WWI was limited. The decision of making a replica of the Whitehall Cenotaph in Hong Kong was made by the Peace Celebration and War Memorial Committee on March 16, 1920.50 The Peace Celebration Committee, which consisted of a group of prominent European, Chinese, and Eurasian merchants, was chaired by Sir Paul Chater, a key businessperson in the early development of colonial Hong Kong. Having moved from Calcutta to Hong Kong in 1864, Chater gained the trust and support of the prominent Jewish Sassoon Family and set up his business in trading gold and land.51 He was among the founders of several existing Hong Kong corporations, such as Kowloon Wharf and Daily Farms, both established in 1886. In 1890, he solely initiated the land reclamation project in Victoria Harbor—known as the Second Praya Reclamation Scheme.52 It is precisely on this piece of reclaimed land that the Statue Square was constructed and opened in 1896, and the Hong Kong Cenotaph subsequently built.53 Regarding the choice of site for the memorial, J. Johnstone (1881–?), the British businessman and the taipan of the Jardine, Matheson & Co., stated at the May 22, 1920 meeting: …after the public gardens and all other localities had been ruled out as not being sufficiently conspicuous, a sub-committee was appointed to meet H.E. the Governor with a view to obtaining, if possible, the site on the sea front opposite the Law Courts generally referred to as the ‘finest site in the Colony.’54

Although the choice of the site was characterized by at least one local newspaper as a scheme with the sole aim of benefitting the Hong Kong 50 “Statue Square and the Cenotaph,” August 9, 1978, in Encl. 3: Cenotaph, National Archives, London, UK, file number: PRO-REF-080. 51 Vaudine England, “Who Was This Man Chater?” South China Morning Post , December 16, 2007, 11, accessed June 15, 2018, at: https://www.scmp.com/node/ 619754. 52 See Solomon Bard, Voices from the Past: Hong Kong 1842–1918 (Hong Kong: Hong

Kong University Press, 2002). 53 Chater was also the founder of St. John’s Cathedral, which later became one of the Remembrance Sunday ritual space after WWII. More see Paul Kwong, Imperial to International: A History of St John’s Cathedral, Hong Kong, foreword for Stuart Wolfendale (Hong Kong [China]: Hong Kong University Press, 2013). 54 “Statue Square and the Cenotaph.”

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Club, from whose balcony a wonderful view of the monument can be seen, the site was subsequently granted by the Governor in Council.55 On April 14, 1921, the Governor of Hong Kong sent a telegram to the Secretary of State for the Colonies in London concerning the proposal to erect in the colony a replica of the Cenotaph as a war memorial. The request for Sir Lutyens’ permission and desired plans were indicated in the telegram, which read: It is desired to erect copy of Cenotaph as a war memorial can you obtain permission of Lutyens for use design also copy of plans.56

Soon after, on April 27, 1921, the Office of Works replied to suggest to the Colonial Office to approach Lutyens for further permission. Surprisingly, a positive reply was given.57 Spending $300,000 from public sources, the Public Works Department was responsible for building the entire structure and its surrounding steps.58 On January 5, 1922, the Hong Kong colonial government wrote a letter to the designer of the Cenotaph in London, Sir Edwin Lutyens, “to express the appreciation of the government and community of Hong Kong for his courtesy in granting the permission for the use of his design for the memorial erected in Hong Kong.”59 The official unveiling of the Hong Kong Cenotaph fell on May 24, 1923 and was hosted by then the Governor Sir Edward Stubbs (1876–1947).60 Similar to many other colonies, Hong Kong has been dotted with Western style architecture since the beginning of the British governance in 1842. Colonial buildings and public structures are effective means of displaying colonial power and imperceptibly influence or form the place’s identity. In 1844, the Happy Valley horse race track was built for the 55 “Statue Square and the Cenotaph.” 56 “Miniature Cenotaph and Its Reproduction.” 57 “Cenotaph, Whitehall: Reproductions,” 1919–1929, National Archives, London, UK, file number: Work 20/205. 58 “Statue Square and the Cenotaph.” 59 Tam, “Public Space and British Colonial Power: The Transformation of Hong Kong

Statue Square, 1890s–1970s,” 60. 60 “The letter from the Governor to the Duke of Devonshire (Unveiling of Cenotaph on Empire Day),” June 1, 1923, National Archives, London, UK, file number: K.G. C.O. 129/480/159.

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British community as a major form of entertainment and the Jockey Club did not begin to admit Chinese members until 1926. In 1849, the St John’s Cathedral was completed in an adaptation of the thirteenthcentury English and decorated Gothic style, becoming one of the oldest churches and the oldest neo-Gothic cathedral in the region.61 In 1855, the Government House in a colonial renaissance style was built near the South Gate of Hong Kong Botanic Gardens. Similar to the Cenotaph in Whitehall, the Hong Kong Cenotaph rests on a granite base, and is approachable by six steps that leads to a dais. Other details of the London Cenotaph were also copied: the Hong Kong Cenotaph was decorated with laurel wreath carved in stone and bores the inscription “The Glorious Dead” with the year 1919 written in Roman figures. The memorial cost $60,000 exclusive that of the site. The 1923 Annual Report of the Director of Public Works states that the Cenotaph was completed in that year—indicating that the P.W.D. was responsible for its construction. The project was funded by public subscription.62 Yet, the reproduction of a monument may carry the possibility of recreating a new space of ritual in its new location. In the case of Hong Kong, the ritual space of the Cenotaph seeks to identify itself with the original through details. HON. H. W. Bird (1897–1931), a member of the Legislative Council, asked in a meeting held in October 1924 whether the Government would take necessary steps to ensure that the flags on the Hong Kong Cenotaph would be in position, as those in London, at all times except during typhoon. The Secretary, however, answered that even in London, the flags were in position since the monument’s unveiling. There was only a period during which they were removed except on special occasions.63 In what I will call the “flag position puzzle,” the effort to keep the details between the original and the copy identical can be well illustrated in the two letters dated March 4 and May 8, 1929 sent to the chief architect of the Department of Works and Public Buildings in London from W. J. Stokes (date unknown), a member of The Marine Engineers’ Guild

61 Kwong, Imperial to International: A History of St John’s Cathedral, Hong Kong, XV. 62 “Statue Square and the Cenotaph.” 63 See Hong Kong Legislative Council, “Flags on the Cenotaph,” October 16, 1924, Official Record of Proceedings, 1924.10.16, accessed July 15, 2018, at: https://www. legco.gov.HongKong/1924/h241016.pdf.

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of China based in Hong Kong, who asked for the exact position arrangement of flags at the Cenotaph.64 In the two letters, Stokes claimed that the current arrangement of the flags at the Hong Kong Cenotaph had the Union Flag in the middle, flanked by the white and the red/blue ensigns. However, he saw from a photo of the London Cenotaph taken on Armistice Day 1928 that the flags were arranged with the white Ensign in the middle, flanked by the Union Flag and the red/blue Ensign. The discrepancy drove Mr. Stokes to ask for a standard arrangement and to confirm whether that “London would be that standard.” He mentioned that the images of the original Lutyens design arrangement in 1919 he found looked the same as that in Hong Kong. On July 9, 1929, the Department of the Works reported on its investigation findings of the “true” standard of flag arrangement: The centre flag, as the flag of the Empire, would be the Union Jack. In the place of honour to the right of the line would be the White Ensign (the flag of Navy) and on the left a civil Red Ensign or the Royal Naval Reserve Blue Ensign. The position would be that on the side facing the home office there would be the White Ensign towards Trafalgar Square, the Union in the centre and the Red or Blue Ensign towards Westminster. On the side facing Montagu House the White Ensign would be at the side towards Westminster, the Union in the centre and the Red or Blue Ensign towards Trafalgar Square. The original arrangement on the temporary Cenotaph does not see to convey any particular idea of precedence.65

After investigation by the Department of the Works, it turned out that the renewal of the flag in November 1922 in London resulted in a wrong arrangement since then. In a letter sent on July 30, 1929 to M. J. Stokes, the Department of Works acknowledged that the arrangement in Hong Kong was actually correct.66 In a Benjaminian sense, mechanical reproduction rips off the aura of the original “by making many reproductions 64 See “Flags on Cenotaph.” 65 See “Flags on Cenotaph.” 66 See “Flags on Cenotaph.” As important parts of the Cenotaph (as previously

mentioned, debates about the materiality of the flag—in real silk or stone—were conducted), the flags and their positions speak to the spatial configuration and, thus, create the Cenotaph as a commemorative space. Flags could also be used as a detachable component of the Cenotaph and distributed as sacred objects. In 1945, after the allies won the victory of WWII, the revival of the practice of distributing flags placed on the

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it substitutes a plurality of copies for a unique existence.”67 However, as Benjamin continued to state, “in permitting the reproduction to meet the beholder or listener in his own particular situation, it reactivates the object reproduced.”68 In this case of flag positioning on the Cenotaph, the copied reactivated and even corrected the original that it aimed to reproduce. Literally, the copy kept the original. However, the imperial standard of the visual appearance also puts constraints on its signification in a new milieu. Although located in Hong Kong, the Cenotaph only commemorates the soldiers who died for the British Empire in WWI (and later WWII) and was not for the Chinese community. In the meeting of the Executive Committee of the Peace Celebration and War Memorial Committee held on March 16, 1920, the approval of erecting a Chinese “pailau” or a triumphal arch had passed. In 1928, the Chinese War Memorial was built by the Commonwealth War Graves Commission at the entrance of the Hong Kong Zoological and Botanical Gardens.69 After the end of WWII, the Chinese War Memorial became one of the three ritual spaces, the other two of which were the Cenotaph and St. John’s Cathedral, of Hong Kong Remembrance Sunday ceremonies. The shift from a singular Cenotaph-based to a multi-site war commemorative ritual indicates a change of power of narrating the war in Hong Kong, where Chinese and British people have learnt to live with one another’s memories and trauma after 1945.

A Statue Square Without Statue: The Disappearance of Imperial Landscape in Postwar Hong Kong When WWII officially broke out in Europe in 1939, the Hong Kong Cenotaph was also playing a role for the European residents in the Colony at that time. On November 11, 1939, when the Amatrice Day ceremony Cenotaph among British Empire Service League member organizations throughout the Commonwealth of the British Empire was requested. 67 Walter Benjamin, “The Work of Art in the Age of Mechanical Reproduction,” in Walter Benjamin, Hannah Arendt, Harry Zohn, and Leon Wieseltier, Illuminations: Essays and Reflections with a New Preface by Leon Wieseltier (New York: Schocken, 2007), 221. 68 Benjamin, “The Work of Art in the Age of Mechanical Reproduction,” 221. 69 See Tam, “Public Space and British Colonial Power: The Transformation of Hong

Kong Statue Square, 1890s–1970s,” 64.

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was largely canceled in Europe, many members of the British base troops in Hong Kong still gathered on the day around the Cenotaph, where they laid wreaths and organized a poppy donation.70 On July 17 two years earlier, the confrontation between Japanese and Chinese troops on the outskirts of Beijing city, known as the Marco Polo Bridge Incident, ushered in WWII in Asia. With the subsequent unfolding of Sino-Japanese War, Hong Kong enjoyed a tenuous peace for a while, fell in the hands of the Japanese on Christmas Day of 1941 after only 16 days of resistance. The defense of Hong Kong was fought by a highly multi-ethnic garrison: the British, Indians, Canadians, and Chinese. With their surrender, Hong Kong entered a period of Japanese occupation of “three years and eight months,” a term used even today to refer to the Japanese occupation of Hong Kong. Subsequently, the Japanese planned to build their own monuments of the war. British ceremonies, including those held around the Cenotaph, were inevitably replaced by Japanese ceremonies,71 on such occasions as the Empire Day (February 1), Emperor’s Birthday (April 29), the anniversary of the Occupation Day (December 25), the Fall of Singapore (February 15), and Yasukuni Shrine (Yasukuni Jinja) Day (October 17).72 The Cenotaph played no role during the three years and eight months of occupation, while the Japanese built their own monuments for a different time and space of the war under its historical narrative. In February 1942, the foundation was laid of a Japanese monument named “Hong Kong Shrine” to commemorate the sacrificed soldiers in the battles of conquering Hong Kong. It was not completed by the end of Japanese occupation for unclear reasons.73 The Japanese renamed the

70 “Ouzhou fengyun zheng ji zhong: Heping jinian qiaoqiao duguo,” Ta Kung Pao, November 12, 1939. 71 Tam, “Public Space and British Colonial Power: The Transformation of Hong Kong

Statue Square, 1890s–1970s,” 75. 72 Tam, “Public Space and British Colonial Power: The Transformation of Hong Kong Statue Square, 1890s–1970s,” 75. 73 Yong-guang Xie, San nian ling ba ge yue de kunan (Hong Kong: Ming Pao Publication, 1994), 428, and Tam, “Public Space and British Colonial Power: The Transformation of Hong Kong Statue Square, 1890s–1970s,” 71.

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Statue Square, the power center of the colony, as Showa Square (ShowaHiroba) on April 20, 1942.74 Most of the statues on the Square, which were made of bronze, were transported to Japan where they were melted to make munitions for the war.75 The Cenotaph, owing to its “useless” material, relatively marginal position and weak symbolism, was simply ignored. As a result, the Cenotaph became the only imperial monument that survived the Japanese occupation on the entire Statue Square. The Japanese occupation destroyed the original plan of the Statue Square, making it “a square without statues.” After the defeat of Japan in 1945, the square was no longer a symbol of the royal power of the British Empire. Plans were made to restore the statues with recommendations from the Public Monuments Committee to the Executive Council and finally to the Urban Council. Given the financial deficiency, the committee members finally concluded that the restoration of the Statue Square to its original form was not realistic.76 Of all the statues, only the statue of Sir Thomas Jackson and the two missing copper lions of HSBC were returned from Tokyo Bay to the square.77 The statue of Queen Victoria, taken away by the Japanese, was not restored until its re-unveiling, this time without the canopy, in Victoria Park in Causeway Bay in 1952. In addition, it was also agreed that the Chinese War Memorial, which was partly damaged by Japanese gunfire, was to be restored.78 In this vein, with the Queen Victoria’s statues removed and none of the royal statues restored, the original meaning of Statue Square as a showground for the

74 Tam, “Public Space and British Colonial Power: The Transformation of Hong Kong

Statue Square, 1890s–1970s,” 70. 75 The Queen Victoria Statue, for example, was found in 1946 in Osaka with only one arm left. See Associated press, “Queen Victoria Found,” China Mail, September 17, 1946, Multimedia Information System Hong Kong Public Libraries, accessed April 19, 2018, at: https://mmis.HongKongpl.gov.HongKong/basic-search: “From the murky shadows of the Osaka Army Arsenal, the Japanese Government has produced the muchsought-after Statue of Queen Victoria, which was looted from Hong Kong by the Japanese Army.” 76 Tam, “Public Space and British Colonial Power: The Transformation of Hong Kong

Statue Square, 1890s–1970s,” 79–81. 77 Tam, “Public Space and British Colonial Power: The Transformation of Hong Kong Statue Square, 1890s–1970s,” 78. 78 See “Ten Recommendations Made by the Public Monuments Committee Members at Their First Meeting,” August 28, 1946, Hong Kong Public Records Office, Hong Kong Special Administrative Region, China, file number: HONG KONGRS70-3-364.

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royal authority had largely, if not entirely, lost. The lack of strong will of fully restoring the Square was partly due to the high costs of the restoration. Importantly, as can be seen from the archival government documents, the British colonial government realized that, as it had failed to protect Hong Kong and subsequently, collaborate with the Chinese in Hong Kong in the fight against Japanese, it was facing a legitimacy crisis.79 In a note written by David MacDougall (1904–1991), the Colonial Secretary of Hong Kong between 1945 and 1949, he showed clear awareness of the criticism that the Chinese Nationalist Government in Chungking had leveled against Britain and admitted that “there was a lack of a ‘larger purpose’ in the pre-war period of the colony and ‘something was missing from both Government and governed [sic] which prevented the fusion of the community into a living whole.’”80 Consequently, although Hong Kong was once again British territory, the government’s previous failure to defend Hong Kong from Japan’s invasion, the dissatisfaction of the Chinese Nationalists, and the growing Communist power across the border combined to put the British governance at a crossroad, pushing the postwar colonial government to reconsider its relationship with the local community. Under such circumstances, the Young Plan was born to resurrect a “new” Hong Kong with a promising future of democratization and a high degree of autonomy, though still practically subject to the belonging of one’s class and race. The Young Plan, named after Hong Kong’s governor Mark Young (1886–1974) between 1946 and 1947, was the first postwar constitutional reform proposal that rendered non-British Hong Kong residents with large power in managing social, legal, and political affairs. Instead of entrusting power tightly to the British governing class and a handful of wealthy Hong Kong local elites, this plan proposed to create a new municipal council based on a wide franchise through election mechanisms: a new kind of colonial governance whose own power may exceed

79 See “Despatches-Enclosure 9: Notes on the Siege of Hong Kong by Colonial Office,” April 23, 1942–September 28, 1943, National Archives, London, UK, file number: CO 129/590. 80 See Tam, “Public Space and British Colonial Power: The Transformation of Hong Kong Statue Square, 1890s–1970s,” 82, and “‘Situation in Hong Kong’ Note of MacDougall on Phyllis Harrop Report to Eden,” May 27, 1942, National Archives, London, UK, file number: CO 129 590/23.

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the direct control from Britain.81 Young once told J. L. Stuart (1876– 1962), the American Ambassador to China that “he wished to set up a model municipal government in Hong Kong ‘as a contribution to Chinese progress’” and to cultivate a new generation of loyal citizens of British Hong Kong.82 In Young’s speech on May 1, 1946, the day he returned to the civil government office, he expressed his strong will of this democratic turn: His Majesty’s Government has under consideration the means by which in Hong Kong, as elsewhere in the Colonial Empire, the inhabitants of the Territory can be given a fuller and more responsible share in the management of their own affairs. One possible method of achieving this end would be by handing over certain functions of internal administration, hitherto exercised by the Government, to a Municipal Council constituted on a fully representative basis. The establishment of such a Council, and the transference to it of important functions of government might, it is believed, be an appropriate and acceptable means of affording to all communities in Hong Kong an opportunity of more active participation, through their responsible representatives, in the administration of the Territory….it is considered essential that the important issues involved should be thoroughly examined in Hong Kong itself, the fullest account being taken of the views and wishes of the inhabitants.83

The Young Plan was, however, soon shelved by Young’s successor, Governor Sir Alexander Graham (1899–1978), who disapproved the democratization of Hong Kong due to worries about the Communist penetration into Hong Kong and, in turn, the British retreat again from its important port in the Far East. However, the Plan undoubtedly

81 See Steve Yui-sang Tsang, Democracy Shelved: Great Britain, China, and Attempts at Constitutional Reform in Hong Kong, 1945–1952 (East Asian Historical Monographs) (New York: Oxford University Press, 1988), and Steve Yui-sang Tsang, Government and Politics (Hong Kong: Hong Kong University Press, 1995). Also Linda Butenhoff, Social Movements and Political Reform in Hong Kong (Westport: Greenwood Publishing Group, 1999), and Suzanne Pepper, Keeping Democracy at Bay: Hong Kong and the Challenge of Chinese Political Reform (Rowman & Littlefield Publishers, 2007). British domestic politics, in particular the election winning Labour Party’s pressing on self-governance throughout British colonies after the war, also exerted an influence on the plan. 82 Tsang, Democracy Shelved: Great Britain, China, and Attempts at Constitutional Reform in Hong Kong, 1945–1952 (East Asian Historical Monographs), 46. 83 Tsang, Government and Politics, 121–122.

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illustrated a shift in the direction and mentality of the British colonial governance in Hong Kong. Rather than only thinking of securing the upper colonial class’s interest and living aloft from the majority of the local Chinese citizens, whose number grew drastically after the end of WWII and subsequently after the Chinese Civil War (1945–1949) with the refugee waves, the Hong Kong Colonial Government now must think about how to nurture a sense of pride and acceptance among the massive public and strengthen its colonial rule in a less condescending manner. In this vein, Public Monuments Committee was in no eager position to restore the postwar Statue Square as a royal square. The prewar imperial landscape had lost its relevance and effect on postwar Hong Kong. However, concluding from the disappearance of statues on Statue Square that the British Hong Kong Government was entering upon a “decolonization” phase might be a bit too quick.84 Rather than “decolonizing” or “undoing colonialism,” the physical and symbolic shifts of the Square were first caused by the war damage and then the shift in colonial strategy. In contrast to the complicated social and structural changes that evolved over a long period of time and that impacted the British colonial governance, the rupture in the power in the public visual form of the Statue Square may signal in an immediate and easily understandable way a symbolic, partial and flexible retreat on the part of the colonial authorities, which was reconsidering its ways of governing and collaborating with the locals. The following developments of the Remembrance Sunday Ceremony in Hong Kong and the use of Statue Square in the 1950s and 1960s well illustrate such a shift of colonial governing strategies. Meanwhile, as one of the few remaining prewar artifacts, the Cenotaph’s position on the square also took on a new turn.

Remaking the Cenotaph After WWII: Postwar Commemorative Ceremonies Hierarchical Space, Homogeneous Time On August 31, 1945, when the British royal navy fleet finally returned to Hong Kong and effected the “re-occupation of the colony,” the Cenotaph was “revived.” In Hong Kong, two major war memorial rituals were 84 See Tam, “Public Space and British Colonial Power: The Transformation of Hong Kong Statue Square, 1890s–1970s,” 6.

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observed in postwar Hong Kong: the Liberation Day and the Remembrance Sunday Ceremony. The Cenotaph was the central piece for both rituals. Following the change of the Whitehall Cenotaph in London, a decision was also made to add to the inscription on the Hong Kong Cenotaph the dates “1939–1945.”85 After this, the Cenotaph was no longer a site of commemorating the sacrificed British soldiers only. In the first Liberation Day Ceremony, which marked the beginning of the postwar British Hong Kong’s commemorative rituals in 1946, the changed role of the Cenotaph in Hong Kong’s new context was easily observed.86 The 1946 Liberation Day Ceremony was a grand one, with a parade of the military, naval, and air forces, members from the Executive, Legislative, and Urban Councils, the Governor’s Deputy R. R. Todd (1902–1980), and consulate officials of different countries. The change in the use of artifacts in the ceremony was also revealing. Unlike the unveiling ceremony of the Cenotaph in 1923, when the monument was wrapped entirely by the British Union Jack, on Liberation Day Ceremony of 1946, British and Chinese flags flew on the signposts in front of the Cenotaph. Moreover, the flags on the Cenotaph were diverse: apart from the Union Jack, White Ensign, Red Ensign, and RAF Ensign flags, Chinese and American flags were raised to show the unity of the allied forces (Fig. 3.3). The Remembrance Sunday Ceremony was another annual occasion when the Cenotaph stood in the spotlight of the city’s attention. In 1946, the Legislative Council passed a new bill which stipulated that Remembrance Sunday, a Commonwealth Memorial Day, substituted Armistice Day, which is commemorated for the end of WWI in France and UK.87 The Remembrance Sunday was dedicated to the commemoration of “both great wars and associated with the National observance at the Cenotaph and the two minutes silence.”88 An extra holiday on August 30 was also inaugurated to celebrate the anniversary of the liberation of the Colony from Japanese occupation. 85 “Commemoration of the Liberation of Hong Kong: Thanksgiving Services and Celebrations,” 1946, Hong Kong Public Records Office, Hong Kong Special Administrative Region, China, file number: HONG KONGRS41-1-821. 86 “Commemoration of the Liberation of Hong Kong: Thanksgiving Services and Celebrations.” 87 See “Holiday Bill 1946,” 247–248. 88 “Holiday Bill 1946,” 247–248.

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Fig. 3.3 Liberation Day Ceremony in Hong Kong, 1945 (Source Suzuki Gen, Hong Kong returned to Britain, August 1945, at: https://gwulo.com/atom/ 23568)

Noticeably, the Remembrance Sunday Ceremony were held in three different locations from 1946 to 1981: the Chinese War Memorial in the Hong Kong Zoological and Botanical Gardens, the Cenotaph, and St. John’s Cathedral about half way down the hill from the Chinese War Memorial. Despite minor differences, the general flow of the ceremony started with a brief ritual at the Chinese War Memorial, which lies closest to the Governor’s House, then a much extensive one at the Cenotaph, and finally a remembrance service at St. John’s Cathedral. The tripartite ceremony illustrated an interesting endeavor in reinventing the colony’s “founding” myth and memory on the part of the postwar British Hong Kong government as one that was built upon an assumed unity among the Chinese, the majority of Hong Kong residents, the British Empire, and the local British inhabitants. To hold commemorative rituals at the Cenotaph and the Cathedral would be reasonable under the old tradition of imperial glory but no longer tenable after the war. The inclusion of the Chinese War Memorial in the Remembrance Sunday Ceremony under these circumstances is therefore a telling piece of the new founding myth. Yet, while “service heads are requested to accompany H.E. the

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Governor to the Chinese War memorial Ceremony,” the official memorandum of arrangements required for the celebration of Remembrance Sunday asserted, the commemorative services are “only concerned with the one at Cenotaph.”89 While the ceremonial space was hierarchical, the temporal pace of the ceremonies was framed in uniformity. Time in rituals is marked and experienced through various temporal agencies, such as music, salute shot, speech, prayer, fireworks, and silence, providing, as Giordano Nanni puts it, “a sense of regularity and rhythm and which orientate human collectives towards an accepted source of temporal authority.”90 In the case of Hong Kong’s Remembrance Sunday ceremonies, following the practice in London, the service included the sounding of the “Last Post,” twominute silence, firing of gun on HMS Tamar, the sounding of “Reveille,” the laying of wreaths, and the hymn sung by the congregation.91 Moreover, the order and duration of each section of the ceremonies were premeditated accurately into minutes. One important feature of the timing control of the ceremonies in Hong Kong was the process of synchronization of the ritual time. In the 1946 ceremony of the Remembrance Sunday, for example, “all those taking part in the parade are asked to synchronize their watches by BBC time signal before the parade.”92 In the 1958 ceremony, synchronization with the British standard time, broadcasting system of sounding, and controlling of the two-minute silence constituted a whole package of temporal norms for the ceremony. For the synchronization, the following was arranged: (a) The parade adjutant and staff communications officer RN will telephone the ADC to H.E. the Governor at 9:00 A.M. on November 9, 1958 to synchronize watches on a correct Hong Kong time.

89 See “Remembrance Sunday: National Day of Remembrance for the Wars of 1914– 18 & 1939–45,” 1946, Hong Kong Public Records Office, Hong Kong Special Administrative Region, China, file number: HONG KONGRS41-1-823. 90 Giordano Nanni, The Colonisation of Time: Ritual, Routine and Resistance in the British Empire (Manchester: Manchester University Press. Print, 2012), 6. 91 Later, the first six bars of the National Anthem was added before the sounding of “The Last Post.” 92 “Remembrance Sunday: National Day of Remembrance for the wars of 1914–18 & 1939–45.”

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(b) The parade adjutant will be responsible for passing this time to all concerned participants in the parade on their arrival in the marshaling area. (c) The staff communications officer will be responsible for notifying all concerned participants in the control and firing of the minute guns to mark the two-minute silence. The synchronization was not merely a process of standardization for the convenience and orderliness of the ceremony. “For colonized societies,” as Giordano Nanni discussed in The Colonisation of Time, “the overall process entailed nothing less than a series of cultural curfews and a collective reorientation in the understanding of what constituted the permissible time for each and every activity, even including movement across the land.”93 Through the “rule of time,” the ritual created a discipline that configured a sense of authority. Broadcast media was also an indispensable part of the making of time perception at a wide space of public ritual. Rediffusion, a British radio and TV signal company, which started its business in several British colonies in the postwar years, had been responsible for the “provision and operation of the public address system” for the ceremony since the end of the war.94 Aside from synchronization and sounding, the two-minute silence was another important means of control of timing through, interestingly, sound and visual means. A blue visual signal and a red signal were hoisted from the roof of the Hong Kong Club, and 50 seconds was given to assist in the timing of the service. Minute guns were simultaneously fired by the royal navy at HMS Tamar and army at the Saluting Battery in Signal Hill, Kowloon, to mark the beginning and the end of the two-minute silence.

93 Nanni, The Colonisation of Time: Ritual, Routine and Resistance in the British Empire,

4. 94 See “Remembrance Sunday 1958–1959,” 1958–1959, Hong Kong Public Records Office, Hong Kong Special Administrative Region, China, file number: HONG KONGRS41-1-9440. Franchise of Rediffusion settled in Hong Kong, Singapore, Malaysia, and Thailand after the war and the TV service Rediffusion Television in Hong Kong finally merged to become Asia Television.

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Involving the Chinese Community The hierarchical space of the Remembrance Sunday rituals, on the one hand, illustrated how the British Hong Kong colonial government maintained the colonial order through its imperial rituals. On the other hand, the postwar Hong Kong government also tried to involve the local Chinese in the ceremony: first only the elites and later the public. An obvious reason for this shift in commemoration is the active participation of Chinese in the defense of Hong Kong. The Hong Kong Chinese started to be included in the Hong Kong Defense Force in the last few years before the war when the British Hong Kong Government fully realized the lurking danger of Japanese encroachment of Hong Kong after Canton fell in 1938.95 At this point, Hong Kong Voluntary Defense Corps (H. K. V. D. C.), whose first formation can be traced back to 1862 when the first Volunteer Ordinance was established, recruited local Chinese in separate units. No. 4 Company, for example, was formed in October 1937 “with two platoons each of 30 machine gunners.”96 The increasing number of Chinese in Hong Kong Volunteers Corps, though on a voluntary basis, spoke not only to a significant identity change in the Chinese population of a particular class, usually the British-educated wellto-do, who began to show their loyalty to the Colony as well as the British Empire, but also to a change in the perceptions of the British governors in Hong Kong toward the local Chinese community. As James Hayes points out, for the colonial government, “These men were not coolies and street traders, but belonged to the settled middle-class that had developed in Hong Kong Chinese society over the years since 1841.”97 Of the 2200 members of the Voluntary Defense Force who fought in the war, 172 lives were lost to the defense of Hong Kong, while 39 went missing and believed killed and 78 died as P.O.W.98 Although the exact number of the Chinese casualty is unknown, the contribution of the Chinese to the defense of Hong Kong was undeniable. It is thus only legitimate that there was an increasing involvement of the Chinese participants in the Remembrance Sunday Ceremony at the Cenotaph after 95 James Hayes, “A Short History of Military Volunteers in Hong Kong,” Journal of the Royal Asiatic Society (Hong Kong Branch) 11 (1971): 161. 96 Hayes, “A Short History of Military Volunteers in Hong Kong,” 160. 97 Hayes, “A Short History of Military Volunteers in Hong Kong,” 161. 98 Hayes, “A Short History of Military Volunteers in Hong Kong,” 161.

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WWII. In the Liberation Day Ceremony in 1946, Kwok Tak-wah (1901– 1971), the Commissioner for Hong Kong Office of the Kwangtung and Kwangsi on behalf of the Ministry of Foreign Affairs of the Republic of China, was also invited to be present in the ceremony. In his letter to R. R. Todd right after the ceremony, Kowk acknowledged “the progress in the Colony’s rehabilitation” and the fact that “Sino-British Friendship is becoming closer and closer.”99 In the Remembrance Sunday Ceremony of the same year, although members of the government and the Hong Kong Club still made up the most honored participants, invitations to the ceremony at the Cenotaph were extended to numerous members of the Chinese communities.100 Despite the fact that the Chinese War Memorial was not as important as the Cenotaph in the ceremonies, the government realized that playing down the memorial’s “imperial nature” is necessary. The case of the inscription of the Chinese War Memorial exemplifies the Hong Kong colonial government’s concern with the missing Chinese narrative in the monument. The memorial, which was first erected for the Chinese casualties in the service of the British Government during the WWI in Europe by the Imperial War Graves Commission in 1928, was almost invisible in comparison to the Cenotaph (Fig. 3.4). Situated at the entrance of the Hong Kong Zoological and Botanical Gardens, the memorial was a stone gate in a quasi-Chinese structure style—a Chinese “pailau” or a triumphal arch. It was only partially damaged by the air raids during the war. After inscribing the years of the WWII onto the Cenotaph, the Colonial Secretary of the Hong Kong Government suggested to do the same to the Chinese War Memorial.101 99 See “Commemoration of the Liberation of Hong Kong: Thanksgiving Services and Celebrations.” 100 See “Remembrance Sunday: National Day of Remembrance for the Wars of 1914– 18 & 1939–45.” Invitees included representatives of the Hong Kong Chinese Military Service, Chinese members of Justice of the Peace, St. John’s Ambulance Brigade, Boy Scouts, AR wardens, Honorary secretary for Chinese affairs, Honorary Chinese members of Councils, Chinese members of urban council, Senior Chinese member of the Hong Kong VDC or Hong Kong PR on behalf of all Chinese Essential Service Workers during the war; principal directors of the Tung Wah Hospital; principal directors of the Po Leung Kuk; Chairman of the Chinese Chamber of Commerce; Chairmen of the Chinese Engineer Institute on behalf of all trade unions, and students of the colony. 101 “Remembrance Sunday: National Day of Remembrance for the wars of 1914–18 & 1939–45.” Apart from the main ceremonies on the Remembrance Sunday at the three venues, commemorative rituals were also regularly held for other foreign communities in other venues in Hong Kong. For example, the Canadian and American rituals were held

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Fig. 3.4 Chinese War Memorial (Source Photo by the author)

Moreover, after several rounds of discussions between 1946 and 1948, it was also finally decided that inscription of the Imperial War Graves Commission as the memorial erector was erased. The Colonial Secretary argued in a letter to the Imperial War Graves Commission that Tens of thousands of Chinese residents in Hong Kong at the time when the Pacific War broke out died either in the Colony or elsewhere during the war through bombing, starvation, execution, etc., only a small fraction of whom can be said to have been in the service of the British (or any other) Government. In fact thousands of Chinese died in Hong Kong through bombing by the United Nations during the occupation and we think the memorial should commemorate them too.102

at Sai Wan War Cemetery, French Memorial Day, and Anzacs Day at the Cenotaph for Australians and New Zealanders. 102 See “Chinese War Memorial,” 1946, Hong Kong Public Records Office, Hong Kong Special Administrative Region, China, file number: HONG KONGRS41-1-1885.

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With this definition of “the Glorious Dead,” the objects of the commemoration finally changed from those Chinese who died for the British Government to those who died “loyal to the allied cause” in both wars.103 The images of the Remembrance Sunday Ceremony found in newspapers provide another lens to view the changes of public involvement in the ritual. While the standard capture of the most important moment of the ceremony was the wreath-laying ceremony by the Governor, a photo with an article named “War Dead Honored” in Tiger Standard on November 14, 1966 presented a very different image. In the foreground, we see the back of a little “wide-eyed” Chinese boy sits on the shoulder of his father, witnessing the Remembrance Sunday ceremony at the Cenotaph from a distance. When the face of the father and son cannot be seen, it is difficult to tell whether this image is a result of post-editing or represents a real moment in the ceremony. The article accompanying the picture describes how the father tried to explain the ceremony to his son: The young man pointed a chubby finger at groups of civilians and army officers, in parade dress, standing in a roped-off area just within the shade of the Supreme Court building. At their feet lay the red wreaths for the dead. In simple Cantonese the father explained to the boy on his shoulders why these people had come. “It is for the bravery of many men during wars that were fought all over the world. That tall rock is a grave stone for the soldiers killed in the war.”104

The image provided a simple but clear storyline of the ordinary Chinese residents’ interest and participation (though only from afar) in the ceremony. The father’s understanding of the Cenotaph was correctly wrong—the interpretation that the monument was dedicated to people who “fought all over the world” may not be accurate but it does sound acceptable to the young generation of Hong Kong, which was embodied by the little boy. This narrative of the putative relation between 103 “Chinese War Memorial.” Apart from the main ceremonies on the Remembrance Sunday at the three venues, commemorative rituals were also regularly held for other foreign communities in other venues Hong Kong. For example, the Canadian and American rituals were held at Sai Wan War Cemetery, French Memorial Day, and Anzacs Day at the Cenotaph for Australians and New Zealanders. 104 “War Dead Honored,” in Tiger Standard, November 14, 1966, Hong Kong Public Records Office, Hong Kong Special Administrative Region, China, file number: HONG KONGRS70-1-234.

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the Remembrance Sunday and the local young people appeared in the newspaper in November 1966. Perhaps not coincidentally, in April that year, citywide turmoil burst out, with many working-class Hong Kong young people participating in protests against the colonial government, demanding improvement of social welfare, working condition and protection, and other conditions of social equality.105 In sharp contrast to this harmonious picture in 1966’s Tiger Standard, another newspaper report entitled “Crowd Ruins Cenotaph Ceremony” on Remembrance Sunday in South China Morning Post , which spoke mainly for the expats and elite Chinese class in Hong Kong, offered an opposite description of the Chinese community’s attitude toward the ceremony in 1972: Hundreds of unthinking spectators failed to observe the solemnity of yesterday’s Remembrance Sunday ceremony in Statue Square. The talked and joked during the two minutes’ silence…One couple—a mini-skirted teenager and her long-haired escort—hugged and joked during the ceremony…it was in sharp contrast to the rigid solemnity of those in the Cenotaph area—heads bowed over the frock coat vests and formal uniforms. Out of a dozen spectators questioned after the ceremony, four knew it was Remembrance Sunday…Five Chinese questioned didn’t know what was happening. They described it as “good fun and something to look at.”106

Here, not only the “ill-dressed” young Hong Kong men and women showed no respect to the ceremony, many of the Chinese even had no idea of what was going on. The “failure” of involving the local Chinese in Hong Kong in the “imperial time” as reframed by the ritual was conspicuous. Probably with the intention to lessen the straitlaced impression of the Remembrance Sunday for the Chinese communities, after the early 1970s, Buddhist rituals were held by the Hong Kong Buddhist Association on the same day to mourn the soldiers and civilians who died in

105 The 1966 riots in Hong Kong were the prelude of a long series of disquiets, political disturbance, and protests that continued until 1967. The catalyst of the 1966 riots was the government’s decision to increase the fare of Star Ferry, a daily transportation means used by working-class Hong Kong residents to travel between Hong Kong Island and Kowloon, by 25 percent. 106 “Crowd Ruins Cenotaph Ceremony,” South China Morning Post , 1972.

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WWII.107 However, far from being a public ceremony, the ritual was only limited to the association’s office in Wanchai. Meanwhile, the Chinese community held their own Remembrance Sunday Ceremony for other purposes. In 1973, for instance, members of the Hong Kong Reparation Association gathered in Victoria Park on November 11 to campaign for compensation for losses incurred during the Japanese Occupation.108 They also handed another letter to the Japanese Consul, requesting the Japanese Government to compensate for the “loss of properties and lives of Hong Kong citizens.”109 As Remembrance Sunday Ceremony showed a shifting relation between the (Chinese) public and the imperial ritual along the years, the ritual had also been altering in its meaning and implications. In 1973, Governor Murray MacLehose (1917–2000) gave a speech on the service at the Cenotaph, questioning modern war supported by modern science while alluding to the ongoing Cold War disputes: It is all the more critical for modern science gives men the chance to make both heaven or hell on earth. And all the while, innocent families in Ulster, refugees in Sinai, disabled peasants in Vietnam, cry out— “Is there no other way?”

He also stressed on the common ground with all religions for the purpose of peace, making the ceremony an occasion on which people mourned the loss and praised “the glorious” and reflected upon the war in nature. In 1981, two more significant changes took place. First, eight Chinese characters “yinghun buxiu, haoqi changcun” (May their martyred souls be immortal, and their noble spirits endure) were inscribed onto the Cenotaph under the English inscription “The Glorious Dead.” Second, the three-venue visit order of the ceremony was altered into one, that is, the one at the Cenotaph.110 By then, an awkward relation among the

107 See “Dead of Two World Wars Remembered,” South China Morning Post , November 11, 1974, and “Hong Kong Remembers the Men Who Died in World Wars,” The Star, November 10, 1975. 108 See “Another Petition to Tokyo,” Hong Kong Standard, November 13, 1973. 109 See “Protest Rally Held Against Japan,” Hong Kong Standard, December 1973. 110 See “Remembrance Sunday Ceremonies,” December 24, 1973–October 6, 1982,

Hong Kong Public Records Office, Hong Kong Special Administrative Region, China, file number: HONG KONGRS163-13-20.

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Cenotaph, its war ritual, and the majority of the local community in the colony came to be felt. If, in most of the cases of the WWII monument in Asia, war memorials and commemorative ceremonies are deeply involved with the suffering and trauma of the families who lost their members and are constructed to be a part of the national founding myth as an important means to create sense and memory of an imagined community, a transplanted war monument is ill-equipped for such a task. Although the Remembrance Sunday Ceremony in the postwar British Hong Kong moved toward inclusivity, the unfamiliarity among the Chinese with the ritual style, the abstract nature of the Cenotaph, the uncertainty as to who are being mourned and remembered (which interestingly was the key for London Cenotaph’s success), and the difference between what WWII meant for the British and for the Chinese community in Hong Kong rendered the square only a temporary stage for a state performance. Consequently, the Cenotaph appears never to have entered the collective consciousness of the local Chinese community. However, the marginal position of the Cenotaph may not be a “failure” of the British Hong Kong Government to educate the public through war commemoration. On the contrary, the depoliticization of the Cenotaph and the Statue Square where it is located may go in line with the changing strategy of the colonial governance in the postwar years. Next, I will elaborate on the changing nature of the Statue Square since the end of WWII and what it reveals of the intriguing relation between the everydayness of commemorative space while “it is not at work” and the making of new forms of urban space.

Forgetting the Cenotaph: Monument Found in Car Park, Modern Urban Garden, and Hong Kong Festival Playground As most of the statues were not able to return to the Statue Square, the postwar Hong Kong government had to decide what to do with the empty lot. In 1950, the northwest part of the Square, that is, the area beside the Cenotaph, and the northeast part of the Square were turned into a temporary car park under the permission of HSBC to meet the

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increasing demand of parking space in the Central of Hong Kong111 (Fig. 3.5). This action actually violated the original agreement between HSBC and the colonial government in 1901 where “Statue Square should be maintained as large open space in the center of Victoria City.”112 Moreover, the British residents in the colony expressed discomfort with the contrast between the Square’s previous and current use. As a result, the Cenotaph, the only remaining imperial artifact from the old Statue Square, provided a precise point of such sharp contrast. In an editorial column in the Hongkong Telegraph on September 29, 1950, the author, a British, criticized the conversion: A square that once was our civic pride, scene of ceremony and memoryawakening occasions in inspiring surroundings, threatens to become an object of civic shame. The Cenotaph must suffer in dignity in spite of the very natural effort to offer some protection.113

The metaphor that personified the Cenotaph as a suffering person exemplifies the disappointment over the loss of the imperial civicness in the new era. As discussed previously, the Cenotaph, even as it continued to function as a major war commemorative structure, was remembered and visible only on the special occasions of Liberation Day Ceremony and Remembrance Sunday celebrations. Two big construction projects completed in the 1960s further altered the nature of the spatial context of the Cenotaph: the renewal of Statue Square as a modernist urban garden and the construction of the Memorial Shrine in the City Hall, on which I will elaborate in the next session. Both projects further weakened the visibility of the Cenotaph. Robert Musil’s famous claim about monument seems to apply here: a monument is immune to public attention and often, despite its huge size and long-enduring materiality, invisible. The cause of invisibility of the Cenotaph may lie on the reconceptualization of public space in central Hong Kong in the 1960s. 111 See “Memo from the Public Works Department to the Colonial Secretary (30th),” June 1950, Hong Kong Public Records Office, Hong Kong Special Administrative Region, China, file number: HONG KONGRS 337-3-1. 112 Tam, “Public Space and British Colonial Power: The Transformation of Hong Kong Statue Square, 1890s–1970s,” 88. 113 “Statue Square Desolation,” Hongkong Telegraph, September 29, 1950.

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Fig. 3.5 “Statue Square as Car Park” (Source Photograph of Statue Square, 1950s, Hong Kong Public Records Office, Hong Kong Special Administrative Region, China, file number: HKRS70-3-364)

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Turning the Statue Square into a temporary car park was after all a makeshift arrangement to manage the war-blazed vacancy of the erstwhile site of royal civic pride. While the agreement between HSBC and the colonial government to keep an open space for the public use in central Hong Kong was still in force, the plan to renew the Square did not happen after the end of WWII. Meanwhile, a bit further toward the harbor side, a large-scale reclamation project took place between 1953 and 1968.114 On this piece of newly reclaimed land, Edinburgh Place, a large public square, which includes the new Queen’s Pier (completed in 1954), the Memorial Gardens (opened in 1956), and the secondgeneration City Hall (completed in 1962), gradually took its shape. These new modernist “monuments” were to transform fundamentally the “classical” impression of the Statue Square, which consisted mainly of bank buildings and club buildings either of Classism (the Hong Kong Club and the Supreme Court Building) or of Art Deco (HSBC headquarter and Bank of China headquarter) style. Opened in 1962, City Hall even held royal rituals, “such as inaugural ceremonies of new governors sent by Her Majesty and to welcome the Queen, princes and princesses.”115 The Statue Square and the Cenotaph, however, still lack long-term planning. Proposals were made to the government to build an underground car park to solve the problem of deficiency of parking space, while leaving out the empty space above it for civic use. In 1964, an agreement was finally reached between HSBC and the government. Considering that “now [a] multi-storey car park has been constructed, and Murray barracks have been laid out as an open air car park, which is still not fully used,” new gardens must be built on Statue Square, whose reconstruction costs were also to be shared by both parties.116 The decision was regarded by the Chinese community as a praiseworthy move of HSBC to open its “private property” for public use. However, some Chinese newspapers also pushed the government to

114 Hong Kong Government, A Historical and Architectural Appraisal of Queen’s Pier, Central, Annex B (Hong Kong: The Government of Hong Kong Special Administrative Region, September 27, 2007). 115 Charlie Q. L. Xue, Hong Kong Architecture 1945–2015: From Colonial to Global (Singapore: Springer Singapore, 2016), 45. 116 See “Draft Press Release of New Public Garden for Statue Square,” 1964, Hong Kong Public Records Office, Hong Kong Special Administrative Region, China, file number: HONG KONGRS70-3-364.

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consider other similar suggestions repeatedly made by residents. On July 10, 1964, Sing Tao Man Pao reported that local Chinese residents argued that the cricket ground not far from Statue Square should be converted into a public playground or a public park, but no response was forthcoming from the government so far.117 In 1965, an article in Wah Kiu Yat Po, a Chinese newspaper that spoke for the elite business class in Hong Kong, also suggested additional gardens in various parts of Hong Kong in the future.118 These reports showed at least part of the public voices to transform previously “private” and class-exclusive space to public use. The Cenotaph, which had been a part of the ritual space for the British residents in Hong Kong during the prewar period, was now in a square whose public character was emphasized. This square had easy accessibility and was used by the commoners of the city. In September 1965, the Urban Council finally commissioned two architects to redevelop the Statue Square into a public garden—the British Alan Fitch (date unknown) of Messrs (who also co-designed the Memorial Gardens in the City Hall) and the local Szeto Wai (1913–1991) of Chartered Architects and Engineers for the general design. The Cenotaph, around which the green area would be extended from the north side of Chater Road to the west, was also integrated into the overall design of the garden. On the basis of the design concept, three elements in the garden were highlighted, namely, “paved walks with shelters, grassed areas with trees, and a generous use of water to give the whole area special interest and an atmosphere of coolness and serenity.”119 In an article titled “Garden Oasis for Central Hong Kong” written by the architects in the journal The Far East Architect and Builder, October 1965, the effects of the three elements are described as follows: There will be three major fountains. The one on the northern side of Chater Road will be of a type new to Hong Kong. …On the southern portion of the garden will be two fountain walls, against which powerful

117 “Public Garden to Be Built in Statue Square,” Sing Tao Man Pao, July 10, 1964,

Hong Kong Public Records Office, Hong Kong Special Administrative Region, China, file number: HONG KONGRS70-3-364. 118 “More Gardens and Public Squares for Hong Kong,” in Wah Kiu Yat Po, September 24, 1965, Hong Kong Public Records Office, Hong Kong Special Administrative Region, China, file number: HONG KONGRS70-3-364. 119 “More Gardens and Public Squares for Hong Kong.”

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jets will shoot streams of water…. The undulating surface will give a waterfall effect as the water travels down the wall. …There will be four other pools which will have small bubble jets with colour change lights. Columns supporting the shelters will also be clad in this (stainless steel) material. The shelters will have upswept curved roofs, the underside of which will be faced in bronze glass mosaic tiles, lit by spotlights at night. About 35 large trees, each 15 ft. high, will be brought from the Victoria Park area for planting in the main walk of the garden, and about 250 small trees will be planted in small close groups to provide a self-protective screen against strong winds from the seaward side, particularly during typhoons.120

Arguably, the idea of making an “urban oasis” amid the concrete jungle of Hong Kong, with all the new materials and lightening and water-jetting technologies, echoed the long-term acclimatization process of the Hong Kong Island since the early colonial years. “Acclimatization” is a term used today largely for exotic plant and animal management. The term refers to a wide range of meanings during the French and British colonization in the nineteenth century.121 Michael Osborne noted, “In the British sphere, the term tended to signify a transfer of so-called exotic organisms from one location to another with a similar climate.”122 British colonizers began to build parks and gardens in tropical Hong Kong not long after their settlement. The construction of Hong Kong Botanic Garden in 1871 at the mid-levels, not far from the Central, was an early example for this adaptation or creation of a cool and thus healthy environment for the European communities. The three major elements of the Statue Square Garden—shelter, water, and tree—resonated with the famous Hippocratic

120 See “Garden Oasis for Central Hong Kong,” The Far East Architect and Builder, October 1965. Materials included in Hong Kong Public Records Office, Hong Kong Special Administrative Region, China, file numebr: HONG KONGRS70-3-364, excerpts from the article. 121 Michael A. Osborne, “Acclimatizing the World: A History of the Paradigmatic Colonial Science,” Osiris 15 (2000): 137. 122 Osborne, “Acclimatizing the World: A History of the Paradigmatic Colonial Science,” 137.

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treatise “Airs, Waters, Places,” which influenced the French acclimatization theory in the nineteenth century.123 Inspired by the famous “Garden City” concept theorized by Ebenezer Howard in 1898 in the UK, a company called Kowloon Tong and New Territories Development Co. had already initiated a “Kowloon Tong Garden City Plan” in 1922.124 The “Garden City” movement was born out of a time of rapid industrialization and urbanization in Europe when worries about the threats on public health—especially the health of city laborers—caused by the deterioration of the urban environment increased.125 The movement proposed a medium-sized city that included commercial and residential sections surrounded by abundant recreational and leisure space. The “garden city” idea became popular in Europe during the nineteenth and twentieth centuries and spread widely in the rest of the world after WWII.126 “Airs, Waters, Places,” all three elements spoke to the control of temperature and adjustment to windy and rainy climates. The plantings at the garden ranged from semi-mature and medium-sized trees to palms, indoor plants, shrubs, and seasonal flowers. Many of them were transplanted from the New Territories.127 Moreover, all trees and plants were labeled by their common Chinese and English as well as the scientific names.128 In a report in the South China Morning Post on May 27, 1966, Mr. Alan Fitch responded to a criticism on the non-Western, non-Chinese style of shelters, which many people referred to as “Thai bus shelters,” saying, “The design had been adopted for a practical reason as well as being symbolic of the East.” He added, “The design of the curbed roof allowed the heat to pass to the peaked part of the shelter and out through

123 Osborne, “Acclimatizing the World: A History of the Paradigmatic Colonial Science,” 138. 124 See Pei-ran He, Challenges for an Evolving City: 160 Years of Port and Land Development in Hong Kong, first ed. (Hong Kong: Commercial, 2004). 125 See Ebenezer Howard, Garden Cities of To-morrow (S. Sonnenschein & Co, 1902). 126 In Hong Kong, the large scale. 127 See list of plantings, “Plantings at Statue Square Garden,” 1966, Hong Kong Public Records Office, Hong Kong Special Administrative Region, China, file number: HONG KONGRS70-3-364. 128 See “Trees Transplanted,” in “Opening of new Statue Square,” May 1966, Hong Kong Public Records Office, Hong Kong Special Administrative Region, China, file number: HONG KONGRS70-3-364.

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the holes. Under the curved part of the roof, the temperature could be about 15 °F lower than under the peaked part.”129 The government considered the development of the Statue Square garden a starting point, claiming that “presently almost 1,100 acres of land devoted to parks, gardens, sports grounds, and other recreational areas” was already secured. They also promised that, in the future, this number would increase “by 230 acres” with “more than 100 additional recreational areas.” Individual plans for these areas include “50 new parks and gardens; 70 playgrounds; 75 basketball, volleyball, and badminton courts; four running tracks; four tennis courts; and three children’s libraries.”130 The Statue Square Garden, probably no longer an overt imperialist scheme of marginalizing and altering “indigenous ecosystems and peoples,”131 may still be a part of the modernization project of public space in the colonial urban planning agenda. On May 26, 1966, the opening ceremony of the new Statue Square was held. Hong Kong Governor David Trench (1915–1988) unveiled the commemorative plaque, gave a speech, and turned on the new fountains on the square. The government press release described the garden as “a boon to the general public, especially office workers in the business center of Victoria and will also provide an attraction for tourists” as “there is no perimeter railings and the gardens will be open to the public at all times.”132 David Trench mentioned WWII’s influence on the Square in his speech. The last war saw invasion of the old Statue Square by temporary hutments, which lingered on into the fifties; Queen Victoria’s statue itself first disappeared during the war, was re-discovered, and then, in post-war years, found a new and permanent home in Victoria Park… And so it gives me particular pleasure to be associated with the Chief Manager of the 129 “New Statue Square ‘A Departure From Traditional Lawns,’” South China Morning Post , May 27, 1966. 130 See “Feasibility of Flatter Playing Areas to Be Investigated,” in “Opening of new Statue Square,” May 1966, Hong Kong Public Records Office, Hong Kong Special Administrative Region, China, file number: HONG KONGRS70-3-364. 131 Osborne, “Acclimatizing the World: A History of the Paradigmatic Colonial Science,” 135. 132 See “Opening of New Statue Square, H.E. The Governor to Unveil Commemorative Plaque,” May 24, 1966, Hong Kong Public Records Office, Hong Kong Special Administrative Region, China, file number: HONG KONGRS70-3-364.

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Bank today at this ceremony, which marks the return of Statue Square to the original concept of a permanent open space, and one which is fully accessible to the public and designed for their use and enjoyment.133

The speech by Mr. J. A. H. Saunders (1917–2002), chief manager of HSBC, acknowledged the successful reopening of the Statue Square and the bank’s prosperity as a result of the joint force between “the goodwill of the people of Hong Kong” and the colonial “government’s support for nearly 100 years.”134 After its opening, the garden was not only a space for public recreation but also for the promotion of the ideal of public order. Two years before the opening of the garden, a reader (probably British) sent a letter to the South China Morning Post on July 14, 1964, expressing concern over the hygienic condition of the square. He/She asked if the colonial Cricket Club should not be moved away from the square once the square opened. The letter reads: “With the Cricket Club we can at least be assured that this pleasant oasis will not become littered with discarded food wrappers, ice cream and cigarette cartons, et cetera, ad nauseam, which it is feared will be the case with any space thrown open to the general public.”135 Such forebodings notwithstanding, the garden was designed to be a modern open space, marking a departure from traditional lawns and railings and signs warning the public to “keep off the grass.” As the government release on the opening of the new square puts it, “The whole layout is designed for the use and enjoyment of the maximum number of people without too much danger of the whole coming to any harm.”136 133 “Opening of New Statue Square, H.E. The Governor to Unveil Commemorative Plaque,” and “Hong Kong Government Daily Information Bulletin Supplement,” May 26, 1966, Hong Kong Public Records Office, Hong Kong Special Administrative Region, China, file number: HONG KONGRS70-3-364. 134 “Opening of New Statue Square, H.E. The Governor to Unveil Commemorative Plaque,” and “Hong Kong Government Daily Information Bulletin Supplement,” and “Opening of New Statue Square, Address of Mr. J. A. H. Saunders,” May 26, 1966, Hong Kong Public Records Office, Hong Kong Special Administrative Region, China, file number: HONG KONGRS70-3-364. 135 “Statue Square Garden—an anonymity letter to the editor of South China Morning Post ,” July 14, 1964, Hong Kong Public Records Office, Hong Kong Special Administrative Region, China, file number: HONG KONGRS70-3-364. 136 See “Opening of New Statue Square by H.E. The Governor,” May 26, 1966, Hong Kong Public Records Office, Hong Kong Special Administrative Region, China, file number: HONG KONGRS70-3-364.

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In an interview with the newspaper Hong Kong Star in early June, a week after the opening of the garden, Mr. S. H. Lim (date unknown), assistant secretary of the Urban Services Department, Amenities Section admitted that as “the park is open 24 hours, inevitably that (sic) litter— ice-cream cups and paper—is found.” However, he continued, “The four park keepers have so far found no difficulty in their job as the public tend to respect and observe public utility regulations” and “the cleanliness and order of the place depend on people’s care for their own public recreational facilities.”137 The reopening of the Statue Square brought huge changes to the square and the Cenotaph. The latter became isolated, decontextualized, and thus forgotten in the narrative of the Statue Square, wherein the beauty, cleanliness, and everyday order of the urban garden became the major attractions, in place of its former symbolism that speaks to colonial loyalty. When the square was used as a temporary car park in the early postwar years, the area had become a space devoid of meaning and significance. However, the new Statue Square Garden managed to become a public space for civic use, no longer in service of the British upper class in their social activities (Hong Kong Club), recreation (Hong Kong Cricket Club), expression of nationalism (the Cenotaph), and respect for the Royal families (the statues). Now the space was supposed to serve “everyone,” be they British, Chinese, or other communities of all classes in Hong Kong. The Statue Square also became a showroom of new technologies. In 1965, a MK 24 Spitfire in RAF colors was on display on one of the four grass areas of the Cenotaph on Battle of Britain Day (September 13, 1965).138 In 1968, a colored wireless television set was introduced into the Statue Square for unknown use by the general public. Based on a report in the South China Morning Post in June 1968, “the set, together with other six receivers for black and white pictures, have

137 “Waterfront Garden Popular,” Hong Kong Star, June 1, 1966, Hong Kong Public Records Office, Hong Kong Special Administrative Region, China, file number: HONG KONGRS70-3-364. 138 “Spitfire on Display at the Cenotaph,” September 13, 1965, accessed April 19, 2018, at: https://gwulo.com/atom/11554.

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been presented to the Urban Council by Lisonda Limited, Philips’ agents in Hong Kong, for installation at public parks.”139 This transformation of the Statue Square gained further significance after the most disquiet time of postwar Hong Kong. Only one month before the opening of the new Statue Square Garden, serious social upheaval caused by dissatisfaction from the Chinese working class broke out. The 1966 and 1967 riots brought waves of demonstrations, violent confrontations between the government and young students and workers, strikes of factory workers clamoring for improvements in working condition and welfare around the whole city. Anti-colonial sentiments caused by the prevalent corruption of the police system and inequality in wealth distribution combined with the spillover of the Cultural Revolution in Communist China to permeate Hong Kong society.140 The legitimacy of the colonial government came under question once again. In an effort to quell social unrests, the colonial government initiated numerous civil infrastructure projects such as public housing and facilities, resettlement estates, city halls, libraries, sport complexes, hospitals and schools.141 The new urban landscape, which set the tone for the development of Hong Kong city in the next decades, conveyed a new image of a modern and ordered city with its (predominantly young) population who had just been baptized in extremist anti-establishment movements on the street. Noticeably, the starting point of the 1966 Riots was precisely next to the Statue Square, further down toward the harbor on the same reclamation land, the Star Ferry Pier. During the social activities that protested against the planned demolition of Queen’s Pier in the controversial Central Waterfront redevelopment project in 2006, local media regarded the Star Ferry pier “as having once been the ‘seedbed of social activism’” in Hong Kong based on its relation with the events of 1966:

139 “Color TV at Statue Square,” South China Morning Post , June 28, 1968, Hong Kong Public Records Office, Hong Kong Special Administrative Region, China, file number: HONG KONGRS70-3-364. 140 It is of course still controversial even until the present to call the social unrests “riots,” which were defined as such and condemned by the British Hong Kong government while pro-PRC media in Hong Kong, such as Ta Kung Pao and Wen Wei Po, called the actions and movements “patriotic” and “heroic” and fully supported the protestors. 141 Xue, Hong Kong Architecture 1945–2015: From Colonial to Global, 41.

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On April 4, 1966, a twenty-five-year-old man So Sau-chong staged a hunger strike outside the Star Ferry concourse in protest against a fare increase of 5 cents to use the ferry. He was arrested the next day, prompting thousands of young people to take to the streets in a mass riot. This event provoked the first mass protests involving many young people confronting a local issue, which subsequently led to a host of social reforms by the colonial government.142

The disturbances in 1966 (and soon more upheavals in 1967) urged the government to reconsider its relation with local youth and work to stabilize the society by tackling issues of youth on institutional levels.143 Thus, Mr. A. de O. Sales (1920–2020), Chairman of the Parks, Recreation, and Amenities Select Committee, Urban Council, further underlined the Statue Square’s meaning for the youth in his speech during the opening ceremony. The council will then be able to satisfy the need for public open spaces and also give to our youth the opportunities for active physical recreation without which education is not complete. For it is the rising generation that we must think; they can make or mar the progress of Hong Kong and the stability of our institutions.144

As a result, in the wake of the 1966–1967 riots, the Statue Square began to play its role as an important site where youth could have “active physical recreation.” The colonial government launched the first Festival of Hong Kong which lasted for a whole week in December

142 Quoted in Agnes Shuk-mei Ku, “Remaking Places and Fashioning an Opposition Discourse: Struggle over the Star Ferry Pier and the Queen’s Pier in Hong Kong,” Environment and Planning D: Society and Space 30, no. 1 (2012): 12. 143 See Ming-wai Lau, “History of Youth Policy in Hong Kong,” accessed May 24, 2018, at: http://www.mwyo.org/assets/docs/history/History-of-Youth-Policy-in-HongKong.pdf. Measures included “(a) establish a formal channel for youth to participate in policymaking; and (b) set up a department dedicated to youth affairs or to appoint a Commissioner for Youth Affairs. These recommendations were not accepted, and the reasons given were limited resources and administrative difficulties.” 144 “History of Youth Policy in Hong Kong,” and “Opening of New Statue Square, Speech by Mr. A. de O. Sales,” May 26, 1966, Hong Kong Public Records Office, Hong Kong Special Administrative Region, China, file number: HONG KONGRS70-3-364.

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1969 “to reward the beginnings of a new sense of community in its residents.”145 Many entertainment and leisure programs, including musical and sporting events, exhibitions, beauty contests, parades, youth rallies, and special displays, were organized in open public spaces around Hong Kong Island, Kowloon, and the New Territories. The political intention of these a-political activities was obvious at this particular historical moment. The Festival aimed to “cultivate a Hong Kong identity through such events…by encouraging consumerism as a contrast to the Socialism in China.”146 The Statue Square became an ideal space for the performances of the Festival. The huge fountain, north to Chater Road and west to the Cenotaph, was turned into an above-water stage for various kinds of shows. Hundreds of festival visitors roamed the square, which was decorated with lanterns, colored banners, and temporary showgrounds. Although the festival might have successfully diverted the public’s attention from the street riots, the eager participation of Hong Kong residents also caused another kind of public disorder. On December 16, 1969, the newspaper The Star used the title “What a Mess!” to report on the state of the people-trampled Statue Square after the festival. Using a photo captioned “Part of the ‘wrecked’ Statue Square,” the report describes the havoc on the site: Statue Square will not be the same again for at least another four months as all flowers and shrubs have been trampled to the ground by record crowds who turned out to watch the Festival of Hong Kong activities. Branches of most trees were ripped off by people who climbed on them to get a better view of the performances.

If the local English newspapers spoke with the snobbery of the expats or the Chinese elites in reproaching the misbehaviors of grassroot participants of the festival, Tai Kung Po, the leftist newspaper, which usually represented voices from below, also reported two cases of sexual harassment of young girls by young men on the Statue Square during the

145 Information Services Department, “Chapter 10: Bounding into the ‘70s’,” GIS through the Years, Information Services Department, accessed April 19, 2018, at: http:// www.info.gov.HongKong/isd/40th/10.html. 146 John M. Carroll, A Concise History of Hong Kong (Lanham: Rowman & Littlefield, 2007), 172.

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“Beauty Contest” and “Carnival” of the 1969 Hong Kong Festival.147 The estimated total cost for the chaos on Statue Square was HKD 50,000, including all the damaged plants, trees, and flowerpots. When asked by The China Mail if the Statue Square would still be one of the activity venues for 1971s Hong Kong Festival, Mr. N. B. M. Whitley, the festival coordinator, was unsure about the Urban Council’s decision and said, “his committee will probably suggest to the urban council that fences and barriers be erected to protect the plants and grass.”148 Thus, the festival somehow smashed the idealized notion of putting the square to public use. At the same time, it could be argued that for all the misdemeanor that were reported on the Statue Square, the Festival had served a useful purpose of a mirror that reflected the lack of manners among the Hong Kong populace. Wrongs were done and lessons were learned, or so it was claimed. It will be noted, however, that the Cenotaph played no visible part in the festivities of that week. None of the images that capture the gaiety of the Festival on the Square included the gray stone monument. Although the Cenotaph did not add to the merry atmosphere of the celebrating people, the number of visitors in the garden increased, leading to another change. The renewed Statue Square brought to the Cenotaph the question of accessibility of the grass area around the Cenotaph, which now became an issue of public space. The Cenotaph space was thus not only a ritual space for special occasions and social elites but also an everyday touristic space. Conflicts concerning the access to the Cenotaph grass areas and photo taking often arose. In July 1969, a citizen Mr. R. H. Lobo wrote to the government asking why members of the public were prevented by the staff of the urban services department from approaching the Cenotaph or from walking on the paved area around the Cenotaph. Mr. Sales, Chairman of the Recreation and Amenities Select Committee, clarified the regulations on walking around the Cenotaph: The Department derives authority for restricting the public within this area from By-law 29 of the Pleasure Grounds By-laws which prohibits unauthorized persons from going on or across the grass within the Cenotaph site. It also prohibits loitering in the area and denies the public the right to sit or lie down on the steps of the Cenotaph or upon any kerb in or surrounding 147 “Seqing fengqi jingren: Fating ri shen wu zong: Qizhong liang zong feili an shi ‘Xianggang jie’ chanwu,” Tai Kung Po, December 17, 1969. 148 “Venue Doubt for Festival,” The China Mail , August 19, 1970.

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the Cenotaph site. I am advised however that the law doesn’t prevent the public from approaching the Cenotaph or from walking on the paved area surrounding it. The department assures me that fresh instructions have been issued to its staff which will clarify the position and at the same time ensure that the dignity of this memorial to the dead is preserved.149

In February 1970, another reader of the South China Morning Post , Mrs. Peggy Mark, wrote a complaint letter about a rude interference of her photo shooting with her families at the Cenotaph and the garden by a staff of the Urban Services Department. The staff told them that they had no right to take pictures at the memorial statue.150 The reply of P. Bishop, Assistant Director, Recreation and Amenities Urban Services Department, showed that the authority was confident of the correctness of the regulations that “the park-keeper on duty at the Cenotaph has had instructions to regard photography in this area as ‘loitering,’ and he was therefore only doing his duty in stopping Mrs. Mark.”151 These complaints showed that discerning the line to keep the dignity of the memorial was a delicate business given the Statue Square Garden was allegedly open to all. However, rules were immediately brought to bear once the line was touched. As if being surrounded by an invisible circle of rules, the Cenotaph epitomized the subtlety of “public-ness” implied in the discourse of Statue Square.152 From a tourist’s eye, the Cenotaph was no longer a sacred space but a meaning-indifferent monument for the background of photo taking.

Reinterpreting the Glorious Dead: The Remembrance Garden in the City Hall Another important change in the making of war monument in the postwar Hong Kong was the construction of Remembrance Garden in 149 See “Reply by Mr. A. de O. Sales, Chairman of the Recreation and Amenities Select Committee,” 1969, Hong Kong Public Records Office, Hong Kong Special Administrative Region, China, file number: HONG KONGRS70-3-364, Question No. 2 (7.1.69). 150 “Angry Shutter-Bug,” South China Morning Post , February 12, 1970. 151 “The Cenotaph,” South China Morning Post , February 14, 1970. 152 A later example is the promotion of “Keep Hong Kong Clean” Campaign in the 1970s and 1980s. Images of Statue Square appear again in, for example, promotion TV ad as an archetype of public space in Hong Kong. See “Keep Hong Kong Clean 1968,” published by ilove-sally. com, accessed April 19, 2018, at: https://www.youtube.com/ watch?v=zKIV8cx5VGo.

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the City Hall Square, which, with its close proximity to the Cenotaph, further marginalized it. Replacing the mimetic images and royal figures that could not easily evoke resonance in postwar Hong Kong, modernist buildings devoid of overt ideological message began filling in the space around instead. The construction of the new City Hall was a representative move of the “modernization” of the waterfront landscape. The purpose of rebuilding the City Hall echoed clearly in visual and literal senses with the shift of colonial space-making after WWII. In 1956, Alan Fitch, one of the designers of the Statue Square Garden, also participated in the design of the City Hall, which was opened in 1962. The official website of the City Hall introduces its history: The old City Hall, built by public contributions in 1869, was a two-storey building with European style colonnades and archways. The building was totally demolished in 1947. During the post-war reconstruction, the idea of rebuilding the City Hall was nurtured due to an imminent need for the revival of culture….Its classical Bauhaus style with clean lines is a bold deviation from the magnificent Renaissance style of the old City Hall. It has not only greatly enhanced the status of the architectural profession in Hong Kong but has also taken on the role of popularizing arts activities in Hong Kong, promoting eastern and western cultures, as well as expanding the parameters of community activities. (Fig. 3.6)

When the project of the new City Hall was “in the embryonic stage,” former Hong Kong Governor Alexander Grantham received a request from the committee members of The Hong Kong Volunteer Defense Corps, or later known as Royal Hong Kong Regiment, to erect a memorial for Hong Kong Government’s own fighting force and the civil force who sacrificed in the defense of Hong Kong, regardless of their race or religion.153 The form and content of the Statue Square had undergone huge transformations after the war. Thus, the lone-standing Cenotaph with its narrow commemorative focus was noticed. Governor Grantham soon accepted the proposal on the condition that the funding for the memorial had to be provided by the organizing committee. Call for funding in Hong Kong and abroad met with enthusiastic response and generous donations. Building a memorial garden with a Shrine in front 153 “Hong Kong’s Tribute to Her Glorious Dead,” in brochure for “Formal Opening Ceremony of Garden of Remembrance, The Shrine, Volunteer Memorial Gates, August 30, 1962, Liberation Day.”

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Fig. 3.6 City Hall Memorial Garden in the 1960s (Source “City Hall High Block,” 1960s, Architectural Services Department, at: https://www.archsd.gov. hk/archsd/html/teachingkits/tk3/central/accessibleversion/en/acc_city_hall/ 1960s.html)

of the City Hall main building was then decided. In 1962, the formal opening ceremony of the “Garden of Remembrance” was held on the Liberation Day of Hong Kong, August 30. The garden consists of two commemorative structures—the Volunteer Memorial Gates and a Shrine. In line with the modernist design of the City Hall, the garden, the Gates, and the Shrine were all designed in concise style with only little symbolism related to the British Empire. The chief designers of the Garden were A. M. J Wright (1929–2018) and H. J. Tebbutt (date unknown)—two British architects who were active in postwar Hong Kong.154 On the unveiling ceremony day, Governor Robert Black received the silver key to open the door to the Shrine from the Manager of the City Hall, marking its official opening to the public. Similar to Lutyens’ original design of the Cenotaph, it was intended to include in the surrounding of the new memorial space commemorating 154 A. M. J. Wright is best remembered for his contribution to the design of Hong Kong’s public housing and other infrastructural projects in the colony since the 1960s.

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objects from all religions and races whose members were known to have sacrificed for the Empire. However, the new garden was designed to be open to various kinds of interpretations. This is because, first, the use of the imperial symbolism was limited. Unlike the Cenotaph, which is a lone and tall standing monument for people to look up to, or a tomb (though empty) for people to mourn over through specific rituals, the garden forms a gathering public area for ritualistic moments and everyday life. The differences between the two are evident. The official descriptions of the Gates and Gardens also emphasize their simplicity and openness to the public: Here would be the two sets of Volunteer Memorial Gates, dedicated to all those who had laid down their lives in the service of Hong Kong, irrespective of whether they had carried arms or not. This hallowed plot would be open to all, to enter, to revere and to meditate. In the center of this sacred Garden, there would be a Shrine, a plain humble edifice with its walls pointing in all directions and to all parts of the world from whence had come not only Hong Kong’s loyal sons and daughters, but from whence had come all those, without any ties in Colony, who had fought side by side with them. Inside the Shrine, there would be a place on its walls for commemorative plaques which would record, for all to see, the various units and formations which had taken part in the defense of Hong Kong.155

Second, the new memorial garden highlighted the contribution of local Hong Kong residents to the war, regardless of their ethnic background: Chinese, British, or other groups. If the Cenotaph commemorated “the glorious dead” from different places and times, then the memorial garden is for here and now. Again unlike the Cenotaph, which was dedicated to the nameless dead, a Roll of Honor was placed inside the Shrine, linking the garden to the individuals in Hong Kong. The committee claimed that it had spared no effort in collecting the names of the dead on the roll.156 The abstract “glorious dead” was transformed to concrete individuals. Thus, this new garden endeavored to nurture an “indirect loyalty” to the 155 “Memorial Shrine in the City Hall—Opening Ceremony,” 1962, Hong Kong Public Records Office, Hong Kong Special Administrative Region, China, file number: HKRS411-10465. 156 See “Hong Kong’s Tribute to Her Glorious Dead.”

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Empire, meaning the loyalty of colonial subjects was not induced directly toward the Empire but to the colony itself as home and the citizens of the colony as family members. In this way, the colony became an agency of its own devotion to the imperial subjectivity. From the Cenotaph to the Garden of Remembrance, the reinterpretation of “the glorious dead” can also be considered as a witness to the change of relation between the Empire and its colony in the spatial change of most symbolic space in the city. However, the memorial garden was not a key ceremony venue for the war commemorative rituals until after 1997.

Conclusion: Other Visibilities and Invisibilities From the moment of its unveiling to the present day, the Cenotaph has remained largely the same in its physical form, except for the changes in the inscriptions. However, the discussion above has shown that the Cenotaph has transformed from a single, isolated monument to a public space, which, ironically, is largely invisible in multiple senses. In the beginning, the Cenotaph functioned mainly as the central space of commemorative rituals for state (in this case, the Hong Kong colonial government) use. As a replica of the Whitehall Cenotaph, it was supposed to create a visual continuum of the imperial war memory. This original purpose was interrupted first by another war and the collapse of the new colonizer, and then forgotten with the transformation of the relationship between the colonial government and the local Chinese public. Second, while the Cenotaph was and still is a part of the Statue Square, the Square has also mutated from a space for displaying the colony’s loyalty to London to a car park and then a city garden in the postwar years. The change of the Statue Square gradually weakened the connection between the Cenotaph and its original context, making it increasingly invisible and irrelevant. However, instead of simply concluding that the construction of the Statue Square Garden represents a kind of “decolonization” or democratization of public space, I argue that the modernist design and the public disciplines that accompanied its birth reveals a changed but continuous colonial strategy in cultivating obedient subjects. The renewed public visual environment spoke to a new “modern” identity of being a citizen of colonial Hong Kong. Instead of being loyal to the abstract and unfamiliar symbols of the British Empire, enjoying cleanliness, beautiful nature, and colorful fountains, with the precondition of maintaining public order, is important. The Statue Square Garden became a place for

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leisure and relaxation, but it also became an educational space wherein lessons of public manners were learned by its users. It is a theater wherein a “civilized” Hong Kong identity was performed and shaped. Furthermore, the new memorial garden at the City Hall also intended to make a more inclusive body of the object of Hong Kong’s own commemoration than the Cenotaph. Similar to the Chinese War Memorial, the City Hall did not replace the Cenotaph as the main site of war commemorative ceremonies. Yet, the Cenotaph was no longer the only commemorative space in the same area. Standing on the earliest and most central reclaimed land for almost 100 years, the Cenotaph has always been on the margins of the memory of Hong Kong. It was not until 2013 that the Cenotaph was listed as Declared Monument of Hong Kong, the highest possible level of antiquity protection in the city. Interestingly, at particular moments in history, the function of the Cenotaph was temporarily altered and became a ground for ad hoc rituals and public demonstrations. The 1984 Joint Declaration between China and Britain decided that Hong Kong’s sovereignty would be handed over to the Communist China in 1997. This declaration caused a general anxiety among Hong Kong residents about the city’s future. In 1985, gatherings were held in front of the Cenotaph to urge the Hong Kong Government to grant non-ethnic Chinese permanent residents of Hong Kong (a part of them were ex-servicemen) the right of adobe in the UK as well as British citizenship before the handover in face of their fears about possibly becoming stateless persons after 1997.157 In 1990, the Government finally responded to the request with “British Nationality (Hong Kong) Selection scheme,” granting registered British citizens status to those who met certain criteria. In 1989, this anxiety reached a peak when the Chinese pro-democratic student movements, which were ended by the state violence on June 4, were televised on Hong Kong television. This prospective postcolonial city was also shrouded in a rapidly spreading air of fear and grief. A picture in the journal Asia Weekly on June 25, 1989 showed how the public turned the Cenotaph to a monument to the “People’s Hero,” who died in the June Fourth crackdown in Beijing’s student movement. The picture shows the lower part of the Cenotaph, including the flagpoles, was full of (covered with) wreaths brought there by the public. 157 Hong Kong Legislative Council, Official Record of Proceedings, December 4, 1985, accessed July 15, 2018, at: http://library.legco.gov.hk:1443/record=b1030000.

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Two white elegiac couplets hanged on both sides of the flagpoles, while a piece of square white cloth, on which four Chinese characters “人民英雄 (People’s Hero)” were written, hanged on the lower central part facing the HSBC building, as if renaming the monument for the current context. In the foreground of the picture, the magazine pasted a blackened PRC national flag.158 When the feeling of “being a Hong Konger” has never been so pronounced, in a displaced expression, the imperial Cenotaph was refashioned as a new Hong Kong monument, intriguingly symbolizing the reinterpretation of the colony by the people themselves. Around 50 members of Hong Kong Association for Democracy and People’s Livelihood, together with two members of the British Parliament, even laid wreaths on the “new” monument to express their mourning.159 On July 3, around a thousand non-ethnic-Chinese Hong Kong residents also organized a rally to fight for the right of adobe in the UK for all Hong Kong residents in front of the Cenotaph.160 After the handover, there are major changes in the roll of public holiday in relation to the commemoration of WWII. On June 23, 1998, the Executive Council advised and the Chief Executive in Council ordered that two of the existing general holidays observed in 1997 and 1998, i.e., Sino-Japanese War Victory Day (SJWVD, the third Monday in August) and October 2 (the day after National Day) should be replaced by Labour Day (May 1) and the Buddha’s Birthday (the eighth day of the fourth lunar month) from 1999 onwards. However, as the Deputy Secretary for Education and Manpower stressed, although SJWVD would cease to be a general holiday, it would still be known as SJWVD to commemorate those who took part in the resistance movement and Hong Kong Special Administrative Region (HKSAR). The new government would not forget its history and continued to attach importance and respect to it to maintain the spirit of SJWVD. As a result, from 1998 onwards, an official ceremony is held annually on Chungyeung Festival—a traditional Chinese festival on the ninth day of the ninth month on the lunar calendar for showing respect to the elderly and ancestors—at the Memorial Shrine 158 See Photo by Leung Chi-yong, Asia Weekly, June 25, 1989. The original was Naoshi cha heise wuxingqi yishi “juelie”: fennu zhiyu jimou houlu. 159 “Min xie dao Heping jinianbei xianhua ying yiyuan yi dao Beijing sinan zhe,” Tai Kung Po, June 12, 1989. 160 “Yue qianming ju gang waiji renshi zhichi gang ren zhengqu ju ying quan zuo zai zhong qu Heping jinianbei qian juxingle jihui,” Tai Kung Po, July 3, 1989.

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of the City Hall to pay tribute to those who died in defense of Hong Kong.161 Accordingly, on Chungyeung Festival, the commemorative ceremony no longer invokes the Empire’s but Hong Kong SAR’s own war memory. The Chief Executive of HKSAR, senior government officials, representatives of the war veteran groups, civil servants, the Commonwealth Society members, students, and other concerned organizations are all invited to attend the ceremony. As the names of the veterans of pro-Communist veterans of East River Column Guerrilla (ERCG) were also added to the honor roll in the memorial shrine, they have been invited to attend the ceremony since 1997.162 The renaming of the Memorial Day and the inclusion of ERCG members to the ceremony were two examples of the post-1997 moves toward the integration of Hong Kong’s war ceremony to that of the People’s Republic of China, making both events part of the national narratives of war memories of Mainland China. Tam King-fai noted, “In 2005, the sixtieth anniversary of the liberation of Hong Kong, a large-scale celebration took place, with support from the National Committee of the People’s Political Consultative Conference. The celebrations included an exhibition on the history of the ERCGs.”163 However, the ceremony is not entirely open to the public. At the time of its design, the self-enclosed space of the memorial garden and the web-patterned memorial gate served well to prevent the audience outside from peeping inside. During the ceremony in 2013, I asked the staff about the reason for the isolation, and was told that the new ceremony was conducted in this way to preserve a solemn atmosphere, departing from the established practice of holding public ceremonies in relation to war commemoration in Hong Kong’s history in an open space, for all the distractions that the “inattentive public” might bring. The colonial tradition of the sounding at the ceremony, however, remained the same as in the Remembrance Sunday Ceremony, except for the addition of the Chinese national anthem. The visual obstruction of the ceremony

161 Legislative Council, “Bills Committee on Holidays (Amendment) Bill July 16, 1998,” August 21, 1998, accessed July 15, 2018, at: http://library.legco.gov.hk:1080/ articles/1082449.105216/1.HTML. 162 See King-fai Tam, Timothy Y. Tsu, and Sandra Wilson, Chinese and Japanese Films on the Second World War (Abingdon, Oxon; New York: Routledge, 2015), 75–76. 163 Tam, Tsu, and Wilson, Chinese and Japanese Films on the Second World War, 76.

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contrasts interestingly with the audio continuity of the ceremony procedure, creating a dislocated time and space loaded with symbols from past and present. In an interesting contrast, although the Remembrance Sunday Ceremony is no longer official, it continues to be organized mainly by Hong Kong Ex-Servicemen’s Association (HKESA) and the Royal British Legion (Hong Kong and China Branch). Accordingly, the flags, which were only flown at ceremonies rather than daily, were changed from those of the British to those of HKSAR, the People’s Republic of China (PRC), and HKESA. The service still follows the old fashion, with bagpipe performance by The Hong Kong Police Force Band, the bugler sounding of “Last Post,” followed initially by a two-minute silence and then by another bugler sounding of “Reveille.” As a multi-religious ceremony, the post-1997 Remembrance Sunday ritual includes major religious, namely, Anglican, Jewish, Muslim, Hindu, Taoist, Buddhist, and Confucian clerics and leaders in Hong Kong to give prayers and recitations.164 The sounding of Chinese National Anthem in the end of the ceremony signifies an intriguing trans-layered juxtaposition of the colonial practices (now devoid of its official status) and the post-handover “must-do” to pay respect and loyalty to the new sovereignty. A new change happened in 2015, when the PRC government under Xi Jin-ping forged a new narrative of the Sino-Japanese War as a part of its holistic national myth of China. This myth even integrated the previously much-downplayed history of anti-Japanese military actions by the Chinese Communist Party’s old enemy, the Nationalist Party, now in Taiwan. Therefore, two new national war memorial days were designated—one on September 3, the date when Japan officially signed the surrender to the Republic of China, and the other on December 13, for the mourning of those killed in the Nanking massacre—the largest human atrocity during the Sino-Japanese War. To follow suit, the Hong Kong government also announced on August 26, 2015 that official ceremonies would be held on both dates.165 In addition, a parade to commemorate the 70th Anniversary of the Victory of the Chinese People’s War of Resistance against 164 Brochure for Remembrance Sunday at Cenotaph, November 13, 2005. 165 Kang-chung Ng, “Two New Memorial Days to Be Observed to Mark China’s

Resistance during the Second World War,” South China Morning Post , August 27, 2014, accessed May 24, 2018, at: http://www.scmp.com/news/hong-kong/article/1581025/ two-new-memorial-days-be-observed-mark-chinas-resistance-during.

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Japanese Aggression was held on August 30, 2015. Fourteen youthuniformed groups and veterans (including those from ERCG) in Hong Kong constituted most of the parade. The parade venue was moved to Kowloon. Starting at Kowloon Park, the parade went through Haiphong, Canton, Salisbury, and Nathan Road then returned to Kowloon Park.166 Although the parade was not held annually but only for special occasions, the shift of ceremonial venue from Central in Hong Kong Island to Kowloon exemplified the invention of a new tradition in the making. People who are not happy with this new narrative regarded this integration and the affirmation of Hong Kong history into that of Mainland China as another proof of the authoritative regime’s encroachment on Hong Kong autonomy. Green Sense President Roy Tam Hoi-pong, an opponent of Hong Kong’s integration with the Mainland, said “Under the ‘one country, two systems’ principle, Hong Kong should be able to decide on its own whether to follow China in observing the memorial days.” At any rate, the Cenotaph seems to be destined to continue losing its visibility in Hong Kong’s spatial narrative.

Glossary Kwok Tak-wah 郭德華 pailau 牌樓 Showa-Hiroba 昭和広場 Sing Tao Man Pao 《星島晚報》 So Sau-chong 蘇守忠 Szeto Wai 司徒惠 Ta Kung Pao 《大公報》 Ts’o Seen-wan 曹善允 Wah Kiu Yat Po 《華僑日報》 Wen Wei Po 《文匯報》 Yasukuni Jinja 靖国神社 yinghun buxiu haoqi changcun 英魂不朽 浩氣長存

166 “Zhongguo renmin kangri zhanzheng shengli qishi zhounian jinian xunyou,” published by Boys Brigade Hong Kong, September 24, 2015, accessed May 24, 2018, at: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1NIzNYaaJEw.

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“Dead of Two World Wars Remembered.” South China Morning Post, November 11, 1974. “Despatches-Enclosure 9: Notes on the Siege of Hong Kong by Colonial Office.” April 23, 1942–September 28, 1943. National Archives, London, UK. File number: CO 129/590. “Draft Press Release of New Public Garden for Statue Square.” 1964. Hong Kong Public Records Office, Hong Kong Special Administrative Region, China. File number: HONG KONGRS70-3-364. Edkins, Jenny. “The Cenotaph.” In Trauma and the Memory of Politics, 60–72. Cambridge; New York: Cambridge University Press, 2003. England, Vaudine. “Who Was This Man Chater?” South China Morning Post, December 16, 2007. Accessed June 15, 2018. At: https://www.scmp.com/ node/619754. “Erection of Permanent Cenotaph.” 1919. National Archives, London, UK. File number: Work 20/139. Fawcett, Brian C. “The Chinese Labour Corps in France, 1917–1921.” Journal of the Royal Asiatic Society Hong Kong Branch 40 (2000): 33–111. “Feasibility of Flatter Playing Areas to Be Investigated.” In “Opening of New Statue Square.” May 1966. Hong Kong Public Records Office, Hong Kong Special Administrative Region, China. File number: HONG KONGRS70-3364. “Flags on Cenotaph.” May 8, 1929. National Archives, London, UK. File number: Work 20/305. “Garden Oasis for Central Hong Kong.” The Far East Architect and Builder, October 1965. Hong Kong Public Records Office, Hong Kong Special Administrative Region, China. File number: HONG KONGRS70-3-384. Geurst, Jeroen. Cemeteries of the Great War by Sir Edwin Lutyens. Rotterdam: 010, 2010. Grace, Helen. “Monuments and the Face of Time: Distortions of Scale and Asynchrony in Postcolonial Hong Kong.” Postcolonial Studies 10, no. 4 (2007): 467–483. Greenberg, Allan. Lutyens and the Modern Movement. London: Papadakis Publisher, 2007. Greenberg, Allan. “Lutyens’s Cenotaph.” Journal of the Society of Architectural Historians 48, no. 1 (1989): 5–23. Hayes, James. “A Short History of Military Volunteers in Hong Kong.” Journal of the Royal Asiatic Society Hong Kong Branch 11 (1971): 151–171. He, Pei-ran. Challenges for an Evolving City: 160 Years of Port and Land Development in Hong Kong. First edition. Hong Kong: Commercial, 2004. Henderson, Joan. “Heritage, Identity and Tourism in Hong Kong.” International Journal of Heritage Studies 7, no. 3 (2001): 219–235.

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“Holiday Bill 1946.” 1946. Hong Kong Legislative Council. Accessed July 15, 2018. At: http://library.legco.gov.hk:1443/record=b1030969. Hong Kong Government. A Historical and Architectural Appraisal of Queen’s Pier, Centra, Annex B. Hong Kong: The Government of Hong Kong Special Administrative Region, September 27, 2007. “Hong Kong Government Daily Information Bulletin Supplement.” May 26, 1966. Hong Kong Public Records Office, Hong Kong Special Administrative Region, China. File number: HONG KONGRS70-3-364. Hong Kong Legislative Council. “Flags on the Cenotaph.” October 16, 1924. Official Record of Proceedings, 1924.10.16. Accessed July 15, 2018. At: https://www.legco.gov.HongKong/1924/h241016.pdf. Hong Kong Legislative Council. Official Record of Proceedings, December 4, 1985. Accessed July 15, 2018. At: http://library.legco.gov.hk:1443/record= b1030000. “Hong Kong Remembers the Men Who Died in World Wars.” The Star, November 10, 1975. “Hong Kong’s Tribute to Her Glorious Dead.” In brochure for “Formal Opening Ceremony of Garden of Remembrance, The Shrine, Volunteer Memorial Gates, August 30, 1962, Liberation Day.” Howard, Ebenezer. Garden Cities of To-morrow. S. Sonnenschein & Co, 1902. Information Services Department. “Chapter 10: Bounding into the ‘70s’.” GIS through the Years. Accessed April 19, 2018. At: http://www.info.gov.Hon gKong/isd/40th/10.html . “Keep Hong Kong Clean 1968.” Published by ilove-sally. com. Accessed April 19, 2018. At: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zKIV8cx5VGo. Ku, Agnes Shuk-mei. “Remaking Places and Fashioning an Opposition Discourse: Struggle Over the Star Ferry Pier and the Queen’s Pier in Hong Kong.” Environment and Planning D: Society and Space 30, no. 1 (2012): 5–22. Kwong, Paul. Imperial to International: A History of St John’s Cathedral, Hong Kong. Foreword for Stuart Wolfendale. Hong Kong [China]: Hong Kong University Press, 2013. Lau, Ming-wai. “History of Youth Policy in Hong Kong.” Accessed May 24, 2018. At: http://hello.mingwailau.hk/wp-content/uploads/2016/09/ History-of-Youth-Policy-in-Hong-Kong.pdf. “Laying of Wreaths Cenotaph Ceremony.” 1937. National Archives, London, UK. File number: CO 323/1475/8. Legislative Council. “Bills Committee on Holidays (Amendment) Bill July 16, 1998.” August 21, 1998. Accessed July 15, 2018. At: http://library.legco. gov.hk:1080/articles/1082449.105216/1.HTML.

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Lu, Tracey L.-D. “Heritage Conservation in Post-colonial Hong Kong.” International Journal of Heritage Studies 15, nos. 2–3 (2009): 258–272. “Memo from the Public Works Department to the Colonial Secretary(30th).” June 1950. Hong Kong Public Records Office, Hong Kong Special Administrative Region, China. File number: HONG KONGRS 337-3-1. “Memorial Shrine in the City Hall—Opening Ceremony.” 1962. Hong Kong Public Records Office, Hong Kong Special Administrative Region, China. File number: HKRS41-1-10465. “Min xie dao Heping jinianbei xianhua ying yiyuan yi dao Beijing sinan zhe.” Tai Kung Po, June 12, 1989. “Miniature Cenotaph and Its Reproduction.” 1919–1929. National Archives, London, UK. File number: Work 20/205. “More Gardens and Public Squares for Hong Kong.” In Wah Kiu Yat Po, September 24, 1965. Hong Kong Public Records Office, Hong Kong Special Administrative Region, China. File number: HONG KONGRS70-3-364. Nanni, Giordano. The Colonisation of Time: Ritual, Routine and Resistance in the British Empire. Manchester: Manchester University Press. Print, 2012. “New Statue Square ‘A Departure From Traditional Lawns.’” South China Morning Post, May 27, 1966. Ng, Kang-chung. “Two New Memorial Days to Be Observed to Mark China’s Resistance during the Second World War.” South China Morning Post, August 27, 2014. Accessed May 24, 2018. At: http://www.scmp.com/news/hongkong/article/1581025/two-new-memorial-days-be-observed-mark-chinasresistance-during. “Opening of New Statue Square, Address of Mr. J.A. H. Saunders.” May 26, 1966. Hong Kong Public Records Office, Hong Kong Special Administrative Region, China. File number: HONG KONGRS70-3-364. “Opening of New Statue Square by H.E. The Governor.” May 26, 1966. Hong Kong Public Records Office, Hong Kong Special Administrative Region, China. File number: HONG KONGRS70-3-364. “Opening of New Statue Square, H.E. The Governor to Unveil Commemorative Plaque.” May 24, 1966. Hong Kong Public Records Office, Hong Kong Special Administrative Region, China. File number: HONG KONGRS70-3364. “Opening of New Statue Square, Speech by Mr. A. de O. Sales.” May 26, 1966. Hong Kong Public Records Office, Hong Kong Special Administrative Region, China. File number: HONG KONGRS70-3-364. “Opening of New Statue Square, Address of Mr. J. A. H. Saunders.” May 26, 1966. Hong Kong Public Records Office, Hong Kong Special Administrative Region, China. File number: HONG KONGRS70-3-364. Osborne, Michael A. “Acclimatizing the World: A History of the Paradigmatic Colonial Science.” Osiris 15 (2000): 135–151.

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“Ouzhou fengyun zheng ji zhong: Heping jinian qiaoqiao duguo.” Ta Kung Pao, November 12, 1939. Pepper, Suzanne. Keeping Democracy at Bay: Hong Kong and the Challenge of Chinese Political Reform. Rowman & Littlefield Publishers, 2007. “Plantings at Statue Square Garden.” 1966. Hong Kong Public Records Office, Hong Kong Special Administrative Region, China. File number: HONG KONGRS70-3-364. “Protest Rally Held Against Japan.” Hong Kong Standard, December 1973. “Public Garden to Be Built In Statue Square.” In Sing Tao Man Pao, July 14, 1964. Hong Kong Public Records Office, Hong Kong Special Administrative Region, China. File number: HONG KONGRS70-3-364. Ravi, Srilata. “Modernity, Imperialism and the Pleasures of Travel: The Continental Hotel in Saigon.” Asian Studies Review 32, no. 4 (2008): 475–490. “Remembrance Sunday 1958–1959.” 1958–1959. Hong Kong Public Records Office, Hong Kong Special Administrative Region, China. File number: HONG KONGRS41-1-9440. “Remembrance Sunday Ceremonies.” December 24, 1973–October 6, 1982. Hong Kong Public Records Office, Hong Kong Special Administrative Region, China. File number: HONG KONGRS163-13-20. “Remembrance Sunday: National Day of Remembrance for the Wars of 1914–18 & 1939–45.” 1946. Hong Kong Public Records Office, Hong Kong Special Administrative Region, China. File number: HONG KONGRS41-1-823. “Remembrance Sunday 1975 Plan of Positions at Cenotaph.” 1975. National Archives, London, UK. File number: HO 342/236. “Reply by Mr. A. de O. Sales, Chairman of the Recreation and Amenities Select Committee.” 1969. Hong Kong Public Records Office, Hong Kong Special Administrative Region, China. File number: HONG KONGRS70-3-364, Question No. 2 (7.1.69). Van Roosmalen, Pauline K. M. “Confronting Built Heritage: Shifting Perspectives on Colonial Architecture in Indonesia.” ABE Journal, no. 3 (2013): Urn:issn: 2275-6639. Scott, Ian. Political Change and the Crisis of Legitimacy in Hong Kong. Honululu: University of Hawaii Press, 1989. “Seqing fengqi jingren: Fating ri shen wu zong: Qizhong liang zong feili an shi ‘Xianggang jie’ chanwu.” Tai Kung Po, December 17, 1969. “‘Situation in Hong Kong’ note of MacDougall on Phyllis Harrop report to Eden.” May 27, 1942. National Archives, London, UK. File number: CO 129 590/23. Skelton, Tim, and Gerald Gliddon. Lutyens and the Great War. London: Frances Lincoln, 2008. “Spitfire on Display at the Cenotaph.” September 13, 1965. Accessed April 19, 2018. At: https://gwulo.com/atom/11554.

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“Statue Square Desolation.” Hongkong Telegraph, September 29, 1950. “Statue Square and the Cenotaph.” August 9, 1978. In Encl. 3: Cenotaph. National Archives, London, UK. File number: PRO-REF-080. “Statue Square Garden-an anonymity letter to the editor of South China Morning Post.” July 14, 1964. Hong Kong Public Records Office, Hong Kong Special Administrative Region, China. File number: HONG KONGRS70-3-364. Stevens, Keith. “British Chinese Labour Corps Labourers Buried in England.” Journal of the Royal Asiatic Society Hong Kong Branch 29 (1989): 390. STQRY. “Auckland War Memorial Museum.” Accessed March 16, 2018. At: https://discover.stqry.com/v/auckland-war-memorial-museum/s/63db91 69c2db8753ef79d394cad49780. Tam, King-fai, Timothy Y. Tsu, and Sandra Wilson. Chinese and Japanese Films on the Second World War. Abingdon, Oxon; New York: Routledge, 2015. Tam, Wing-sze. “Public Space and British Colonial Power: The Transformation of Hong Kong Statue Square, 1890s–1970s.” Master of Philosophy, Lingnan University, 2014. Teather, Elizabeth Kenworthy, and Chun-shing Chow. “Identity and Place: The Testament of Designated Heritage in Hong Kong.” International Journal of Heritage Studies 9, no. 2 (2003): 93–115. “Ten Recommendations made by the Public Monuments Committee Members at Their First Meeting.” August 28, 1946. Hong Kong Public Records Office, Hong Kong Special Administrative Region, China. File number: HONG KONGRS70-3-364. “The Cenotaph.” South China Morning Post, February 14, 1970. The Editors of Encyclopaedia Britannica. “Cenotaph.” Encyclopaedia Britannica. Encyclopaedia Britannica, Inc. October 1, 2008. Accessed July 15, 2018. At: www.britannica.com/technology/cenotaph. “The Letter from the Governor to the Duke of Devonshire (Unveiling of Cenotaph on Empire Day).” June 1, 1923. National Archives, London, UK. File number: K.G. C.O. 129/480/159. “The Temporary Cenotaph in Whitehall.” N.d. National Archives, London, UK. File number: CAB 24/84/84. “Trees Transplanted.” In “Opening of New Statue Square.” May 1966. Hong Kong Public Records Office, Hong Kong Special Administrative Region, China. File number: HONG KONGRS70-3-364. Tsang, Steve Yui-sang. A Modern History of Hong Kong. Hong Kong: Hong Kong University Press, 2004. Tsang, Steve Yui-sang. Democracy Shelved: Great Britain, China, and Attempts at Constitutional Reform in Hong Kong, 1945–1952 (East Asian Historical Monographs). New York: Oxford University Press, 1988.

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Tsang, Steve Yui-sang. Government and Politics. Hong Kong: Hong Kong University Press, 1995. Ts’o, Seen-wan. Ts’o Seen-wan boshi zhuisi lu. Hong Kong: Qiao sheng chuban she, 1956. “Venue Doubt for Festival.” The China Mail, August 19, 1970. “War Dead Honored.” Tiger Standard, November 14, 1966. Hong Kong Public Records Office, Hong Kong Special Administrative Region, China. File number: HONG KONGRS70-1-234. “War Shrine in Hyde Park.” 1918. National Archives, London, UK. File number: Work 16/26/8. “Waterfront Garden Popular.” Hong Kong Star, June 1, 1966. Hong Kong Public Records Office, Hong Kong Special Administrative Region, China. File number: HONG KONGRS70-3-364. Wilhide, Elizabeth. Sir Edwin Lutyens: Designing in the English Tradition. New York: Harry N. Abrams, 2000. Wolfendale, S. Imperial to International: A History of St John’s Cathedral Hong Kong. Hong Kong: Hong Kong University Press, 2013. Xie, Yong-guang. San nian ling ba ge yue de kunan. Hong Kong: Ming Pao Publication, 1994. Xu, Guo-qi. Strangers on the Western Front: Chinese Workers in the Great War. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 2011. Xue, Charlie Q. L. Hong Kong Architecture 1945–2015: From Colonial to Global. Singapore: Springer, 2016. “Yue qianming ju gang waiji renshi zhichi gang ren zhengqu ju ying quan zuo zai zhong qu Heping jinianbei qian juxingle jihui.” Tai Kung Po, July 3, 1989. “Zhongguo renmin kangri zhanzheng shengli qishi zhounian jinian xunyou.” Published by Boys Brigade Hong Kong. September 24, 2015. Accessed May 24, 2018. At: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1NIzNYaaJEw.

CHAPTER 4

Imagining Imaginarium in Taipei: From Taiwan Jinja to National Revolutionary Martyrs’ Shrine

Introduction: “Divine Space of National Martyrs” in Predicament National Revolutionary Martyrs’ Shrine (hereinafter referred to as the Martyrs’ Shrine unless otherwise noted) in Dazhi, Yuanshan Area of Taipei manifests the legitimacy and dignity of the Republic of China in Taiwan—even if its sovereign status is not widely recognized in the international community. The shrine complex consists of grand components in symmetrical forms, including wing rooms, bell towers, drum towers, shrine portals, civilian and military martyr shrines, and sanctuaries. The reliefs on the long-winding cloisters present 26 depictions of the most important battles, wars, and revolutionary achievements of the ROC and the Chinese Nationalist Party (Kuomintang or KMT) (Fig. 4.1). Among these depictions, ten are related to the early struggles during the establishment of the ROC (including the late Qing Dynasty uprisings, the 1911 Xinhai Revolution, and the Northern Expedition (beifa) that reunified China after the end of separatist warlord regimes), seven are related to the victories in the encirclement campaigns and battles against the Chinese Communist Party before, during, and after WWII, and nine are related to the battles against the Japanese invaders during WWII. These reliefs provide insights into the major narratives of the shrine, including the founding myths of the nation and the most revered © The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Nature Singapore Pte Ltd. 2020 L. Pan, Image, Imagination and Imaginarium, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-981-15-9674-2_4

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Fig. 4.1 National Martyrs’ Shrine in Taipei (Source Photo by the author)

sacrifices that contributed to the making of the country. These narratives, together with the layout and the style of the shrine, its location in the Yuan Mountain (yuanshan) area, and the performance of the guards, speak to an imagination of the ROC as the sole valid representative of the modern Chinese nation-state. Martyrs’ shrine, also called zhonglieci in Chinese, is a kind of Chinese war memorial that came to be in different places following the birth of the ROC in 1911. In Chinese history, ci or ancestral temples are used as spaces where a community or the later generations of a family reminisce about their deceased ancestors. Ci rituals are usually held in the spring, which represents a time of rebirth and sending off the old while welcoming the new.1 During the seasons of spring and autumn, ci serves as places for praying and worshiping. Some of them are even built beside the cemeteries of government officials. Similar to the Confucian philosophy of relating the present and the living with the past and the dead, the ci culture is closely related to the ideas of duty, loyalty, and filial piety,

1 See Gong yang zhuan huan ba nian.

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where subjects, subordinates, and descendants pay their respect and obeisance to their princes, seniors, and parents. In this sense, ci is a ritual space that maintain societal, communal, and familial hierarchical order. An early form of zhonglieci in China can be found in the original site of the Linggu Temple (Linggu Si), a Buddhist temple built during the Liang Dynasty (502–557) on the outskirts of Nanjing, where in 1928, the Republican government built the National Revolutionary Army War Memorial Cemetery (Guomin Gemingjun Zhengwang Jiangshi Gongmu). Although the legal document Rules for Establishing Martyrs’ Shrines in Respective Provinces, which was compiled under Complete Regulations on Special Favorable Treatment and Pension for Past Fallen, Disabled, and Injured Revolutionary Soldiers published by the Ministry of the Interior of the ROC were implemented in response to an urgent need to extend condolences to the soldiers and their families and boost their morale in the battle against the Japanese in Northern China in 1931,2 the term zhonglieci was not officially used until May 1936.3 Unlike a ci, a zhonglieci is neither a space where private families or close communities perform rituals nor an object of worship for royal families during feudal times. The Martyrs’ Shrine in Taipei, both newly constructed and repurposed, thus embodies a modern rewarding and mobilizing national mechanism where “imagined fellow countrymen” are honored, worshipped, and, most importantly, taken as role models to guide the future behaviors of the living. This shift from ci to zhonglieci may be rooted in Sun Yatsen’s Three People’s Principles (Sanmin zhuyi) (1928), in which Sun used his own experiences to illustrate how the traditional loyalty to a feudal emperor can be smoothly transformed into the loyalty to a modern nation and its people: One day, I visited a family temple. In the innermost hall, I saw on the right side of the wall the character for “filial piety,” but the wall on the left side was blank. I do not know whether the character that was supposed to be there had been removed by farmers or soldiers, but this side-by-side arrangement of characters is usually observed in many temples. The character that was supposedly removed must have been the one for “loyalty.”

2 It is widely known as The 9.18 Incident or The Mukden Incident. 3 Chin-tang Tsai, “A Comparative Study on Taiwan’s Martyrs’ Shrine versus Japan’s

Gokoku Shrine and Yasukuni Shrine,” Journal of National Taiwan Normal University, no. 3 (2010): 6.

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People think that no loyalty is needed in a republic. Instead, they believe that loyalty can only be pledged to the crown. Given that a republic does not have a king, this virtue is not necessary. However, should we not show loyalty to our nation and our duties? It is very necessary that we observe loyalty to our duties and stick to them until they are finished. We show loyalty if we willingly fulfill our duties even to the point of sacrificing our lives. It is a great mistake to think that loyalty can be pledged to the king alone. We should also show loyalty to other people. Is it not nobler to be loyal to four hundred million people than to one individual? Therefore, loyalty needs to be observed in a republic. Filial piety is a very important virtue for the Chinese. The teachings concerning this virtue, which can be found in the “Classic of Filial Piety,” cover almost every aspect of the human life. None of the modern civilized nations can equal China in terms of its teachings about this virtue. Filial piety is a virtue that the Chinese should always observe. If all citizens of the ROC will practice loyalty and filial piety to the best of their abilities, then we shall have a powerful and prosperous nation.4

In 1937, when the hostilities of the Japanese military began to spread further to major cities in China including Beijing, Shanghai, and the capital Nanjing, the number of war casualties rapidly increased. In that year alone, around 450–500 thousand deaths were recorded in some significant battles, such as the Battle of Shanghai, the Battle of Pingxing Pass, and the fall of Nanking,5 the last of which was particularly notorious for the massacre most popularly known as the “Nanking Massacre” that prompted a nationwide display of mourning and despair for the Chinese army and citizens. As the country’s circumstances continued to deteriorate, Chiang Kai-shek, then leader of the ROC government, personally urged party and government offices at the county and provincial levels to collect the names of dead soldiers and civilians. His instructions emphasized the importance of building ci to honor those who were killed in

4 Pei’en Li, Three Principles: English Reader (Shanghai: Commercial Press, 1928), Lecture VI 69–70, accessed November 14, 2018, at: http://www.china.amdigital.co.uk. ezproxy.lb.polyu.edu.hk/Documents/Images/CWML%20A18-5/40#Chapters. 5 Ting-yi Guo, “Ba nian kangri zhanzheng” (Chinese War of Resistance Against Japan) in Jindai Zhongguo shi gang (xiace) (A Short History of Modern China (volume two)) (Hong Kong: The Chinese University Press, 1986), 664–665.

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battle in an extremely gruesome manner.6 A primary outline for the construction and preservation of martyrs’ shrines around China was introduced September of the same year, and this outline served as the basis for today’s Rules for Martyrs’ Shrine (zhonglieci banfa).7 Undoubtedly, the sense of hastiness that surrounded the emergence of the new rules and sites for commemoration during this period can be perceived as an important means of promoting people’s sense of “loyalty” to their country and mobilizing military forces and civilians in fighting and resisting the enemy. As memorial spaces built in response to intensified warfare, the earliest the martyrs’ shrines were constructed mostly on existing ritual spaces, such as public temples where people taught folk beliefs and observed Confucian rituals. By the end of the war in 1945, around 766 of such shrines were built across 752 counties and 17 provinces in Mainland China. There were also plans to build two capital shrines, one in Chongqing, the temporary capital in the war years, and the other in Nanjing. However, as the Civil War between the Nationalist Party and the Communist Party broke out, the plans were eventually shelved and never realized. Following the victory of the Communist Party in the Civil War, the fate of commemorative shrines built in the Mainland took a drastic turn. Most of these shrines were demolished and the inscriptions on their monuments were defaced as they were perceived as the “undesirable” legacies of the previous regime. After the Cultural Revolution only the Nanyue Martyrs’ Shrine (Nanyue Zhonglieci) built in 1943 in Hengyang, Hunan Province and the Graveyard of the National Heroes (Guoshang Muyuan) built in 1945 in Tengchong, Yunnan remained standing. While those in the Mainland have been physically eradicated and are no longer considered part of the national memory, the construction of commemorative shrines on the “unfamiliar” soil to zhonglieci on the island of Taiwan, especially after the full retreat of the KMT in 1949, aimed to continue the interrupted national memory building project in the Mainland. However, the KMT Government had to first deal with numerous war monuments left by the Japanese colonizers—the Shinto shrines (specifically the Gokoku

6 Tsai, “A Comparative Study on Taiwan’s Martyrs’ Shrine versus Japan’s Gokoku Shrine and Yasukuni Shrine,” 6. 7 Tsai, “A Comparative Study on Taiwan’s Martyrs’ Shrine versus Japan’s Gokoku Shrine and Yasukuni Shrine,” 6.

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Shrines (Gokoku Jinja)) that commemorated Japanese soldiers.8 Consequently, the Japanese shrines were either demolished or re-appropriated into Chinese martyrs’ shrines. These new commemorative shrines that were “transplanted” on the country experienced an interesting process of “localization,” which will be reviewed later in this chapter. Although these shrines have played a central role in national spring and autumn commemorative rituals (chunji and qiuji) in Taiwan since the postwar years, the weakened legitimacy of the ROC regime vis-avis ‘China’ as a whole, and the re-evaluation of Chinese nationalism on Taiwan after the island’s political democratization have, at least for some people in Taiwan, transformed these shrines into unwelcome or forgotten symbols of the authoritarian past. They are not completely defunct but have been re-evaluated as examples of “difficult heritages,” which were defined by Sharon Macdonald as spatial legacies associated with “a past that is recognized as meaningful in the present but that is also contested and awkward for public reconciliation with a positive, self-affirming contemporary identity.”9 This heritage, as in the case of martyrs’ shrines in Taiwan, no longer evokes the intended emotion among most people, and some commemorative shrines have become venues for depoliticized (if not “dark”) tourism, thereby largely depriving them of their sacred aura. This chapter focuses on the National Martyrs’ Shrine in Taipei, which is treated as the most important case of existing martyrs’ shrines in both Mainland China and Taiwan for two reasons. First, the Martyrs’ Shrine is considered the highest-level commemorative monument in the postwar national narrative of the ROC in Taiwan. Therefore, this monument may reveal in many ways some of the fundamental agenda, ideals, and ways of representing postwar Taiwan’s formation of war and cultural memory.

8 According to Tsai’s “A Comparative Study on Taiwan’s Martyrs’ Shrine versus Japan’s Gokoku Shrine and Yasukuni Shrine,” it may not be a coincidence that Japan also began to build similar military shrines just before Chiang Kai-shek ordered the construction of these monuments in China. In 1939, the Meiji Government issued an order to transform all shrines dedicated to the spirits of the war dead (sh¯ okonsha) into Gokoku Shrines (gokokusha), which serve as long-lasting sites for commemorating the fallen soldiers and policemen. Tsai believes that there is a parallel, if not a direct relation, between the Japanese and Chinese shrines in the sense that the latter were inspired by the former to a certain extent. 9 Sharon. Macdonald, Difficult Heritage: Negotiating the Nazi Past in Nuremberg and beyond (London; New York: Routledge, 2009), 1.

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Second, the transformation of this shrine from Japanese Shinto shrines to the National Martyrs’ Shrine reflects an intriguing trajectory of the spatial “re-appropriation” and “re-production” of war heritage in contemporary Taiwan in its complicated relationship with Mainland China, Japan, and its own past. Unlike the previous research that mostly focuses on the institutional structure of the Martyrs’ Shrine, my study focuses on three major aspects going beyond this shrine per se. These aspects all address the interrelation between the memory of the Yuanshan Area (of which the Martyrs’ Shrine is a part) and that of the Shrine. To trace the topological history of the Martyrs’ Shrine, I will first scrutinize the space-making process of the Yuanshan Area during the Japanese colonial period. This area not only seats the Martyrs’ Shrine and its predecessor the Gokoku Shrine but also the Taiwan Shrine (Taiwan Jinja) (later upgraded to the Taiwan Jingu), which was considered the highestlevel Shinto shrine in Taiwan. The spatial meaning of the Martyrs’ Shrine in its postwar and contemporary form is deeply related with how it was transfigured from its earlier spatial context in wartime Mainland. Similar to other chapters, I will provide a comprehensive picture of the architectural and spatial artefacts that comprise the surrounding area. Apart from these two Shinto shrines, the zoo, the parks, and sports stadium in the Yuanshan Area were built during the colonial era as major public spaces for residents, especially for the Japanese residing in Taipei. After the destruction of the Taiwan Jingu near the end of war and the takeover of Taiwan by the KMT, the visual image of the Yuanshan Area was predominated by the Grand Hotel (Yuanshan dafandian in Chinese), which was built in 1952 under the direct order of Soong Mei-ling (1927–1975), the wife of Chiang Kai-shek. This hotel was long considered a mysterious “castle” that only hosted and entertained the ROC’s friends, allies, and important guests invited by Chiang and his high-ranking officials during the Cold War period. The Martyrs’ Shrine was nested in the space of a Gokoku Shrine until its full reconstruction in 1969 (Fig. 4.2). The changing nature and symbolism of the Yuanshan Area and the actual space of the Martyrs’ Shrine reveal how various forces attempted to “iconize” this area with their own modernization agendas and ideals that make up the identities of being Japanese, Chinese, and Taiwanese. Apart from discussing the transformation of the spatial functions of the area surrounding the Martyrs’ Shrine, I will analyze the aesthetic and spatial styles of this monument in relation to war mobilization, commemoration, and nation-building via architectural form. This form is

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Fig. 4.2 Gokoku Shrine in Taipei (ca. 1942) (Source Public Domain)

particularly revealing and is therefore considered important for a colony and a newly established regime where the built environment and its symbolism, spatial layout, and forms of representation serve “as an effective propaganda vehicle for the demonstration of power and the formation of identity” and often play “a constructive role in the legitimization of new authority…as a ‘power-radiating,’ ‘image-generating’ device to represent the modern state.”10 I will also use various visual representations of the Shinto shrines, the Yuanshan Area, and the Martyrs’ Shrine taken from paintings, textbooks, photographs, postcards, and archival images from different periods to understand how the images of these monuments and spaces were circulated in relation to their conceived ideology and memory.

10 Yi-Wen Wang and Tim Heath, “Constructions of National Identity: A Tale of Twin Capital Building in Early Post-war Taiwan,” Taiwan in Comparative Perspective 2 (December 2008): 21.

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Yuanshan: A Topological History Yuanshan Area During the Japanese Colonial Period In Henri Lefebvre’s critiques (1976, 1991) of the purity of space in a Kantian “empty, homogeneous” state, spaces in modern society are often transformed into tools of governance and are always filled with political powers and ideological struggles: Space is not a scientific object removed from ideology and politics; it has always been political and strategic. If space has an air of neutrality and indifference with regard to its contents and seems “purely” formal (an epitome of rational abstraction), it is precisely because it has been previously occupied and used and has already been the focus of past processes where traces are not always evident on the landscape. Space has been shaped and molded from historical and natural elements via a political process. In other words, space can both be political and ideological and is considered a product that is literally filled with ideologies.11

The transformation and restructuring of the Yuanshan Area since the Japanese rule can be viewed as a typical representation of a colonial spatial practice that stripped away the meanings originally conferred by the colonizing power. The stripping was initially realized by the military’s conquering of the land by force (i.e., the colonial status rather than the emergence of modern nation-states in western countries) and then by the creation of new spatial artefacts. Su Shuo-bin points out that Japanese colonizers exerted their spatial governance in Taipei through the spatial homogenization and visualization, that is, increasing the visibility of urban space to the public.12 The construction of parks, monument squares, sports stadiums, zoos, playgrounds, and other public spaces for “anyone’s use” can be seen as a process of creating a homogeneous space of “neutrality” that enables a highly transparent gaze from above that penetrates into every level of the power structure to achieve an easier control. Monuments, temples, and shrines are considered visual landmarks that serve as nodal and marking spots in networks of new 11 Henri Lefebvre and Michael J. Enders, “Reflections on the Politics of Space,” Antipode 8, no. 2 (1976): 30–37, and Henri Levebvre, The Production of Space (Oxford: Blackwell, 1991). 12 Shuo-bin Su, Kan bujian yu kan de jian de Taipei (Taipei shi: Qun xue, 2010), 134–143.

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meanings. By holding public activities, such as rituals, sports games, parades, and other events, in an open space, the collective bodies of citizens are exposed to the gaze of the state; a total surveillance in the Foucaultian sense. Unlike in ancient times when the central power is made visible to the public to evoke their awe and fear, individuals are placed under each other’s surveillance in modern times. These two strategies are interdependent and mutually reinforcing. In 1895, the island of Taiwan (including the Penghu Islands) became a Japanese colony under the Treaty of Shimonoseki after the defeat of Qing China in the first Sino-Japanese War (1894–1895). As Taiwan became the first overseas colony of the Japanese Empire and the first colony placed under non-western imperial power, Japan showed its ambition to use Taiwan, especially the “island capital city” of Taipei, to demonstrate its capacity to modernize a not yet “modern” city. The country’s efforts in transforming Taipei into a “beautiful and lovely” role model was largely reflected in the implementation of a systematic urban planning scheme called “Urban Improvement Plan” put in place in 1899.13 By comparing the plan maps issued in 1905 and 1932, one can immediately deduce the rapid expansion of the urban area that was under “improvement” (or “correction”). By the 1930s, the traditionally central area of Taipei City known as “sanshi che” (three marketplaces, which include the walled inner city, Man-ka, and Twatutia, were merged into the western part of a much larger city demarcated roughly by three rivers, the Keelung River on the north and northeast, the Tamsui River on the west, and the Xindian River on the south (Fig. 4.3a, b).

13 “Urban Improvement Plan” was a long-term urban planning and modernization scheme implemented by the Japanese colonial government in Taiwan between 1899 and 1925. This plan was implemented in three major phases in 1899, 1901, and 1905. In 1932, a more comprehensive “Greater Taipei Plan” was implemented. Based on Haussmann’s renovation of Paris and other western urban planning models, this Plan aimed to transform Chinese-style cities in Taiwan into modern cities. The major contents of this plan included improving the unhygienic environment of Taiwan, constructing underground sewages and roads for automobiles, and building schools, Shinto shrines, barrack architectures, prisons, government architectures, and other infrastructures. The plan fundamentally changed the texture of Taiwanese cities by introducing European urban planning policies and methods. The Japanese/Chinese name of the plan (gaizheng ) literally means “correcting” the “wrong” city to create a “right” one. See Lan-shiang Huang, “Study of Urban Planning of Taipei at the Beginning of the Colonial Period,” Taiwan: A Radical Quarterly in Social Studies, no. 18 (1995): 189–213, and Su, Kan bu jian yu kan de jian de tai bei, for additional information.

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Fig. 4.3 a, b Two maps of Taipei City (1907 and 1932) (Source Center for GIS, RCHSS, Academia Sinica, at: http://gis.rchss.sinica.edu.tw/mapdap/?p= 5652&lang=en)

However, only the 1932 map shows the Yuanshan Area on the north. The huge influence of Japanese colonialism was highly visible in the transformation of the function and symbolic meaning of this area after 1895. Before the Japanese takeover, because of its beautiful scenery that boasted the green mountains of Yuanshan and Jiantan and the meandering Keeling River, Yuanshan was used as a private resort by the Qing literati Chen Wei-ying (1811–1869).14 Immediately after the Japanese landed in Taiwan, a graveyard lot in the Yuanshan Area was allocated for the joint use of the Imperial Japanese Army, Navy, and Home Affairs Bureau.15 In 1897, Japanese researchers made the most important prehistorical archaeological discovery in the Yuanshan Area. The pioneering research on Yuanshan culture relics was led by Japanese archaeologists In¯o 14 See Hsiao-wen Sung, “The Establishing Courses and Features Studies of Yuan-Shan Park and Taipei Park in Japanese Colonial Period” (master’s thesis, National Taiwan University of Science and Technology Department of Architecture, 2003), 8. The resort was named Taiguchao, which literally means “Eternal Nest,” by Chen, who served as a juren (promoted scholar in the Chinese Imperial Civil Examination system) during the Qing Xianfeng Period (1851–1861). 15 Sung, “The Establishing Courses and Features Studies of Yuan-Shan Park and Taipei Park in Japanese Colonial Period,” 8.

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Kanori and Torii Ry¯uz¯o, who arrived in Taiwan soon after the beginning of its colonization.16 Taiwan Shrine: Center of State Shinto in Taiwan First implemented in 1899, the “Taipei Urban Improvement Plan” included infrastructural constructions that aimed to modernize Taipei, specifically its administrative division, hygiene, transportation, road, education, and social institutions. As mentioned above, these constructions became tools of homogenizing and visualizing the city’s urban space from a rationalized view of the planner. This plan also involved the construction of Japanese Shinto shrines, which was considered a major move in transforming Taipei’s urban structure. In his article “Forty Years’ History of Taiwan” published in Taiwan Jih¯ o , Japanese journalist Ozaki Hotsumi (1901–1944) highlights the indispensable role of building Shinto shrines in Taiwan Island in accommodating more Japanese from the mainland. “Every town and village,” he claims, “has to build one Shinto Shrine at least.”17 However, unlike building Christian churches in the colonies of western countries, the construction of Shinto shrines in Japanese colonies was not part of any religious mission through cultural assimilation but a move with a clear political and ideological purpose. When the Yuanshan Area became a key symbolic site for demonstrating colonial power, the construction of the Taiwan Shrine in 1901 established the axis of sacred space in the urban landscape of Taipei. The term jinja, which replaced the previously common Japanese terms for similar commemorative spaces such as sh¯ okonsha or ch¯ ukond¯ o , began to be widely used in the Meiji Era to refer to long-lasting sites for state rituals. After the Meiji Restoration in 1868, Shinto, a traditional Japanese religion that promotes an animist relation between deities (kami) and humans since the eighth century took a drastic turn in the modern period. Such major transformation was observed at the institutional level. Unlike

16 In¯ o Kanori (1867–1925) was among the most prominent Japanese researcher of aborigines in Taiwan. His re-categorization of aboriginal tribes greatly changed the understanding of their culture and is still being studied today. Similarly, Torii Ry¯uz¯o (1870–1953) conducted extensive studies on the folklore, archaeology, and ethnology of Taiwan, China, Korea, Russia, and Europe. 17 Hotsumi Ozaki, “Forty Years’ History of Taiwan,” Taiwan Jih¯ o (July 1937): 130–

137.

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Japan’s previous religions, Shinto in the Meiji era “was created as an independent body by a state policy separating it from Buddhism.”18 The rise of “state Shinto,” as opposed to “civic Shinto” and “sect Shinto,” introduced a new form of “separation of church and state,”19 in which the state Shinto was no longer mediated by religious rites or institutions but by those of the (modern) state. Therefore, the deities being worshipped in state Shinto shrines were not holy spirits (mostly invisible) but spirits “with a national, patriotic significance.”20 In State and Ritual (2007), Koyasu Nobukuni defines the state Shinto as a process in which the origin of the nation is integrated into the origin of the Shinto ritual in a restructured modern form.21 Koyasu traces the “rediscovery” of the Ise Grand Shrine (Ise Jingu) in the 1930s which is considered the most sacred space of state Shinto that worships the sun goddess Amaterasu, as well as that of the Katsura Imperial Villa, which was initially discovered by Bruno Taut (1880–1930), a German architect and an important figure in advocating a minimalist modern architectural style. Taut visited Japan in 1933 and deeply appreciated what he regarded as an “archetype” of the Japanese style, which is mainly characterized by the purity, freshness, conciseness, and simplicity of its design that is free from any “pollution from decadent human civilizations.”22 This fundamental essence of the Japanese architectural style had been “others” to the two main kinds of aesthetical subjects, namely, the Chinese style (represented by the palace in Nikko) of lavish decoration and bright color use and the western architectural tradition.23 Koyasu considers Taut’s purification of 18 Helen Hardacre, Shinto and the State, 1868–1988 (Princeton, NJ: Princeton UP, 1989), 79. 19 Dao-liang Xu, Jidujiao xinyang yu qita zongjiao de bijiao, first edition (Hong Kong: Tien Dao Publishing House Ltd., 2008), 153. 20 Hardacre, Shinto and the State, 1868–1988, 79. 21 Nobukuni Koyasu, Kokka to saishi: kokka shintou no genzai (Beijing Shi: SDX Joint

Publishing Company, 2007), 23. 22 Koyasu, Kokka to saishi: kokka shintou no genzai, 31. 23 Koyasu, Kokka to saishi: kokka shintou no genzai, 30. Japanese architect It¯ o Ch¯uta

opposed the idea that Shinto shrine architecture was “invented” from scratch by the Japanese with no influence from the ancient Buddhist architecture from China or other cultures. Nevertheless, he considered Shinto shrine as a religious space that is unique and not found in western religions. See Ch¯uta It¯o, The Beauty of Japanese Architecture—Shinto shrine architecture as Center Nihon Kenchiku No Bi: Shaji Kenchiku o Ch¯ uShin to Shite (Tokyo: Shufu no tomosha, 1944).

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the Japanese architectural archetype as highly similar to the cultural essentialist discourse in both fascist Japan and Germany during the period. The western gaze’s “approval,” Koyasu argues, “offered a most authoritative certificate for the ‘original’ and ‘true’ Japan, in which Ise Grand Shrine was deified as the center.”24 Shinto shrines under state Shinto are “new” shrines that embody the unification between state and ritual. They are not only spatial representations of the modern Japanese nation-state but also material and symbolic agencies that transform the visual “otherness” in Chinese and western contexts into a complete self-standing Japanese subjectivity. Building new architectural artefacts, including government buildings, hospitals, schools, libraries, public halls, police stations, and parks, was an effective means of Japan’s colonial rule in its conquered territories. Similar to other Japanese colonies and subordinate territories such as Korea and Manchukuo, the colonial architecture in Taiwan, specifically its government buildings and public buildings, adopted predominantly western styles, including Queen Anne, neo-Baroque, and Gothic, and was sometimes mixed with traditional Chinese and Korean elements.25 Nishizawa Yasuhiko proposes two possible reasons why the Japanese style was not adopted in both the interior and exterior of these colonial buildings. First, “each colonial government and the SMR (the South Manchuria Railways) used Western styles to show off their ability to the Great Powers, so that the Great Powers would recognize Japan’s ability to rule its colonies.”26 Second, Japanese architects in the Meiji Period were trained according to the British system, which is why only a few Japanese architects were familiar with traditional Japanese architecture.27 He then concludes that these buildings “do not demonstrate a strong relationship between the style of colonial architecture and colonial politics.”28 However, this view does not recognize the dual process of Japanese

24 Koyasu, Kokka to saishi: kokka shintou no genzai, 33. 25 Yasuhiko Nishizawa, “A Study of Japanese Colonial Architecture in East Asia,” in

Constructing the Colonized Land: Entwined Perspectives of East Asia around WWII , ed. Izumi Kuroishi (Surrey, England; Burlington, Vermont: Ashgate, 2014), 27, 29. 26 Nishizawa, “A Study of Japanese Colonial Architecture in East Asia,” 30. 27 Nishizawa, “A Study of Japanese Colonial Architecture in East Asia,” 30–31. 28 Nishizawa, “A Study of Japanese Colonial Architecture in East Asia,” 27, 33.

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colonialism in its architectural visualization. While western-style buildings aimed at showing that both western and Asian people (including Japanese citizens) have equal capacity to “master” the western form of modernization, the construction of state Shinto shrines “corrected” the “self-other” position of the Japanese style in relation to the two others mentioned above.29 In other words, the building of Shinto shrines and western-style government and public buildings present two sides of the same coin, that is, the re-establishment of cultural dominance by focusing on Japan’s political and cultural modernity through visual display in public spaces. As Leo Ching uses the term “externalization of colonial ideology” to describe “a series of corporeal activities” in the K¯ ominka period in Taiwan (1937–1945), the real bodies of human beings, performative rituals, architectural monuments, and their materialization in the space of rituals, photography, or films are the “very mechanisms” that lead to such colonial identification.30 In this vein, constructing state Shinto shrines in Japanese colonies plays a key role in the assimilation of national subjects (both Japanese migrants and local residents) into the grand narrative of the Japanese Empire. The construction of the Taiwan Shrine in Yuanshan in 1901 set the permeating tone of Yuanshan Area as a sacred space for the deities of the modern state. The Taiwan Shrine can be seen as a space for consignation—a gathering site of symbols—for two layers of myths. On the one hand, the original purpose of its construction was to commemorate Prince Kitashirakawa Yoshihisa, who died during the Japanese Imperial Army’s invasion of Taiwan in 1895 after allegedly contracting malaria in Tainan. As the first royal family member who died outside of Japan, he was escalated to the level of a deity, and soon after his death, several shrines dedicated to worshipping him were built in both Tainan and Taipei. Apart from worshipping Prince Kitashirakawa Yoshihisa, the three deities (Kaitaku Sanjin) that were believed to be the gods of managing and administering the state land were also worshipped in the Taiwan 29 An interesting example of the combination of multiple styles in Shinto shrine is Kenkou Jinja in Taipei, which was built in 1928. While the torii or entrance of the shrine adopted the Chinese pailou pattern, the main body of the shrine architecture adopted a Romanesque style. Nishizawa thought that this mixed style “showed no connection between architectural style and the politics of that time,” in Nishizawa, “A Study of Japanese Colonial Architecture in East Asia,” 33. 30 Leo T. S. Ching, Becoming Japanese: Colonial Taiwan and the Politics of Identity Formation (Berkeley: University of California Press, 2001), 89–90.

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Shrine. In this case, this shrine was built to honor the achievements of the imperial military and to pray for Japan’s smooth governance of its newly conquered territories. On the other hand, the Taiwan Shrine was constructed as an important extension of the Ise Grand Shrine as reflected in the affinity in their architectural style, namely, Shinmeizukuri.31 Moreover, during the reconstruction of the Ise Jingu (which takes place every 20 years) in 1929, sacred treasures, including an assortment of sacred mirrors, jade pieces, swords, bows arrows, spears, and shields, were temporarily removed from this shrine to the Taiwan Shrine and were then passed on to the other shrines in Taiwan to transmit their “aura.”32 The enshrinement ritual of the Taiwan Shrine was held on October 27, 1901. Before its grand renovation in 1913, the scale of this shrine had already reached around 50,000 m2 . Starting from the foot of the Jiantan Mountain on the riverside, the shrine gradually ascends along the slope of the hill to the main hall, creating a sense of holiness to the visitors as they slowly enter the shrine space. The Taiwan Shrine was also the highest-ranking shrine in Taiwan and was given the title of Imperial Shrine (kanpeisha), which, according to Hardacre, “received significantly more financial support from the government than the National Shrine (kokuheisha).”33 A magnificent picture of the shrine was etched on a copperplate called “Territorial Map of Imperial Shrine Taiwan Shrine” in 1906.34 The whole

31 Shinmei-zukuri is an ancient architectural style known for its simplicity in both visual

form and material use. Meanwhile, given that Taiwan Shrine was built during the Meiji period, this shrine is closely related with Meiji Jingu, which was built in Tokyo in 1920. See Hsiang-yun Huang, “A Study of the Taiwan Grand Shrine during the Period of Japanese Rule to the Ritual Artifacts and Offerings” (Master’s thesis, Taipei National University of the Arts Graduate Institute of Architecture and Cultural Heritage, 2014), 21. 32 Huang, “A Study of the Taiwan Grand Shrine during the Period of Japanese Rule to the Ritual Artifacts and Offerings,” 55. 33 Hardacre, Shinto and the State, 1868–1988, 84. 34 The etching was commissioned and offered by prominent Taiwanese businessman

Koo Kwang-ming, who represented the Bangka gentries in welcoming Japanese troops upon their arrival in Taipei.

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Fig. 4.4 Territorial Map of Imperial Shrine Taiwan Shrine (1906) (Source ZUSHI Minoru Collection, Database of Japanese shrines built abroad during the Japanese imperial period, The Research Center for Nonwritten Cultural Materials, Kanagawa University, at: http://www.himoji.jp/database/db04/permalink. php?id=2210)

shrine space seems to be inserted into a wonderland-like natural environment that comprises mountains, rivers, and plants as seen from the south side of the Keelung River (Fig. 4.4).35 In the foreground, sailboats dot the flowing Keelung River while two steel bridges, namely, the Meiji Bridge and the Iron Bridge, connect the southern bank of the river to its north bank. The modern look of the foreground is further enhanced by the images of a smoking steam train running on the Iron Bridge and two smoking chimneys on the northern side of the Meiji Bridge. Tiny human figures can be seen on the etching; the majority of them are on their way to the shrine. One can recognize the main architectural components, street names, and even the barely visible Yuanshan Park by reading the labels.

35 See image under “Taiwan Jinja,” Research Center for Nonwritten Cultural Materials, accessed November 14, 2018, at: http://www.himoji.jp/database/db04/permalink.php? id=2210.

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Unlike the usual design of Shinto shrines where only one torii is erected, this image of the Taiwan Shrine viewed from a distance shows four toriis of Shinmei-zukuri style.36 Apart from the two small toriis on the visitor’s path (sand¯ o ) leading to the shrine, two main toriis can be found on the structure proper of the shrine. While a torii serves as a border gate that separates the world of humans from that of the deities, a two-layered torii enhances the visitor’s emotional experience in feeling the space’s sacredness. In front of the first torii, two komainu, liondog statues which often come in pairs, reveal the shrine’s high colonial color. Unlike the komainu commonly seen in Japanese shrines, a pair of male and female stone lions, modified from Chinese stone lions, was put in front of the Taiwan Shrine by the Lin Ben-yuan family, a powerful business family in Taiwan. Two cannons used in the first Sino-Japanese war (labeled “Meiji nij¯ ushichi hachi nen Nisshin senshi” on the map) are placed beside these lions. The amalgamation of iconic symbols and military weapons construct a space of reality and imagery. Although one can take the map as a source of historical information about the Taiwan Shrine, the shrine is heavily wrapped with cloud and haze, suggesting an imaginary fairyland. The highest mountain in the scene, the Tatun Mountain (an extinct volcano located northwest of Taipei), is actually invisible in the actual scale of the map; yet it was set at the back of the shrine probably because this mountain has always been compared with Fuji Mountain in Japan. Photography is another major medium used in the official visual representations of the Taiwan Shrine. One can examine this divine space from the various perspectives of mediums such as postcards, photo books, and newspapers and magazines images that are mainly distributed as propaganda. Images of shrine spaces devoid of human figures, typically found in Photo Book in Commemoration of the 30 th Anniversary of Taiwan Shrine’s Enshrinement (Gochinza 30-sh¯ unen kinen Taiwan jinja shashinch¯ o ) published in 1931, are often perceived to exude monumental magnificence.37 This photo book closely depicts the shrine space in all its

36 Similar to other elements in Shinmei-zukuri-style shrines, the torii of Taiwan Shrine shows extreme simplicity that is free from any decoration compared with other styles. This torii style was also adopted by the Kashima Shrine in Ibaraki and the Yasukuni Shrine in Tokyo. See Takanori Yonezawa, Jinja no Kaibou Zukan, translated by Jia’en Chen (Xinbei Shi: Feng shu fang wen hua chuban she, 2017), 13. 37 Taiwan shenshe shewu suo and Taiwan jiaoyu hui, Photo Book in Commemoration of the 30th Anniversary of Taiwan Shrine’s Enshrinement (Taipei shi: Taiwan jinja jimusho,

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details. The most representative image of the shrine is the upfront shot of the two layers of the torii taken from the ground level, showing the deep space of the shrine’s main hall elevated by high steps. In the background are mountains. The main path leading to the shrine (Chokushi Kaid¯ o ) and the two smaller sand¯ os are lined with trees and stone lamps but is otherwise empty, as isstypical for sand¯ os in Shinto shrines. Chokushi Kaid¯ o was built specially for the visit of the Japanese Prince Hirohito and other royal members to the Taiwan Shrine in 1923.38 The Meiji Bridge, which can also be seen in the map, begins from the opposite bank in Yuanshan Park and reaches across the Keelung River as a transitional space. Close-up shots of trees planted by the royal family members during their visit are also captured in different photos. The perspectives with which these images are taken lead one’s gaze from the “human world” (by way of pathways, bridges, and main entrances) to the “sacred world.” Such perspectives prepare the viewers in approaching a divine space where no mundane humans, including both Japanese and Taiwanese subjects, are to be seen. This visual construction of the Taiwan Shrine as a heterotopia of divine otherness echoes the painting of Yoshida Hatsusaburo (1884–1955), a Japanese cartographer who is most famous for his bird’s-eye-view maps of cities and towns in Japan and its occupied territories. One of his paintings presents a full view of the Taiwan Shrine from above the southeast side of Meiji Bridge (Fig. 4.5). A similar perspective can be found in the ink painting of Hagiya Sh¯ukin (1875–1952), which was displayed in the first Taiwan Fine Art Expo (Taiwan bijutsutenrankai or Taiten for short) in 1927 (Fig. 4.6).39 These “imagined” framings of the shrine area mirror the gaze at Yuanshan Area and the shrine favored by official institutions. 1931). National Taiwan University Library Collection. While group photos were often taken in front of the shrine entrance by members of various social groups (i.e., companies, schools, military forces, or even families in wedding ceremonies), spontaneous photos were much more difficult to find in image archives. The only human figures that were zoomed in were those of the Emperor Hirohito and other royal members when they paid visit to Taiwan Shrine in 1923, three years before Hirohito ascended to the throne. 38 They landed at Keelong and departed to Taipei by train. After reaching the Taipei Railway Station, they continued to the shrine via Chokushi Kaid¯ o for their official visit and worshipping rituals. 39 Taiten was an officially sponsored island-wide exhibition in colonial Taiwan that is organized every year since 1927.

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Fig. 4.5 Painting of Taiwan Grand Shrine by Yoshida Hatsusaburo (1930) (Source Government Propaganda Materials of Taiwan Expo, Public Domain)

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Fig. 4.6 Hagiya Sh¯ ukin’s Ensan (1927), Watercolor (Source Archive of Taiwan Fine Art Expo, Photo number: T1E37. Original source: Catalogue of The First Round of Taiwan Fine Art Expo [Taipei: Association of Japanese Painting in Taiwan, 1928])

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However, such a divine space alone is insufficient as a “legitimacy carrier” of coloniality. The original iron structure of the Meiji Bridge used to be visually symbolic of industrial modernity. For safety reasons, the bridge was remodeled with reinforced concrete in 1933. This new Meiji Bridge adopted a more “Japanized western classicism” style; specifically, granite was used to build the curved railings, while bronze lights of Japanese design were placed on both sides (Fig. 4.7). In “Southward Expansion to Taiwan (Nanjin Taiwan),” which is considered the most important propaganda documentary film made by the Taiwanese colonial government between 1939 and 1940, the narrator takes the audience to different parts of the island to introduce and honor 40 years of achievements of the Japanese. The trip to the Taiwan Shrine was shot from the front seat of a car, which traveled swiftly via Meiji Bridge and the sand¯ o with joyful music playing in the background. After an almost static shot of the double-layered torii, the camera moves wordlessly toward the Jiantan Temple and then back to the main hall of the shrine on the lower left with the torii’s view on the right. Interestingly, the movement of the camera does not stop here even when the narrator remains silent. In the next 30 seconds, with background music accompaniment, the audience sees an array of public architectures in the city center of Taipei, including the Taipei Public Hall, the Taiwan Museum, the Taiwan Broadcasting Association (Taiwan Hosokyokai) (JFAK), the Botanic Garden, the Exhibition Hall, and the Kenkou Jinja. Seven cheongsam-dressed beauties are seen walking around these places and the

Fig. 4.7 Meiji Bridge (Source Taiwan shenshe shewu suo and Taiwan jiaoyu hui, Photo Book in Commemoration of the 30th Anniversary of Taiwan Shrine’s Enshrinement [Taipei shi: Taiwan jinja jimusho]. National Taiwan University Library Collection)

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film ends with close-up shots of their young and delightful faces. These seemingly unrelated sequences and the abrupt movement of the shot from Taiwan Shrine to the more overtly “modern” public buildings represent a holistic continuum of “iconic modernization” in the cultural buildings of Taiwan in the visual propaganda of the Japanese colonial rule. Interestingly, with the accompanying images of beautiful Taiwanese women, such iconic modernization is feminized, aestheticized, and subjugated as a result of objectification with an invisible yet omnipresent subjectivity of the colonizer. While these gazes nullify or assimilate other possibilities of seeing the Shrine into the colonial subjectivity, two works of Taiwanese photographer Deng Nan-guang (1907–1971) illustrate such endeavors of creating alternative perspectives. In his 8 mm film of the public funeral of Taiwanese social movement pioneer Chiang Wei-shui (1890–1931) in 1931, the procession of the mourners was shot not from the side of the shrine but from a reversed angle. Most visual representations of Meiji Bridge usually go from downtown Taipei toward the direction of Meiji Bridge and Taiwan Shrine, taking the shrine or the sanctuary of Yuanshan as the main object of worship. Alternatively, the majestic Meiji Iron Bridge was shot at an oblique angle to the side to emphasize its role as a symbol of the progress of civilization. However, when the procession crosses Meiji Bridge, the photographer’s back is turned to the Taiwan Shrine, and the Meiji Bridge is no longer a symbol of civilization, but rather is cornered into the smallest on the right side of the picture. Through a long shot, the bridge frames a large space in the foreground, which allows the procession to leave the bridge leisurely, heading to Dazhi. This long shot reversed the gaze of the colonial “rite of passage” from the land of common people to the sanctuary.40 In such images, the sacred space of the Taiwan Shrine becomes barely visible because the transitional domain is “disrupted.” Yuanshan Park, Zoo, and Sports Stadium as Public Spaces: Discipline, Body, and Ritual The Taiwan Shrine was constructed as part of a colonial urban agenda to transform the scenic outskirts of Taipei City into a modern space. The 40 See Mat-ling Chang, “Dang’an hengji: rijushiqi de ‘nanjintaiwan’ yu Deng Nanguang zuopin,” Yishu guandian, no. 42 (April 2010): 17.

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shrine would later fundamentally change the nature of the other newly built public spaces in the Yuanshan Area. The introduction of a systematic public park system in Taipei, whose design was highly influenced by Frederick Law Olmsted (1822–1903) and George Kessler (1862– 1923), was another discernable change brought about by colonialism.41 Together with other infrastructural constructions that aim at modernizing the administrative divisions, hygiene, transportation, roads, education, and social institutions of Taipei, building public parks played a seminal role in disciplining the environment, body, and mind as the colony’s public education scheme. Although building parks is usually seen as an outcome of the belief that greeneries purify miasma and beautify an industrialized urban landscape, the earliest parks in Taipei were built merely to serve as symbols of colonial power and to establish a Western (and thereby modern) image of Taiwan. Following the request of Taipei regional governor Hashiguchi Bunz¯o (1853–1903), the graveyard in the Yuanshan Area was transformed into Yuanshan Park, the first public urban park in Taiwan in 1897. According to previous studies (Huang 1987, Lee 1989, and Tsai 1991), this park was built not only to improve civic life in the area but also to prepare for the visit of Japanese Emperor Hirohito to Taiwan.42 Therefore, accessibility of Yuanshan Park during its early years was actually limited to colonial elites, thereby making this park no different from the Crown Park of the British royal family. Monumental artefacts began to appear around the Yuanshan Area soon after the arrival of the Japanese. In Yuanshan Park alone, six monuments were built between 1899 and 1919 to commemorate the fallen members of the police force, the Imperial Army, the military police force, the former Governor Mizuno Jun (1851–1900), Taiwan Nichinichi Shinp¯ o ’s “Tomb for Pens,” and Kurakichi Funakoshi (1886–1932), the leader of Taiwan’s firefighting team. Following the request of Governor Kodama Gentar¯o (1852–1906), a Huguo Rinzai Buddhist Temple (Huguo Rinzai 41 Sung, “The Establishing Courses and Features Studies of Yuan-Shan Park and Taipei Park in Japanese Colonial Period,” 2. 42 Hou-nan Tsai, “The Institutionalization of Urban Park in Taiwan, 1895–1987” (Ph.D. diss., National Taiwan University Department of Civil Engineering, 1991), Shimeng Huang, Ri ju shiqi Taiwan dushi jihua fanxing zhi yanjiu (A Study on the Paradigm of City Planning Theory under the Japanese Rule in Taiwan (AD. 1895–1945)) (Taipei shi: Guoli Taiwan daxue tumu gongcheng xue yanjiu suo dushi jihua yanjiu shi, 1987), Li-xue Li, “You dushi gongyuan fazhan de guandian tantao Taipei shi dushi gongyuan zhi yanbian” (master’s thesis, Taiwan daxue yuanyi yanjiu suo, 1989).

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Chansi) was constructed in the Yuanshan Area, which acted as a franchise of the Rinzai School of Japanese Zen Buddhism starting from 1900. A ch¯ ukond¯ o or memorial hall for the souls of loyalists to the Japanese Empire was also built in 1906 to commemorate the death of Prince Kitashirakawa Yoshihisa and the troops that marched southward in Taiwan in 1895. During the same period, two Chinese temples were built in this area, including the Jiantan Buddhist Temple (dated 1773) and the Jiexiao Shrine (Jiexiao Si), a Confucian temple for honoring virtuous women. The Shrine was moved to the Yuanshan area from Dongmen Street in the Inner City. By the early twentieth century, a space that accommodated monuments for both religious worship and military mobilization was formed. To celebrate the enthronement of the Taisho Emperor, the Yuanshan Zoo was opened in 1906 both “for academic purpose[s] and for entertainment and scenery-making function[s].”43 The construction of this zoo in the modern period represented a shift in the perception of nature in ecological modernity. Tokyo’s Ueno Zoo, which was examined in detail by Ian Jared Miller in The Nature of the Beasts: Empire and Exhibition at the Tokyo Imperial Zoo, demonstrates how an artificial space of animal habitat under the human gaze was used to demonstrate the Japanese Empire’s capacity to control knowledge of nature for propagandistic purposes.44 As the largest zoo in colonial Taipei, the Yuanshan Zoo also served as a site for ideological disciplining before and during the war. Given their proximity to each other, visiting the Yuanshan Zoo after the Taiwan Shrine became a common practice for both adults and children.45 Watching training performances and exhibits of animals such as horses, elephants, and pigeons for military purposes, was integrated into the large narrative of nurturing “war morals,” which in turn promoted intimate animal–animal and human–animal connections (kizuna) with the

43 Sung, “The Establishing Courses and Features Studies of Yuan-Shan Park and Taipei

Park in Japanese Colonial Period,” 41. 44 Ian Jared Miller, The Nature of the Beasts Empire and Exhibition at the Tokyo Imperial Zoo (Berkeley, CA: University of California, 2013). 45 See Li-jung Cheng, “War and Animals: A Social Cultural History of the Taipei Zoo in Yuan-shan,” Bulletin of Taiwan Historical Research, no. 7 (2014), Footnote 9 on the diaries from ordinary Taiwanese residents.

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goal of serving the state and the war.46 As Cheng Li-jung points out, the Yuanshan Zoo regularly organized animal festivals. Commemorative ceremonies for the animals killed during WWII battles were also held in this area.47 The Yuanshan Sports Stadium (opened in 1923) and the Yuanshan Playground (opened in 1937) were built as two supporting facilities to educate and mobilize colonial subjects for war. The Yuanshan Sports Stadium was used to welcome Prince Hirohito during his visit in Taiwan in 1923. This stadium includes a track field, a tennis court, a baseball field, and a two-story building for rest.48 This stadium served multiple purposes during the colonial era, a time when building the healthy and strong bodies of citizens served as a means of preparing individuals for a large state agenda. School, company, and island-wide sports games were held to promote a collective mindset and identity in the process of visualizing space and bodies in space. This stadium functioned as a space that connected the Empire and its colony when royal family members from Japan were invited to watch games in this place between 1923 and 1934.49 The vast open space of the stadium was also used for massive gathering occasions, such as festivals, celebrations, and parades. An article published in Taiwan Patriotic Women Newspaper (Taiwan Aikokufujin Shimpo) dated 1937 reported in great detail the procedure of the Praying Ritual (kigansai) and the Thankful Ritual (kanshasai), both of which were performed in the Yuanshan Stadium after the fall of Nanjing. 40,000 people were reported to have participate in these celebrations. The gatherings in the stadium began with the sound of horns playing the national anthem Kimigayo and the raising of the national flag. The assembly then turned to the direction of the Ise Jingu and the Imperial Residence and sang and prayed together for the souls of fallen soldiers. The military victory in China was then announced by Ishii Tatsui (1897–?), the mayor of Taipei, followed by the audience’s applause. The national 46 Cheng, “War and Animals: A Social Cultural History of the Taipei Zoo in Yuanshan,” 84. 47 Cheng, “War and Animals: A Social Cultural History of the Taipei Zoo in Yuanshan,” 90–94. 48 See Sung, “The Establishing Courses and Features Studies of Yuan-Shan Park and Taipei Park in Japanese Colonial Period,” 47. 49 Sung, “The Establishing Courses and Features Studies of Yuan-Shan Park and Taipei Park in Japanese Colonial Period,” 47.

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anthem was played again after the assembly hailed three cheers for the Imperial Army and Navy and the flag was lowered. Three jets then flew over the stadium and were received by continuous cheers from the crowd. The ceremony ended with a group worshipping service in the Taiwan Shrine.50 In this vein, the above public spaces, which were ostensibly built for public health, welfare, and leisure purposes, were actually integral parts of the Taiwan Shrine and its adjunct area and were regarded as spaces for collective indoctrination in line with the imperial schema. Traveling Gaze of the Empire: Taiwan Shrine and Gokoku Shrine in Tourist Guidebooks and Textbooks The development of urban land transportation under the new planning scheme made it easier for a large number of people to reach the Yuanshan Area from the city center by railway (1915) and then by bus (1930). Two infrastructural construction projects played a decisive role in providing citizens easy access to Yuanshan. First, the construction of the northbound Tamsui Railway Line, which connected the Taipei Railway Station/Tataocheng Station with Tamsui, started in 1901 and continued in the following decades. In 1915, five more stations were added, including the Miyanoshita Station, which was especially setup for people who intended to visit the Taiwan Shrine and Chokushi Kaid¯ o, which went in operation in 1923.51 As one of the popular tourist attractions in Taipei’s outskirts, the Yuanshan Area, including the Taiwan Shrine, the Yuanshan Zoo, the Yuanshan Stadium, the Yuanshan Park, and Jiantan Temple, began to appear in numerous tourist guidebooks and reports published during the colonial period. In this conglomeration of tourist sites, the Taiwan Shrine was “depoliticized” where people came to spend their leisure time. The Taiwan Shrine no longer served as a sacred space that connected Taiwan to the Japanese Empire in the spiritual sense and was purified as something essentially Taiwanese—the “other” to Japan. In 1927, nominations for the new “The Greater Eight Scenes of Taiwan (Taiwan bajing )” were sought by the Taiwan Nichinichi

50 “Maruyama de kigansai to kansha sai wo,” in Taiwan Aikokufujin Shimpo (Taipei: Taiwan Aikokufujinkai Taiwan Honbu, December 30, 1937), 1–3. 51 Taipei ting, Taipei ting zhi (Taipei shi: Chengwen chuban she, 1919), 467.

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Shinp¯ o .52 The first mention of the original “eight scenes” can be found in the local Gazette of Taiwan Prefecture compiled in 1696 not long after Taiwan was integrated into the map of the Qing China Empire.53 The framing of the iconic landscape in this instance can be seen as a process of “otherizing as internalizing” Taiwan as a “new addition to the frontier of the empire.”54 Similarly, the selection of the new “eight scenes” under Japanese rule represented an attempt to produce a flattened and spectacular impression of Taiwan’s natural and imagined space. However, unlike the eight scenes selected during the Qing Dynasty that mostly included natural landscapes around the Tainan Area, the new eight scenes included other locations across the island, such as the hills in Keelung and Tamsui River in the north, the Basian Mountain in Taichung, the Sun Moon Lake in the central mountain range, the Taroko Valley in the east, and Cape Eluanbi in the farthest south. Interestingly, the Taiwan Shrine was named as a beggaku—a special and iconic view of Taiwan— thereby making this area the only non-natural view in the selected eight scenes. In other words, the Taiwan Shrine was blended into the natural landscape in the imperial gaze. By framing the “essentials” of Taiwan’s landscape, not only the total sense of Taiwan was made known to domestic travelers and those from Japan, the lauding of natural landscapes per se further promoted the legitimization of the colonial rule. To travel such a long distance, railway networks that were rapidly extending in Taiwan played a crucial role in naturalizing Taiwan as an object of touristic gaze. Traveling by railway constituted the imperial narrative in a way that shows that the “homogenization” and “visualization” of space were both at work. As Wolfgang

52 The eight scenes included Keelung Rising Sun Hill, Tansui, Eight Immortals Mountain, Sun Moon Lake, Alishan, Shoushan (sizi xizhao), Cape Eluanbi, Taroko. The other version is Wulai, Tansui, Eight Immortals Mountain, Sun Moon Lake, Alishan, Bagua Shan, Tainan Anping, Kenting. 53 See Hui-feng Shin, “The Aesthetic Appreciation and Aspects of Empire: The Literary Construct of the Eight Scenic Views of Taiwan and its Aesthetic Ideology,” Taiwan Literature Studies, no. 2 (June 1, 2012): 79, 81–132. And Hui-yu Hsu, “The First Rainbow of Taiwan’s Landscapes: The Study of Poems of Eight Wonders Recorded in Gong-qian Gao’s Taiwan Chorography, Yiwenzhi,” Chang Gung Journal of Humanities and Social Sciences 9, no. 2 (October 1, 2016): 221–260 for the bureaucrat and literati’s literary construction of the eight views in the poetry and gazettes of Taiwan. 54 Shin, “The Aesthetic Appreciation and Aspects of Empire: The Literary Construct of the Eight Scenic Views of Taiwan and its Aesthetic Ideology,” 79.

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Schivelbusch argues in The Railway Time and Space in the 19th Century, “landscape” as a highly subjective and world into the space of “geography,” under control and surveillance:

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Journey: The Industrialization of railways transformed the space of personal experience of the outside which was embedded in a system

The speed and mathematical directness with which the railroad proceeds through the terrain destroy the close relationship between the traveler and the traveled space. The space of landscape becomes, to apply Erwin Straus’ concept, geographical space. “In a landscape,” says Straus, “we always get to one place from another place; each location is determined only by its relation to the neighboring place within the circle of visibility.” But geographical space is closed, and is therefore in its entire structure transparent. Every place in such a space is determined by its position with respect to the whole and ultimately by its relation to the null point of the coordinate system by which this space obtains its order. Geographical space is systematized.55

Taiwan’s natural landscape was systematized into geographical entities to prepare for the next stage of the transformation of natural space into an ideological space. In 1937, when the Second Sino-Japanese War broke out and the K¯ ominka period began in Taiwan, several projects were launched to upgrade and expand Taiwan Shrine in tandem with the expansion of Ise Jinju and Yasukuni Shrine (Yasukuni Jinja) in Japan.56 This expansion project not only resulted in the eastward relocation of Jiantan Temple but also in the establishment of two new sites as required during that time. The first was the National Center for Spiritual Research and Exercise (Kokumin Seishin Kensh¯ ujo), which was built in 1938 to strengthen the people’s spirit and body in preparation for war in Asia and the National Spiritual Mobilization Movement (Kokumin Seishin S¯ od¯ oin) as well as to promote the ideology epitomized by the shrine (Fig. 4.8). In reality, Shinto shrines in Taiwan were “overwhelmingly used by immigrants for the home islands. The Colonials never developed deep religious attachments to these symbols of Japanese domination.”57 The 55 Wolfgang Schivelbusch, The Railway Journey: The Industrialization of Time and Space in the 19th Century (University of California Press, 1986), 53. 56 See “Kenchiku zatsuh¯ o,” Taiwan jianzhi hui zhi 11, no. 4 (1935): 311–312. 57 Hardacre, Shinto and the State, 1868–1988, 95, and Taiwan shenshe zhi. Ninth edition

(Taipei shi: Taiwan shenshe shewu suo, 1935), 118.

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Fig. 4.8 The National Center for Spiritual Research and Exercise (Source Taiwan zongdu fu, Taiwan no syakai ky¯ oiku [Taipei shi: Taiwan zongdu fu]. National Taiwan University Library)

second space was the Gokoku Shrine, built in 1942, the precise site on which the National Revolutionary Martyrs’ Shrine. If Taiwan Shrine’s main task was to “cast a spell” on the colony under the Empire as a part of military-conquering agenda, then the Gokoku Shrine is similar to its “headquarter” Yasukuni Shrine in Tokyo as space for military mobilization. The “localness” of the Gokoku Shrine lies in the fact that it harbored the souls of soldiers who fell during the invasion of China and who were “related to Taiwan,” that is, the Taiwanese (and probably Japanese residing in Taiwan) who fought as Japanese soldiers.58 By the time the Gokoku Shrine was built in Yuanshan area, the imperial landscape of Yuanshan became a complete space of f¯ ukei, a landscape. According to Karatani Kojin, this f¯ ukei is not merely a landscape that 58 Kenkou Jinja, which was erected in 1926 in Taipei, was already seen as the “Yasukuni

Shrine in Taiwan.” See Taiwan shenzhi hui, “Taiwan no Yasukuni Jinja: Kenkou Jinja no soken,” Jing shen 2, no. 2 (1928): 11. The erection of an “additional” Kokaku Jinja in 1942 indicated that the military mobilization of Taiwan was becoming increasingly intensive. See Taiwan shenzhi hui, “Taiwan hu guo shenshe yu zao ying fengzan hui quyi shu bing hui ze,” Jing shen 13, no. 8 (1928): 51–52.

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comprises natural sceneries or historic relics but more of an “internal” landscape—a subjective and man-made landscape that was “discovered” ukei is not by an “awakening” moment of the self.59 However, this f¯ only a singular experience of “I”; the image of an idealized f¯ ukei is also constructed to fuel a collective fantasy of “we” that is inlaid into the iconic landscape as an archetype of the true and authentic. The blending of the individual f¯ ukei and the collective f¯ ukei was well illustrated in the short essay “Gokoku Jinja” published in a Japanese language textbook by the Taiwan Governor-General House in 1943. This essay tells the story of a young boy named Isamu-kun (which means boy with courage) who goes out with his uncle on a fine day. The essay then shifts to a conversation between the two generations as they discuss in detail how they go to the two Shinto shrines in Yuanshan. They arrive at Yuanshan by bus, cross the Meiji Bridge, and go to Taiwan Shrine for worship. The location of the Gokoku Shrine is described in relation with both the Keelung River and the mountains. The uncle says, Isn’t this a great environment here? There are mountains in the back and rivers in front. Taipei city can be easily seen from here.”60 From this panoramic view, the narrator’s perspective comes closer to the space on a horizontal level; the sand on the sand¯ o , the newly planted trees, the torii and handwashing site, and the main hall are all carefully observed. The essay then switches from the “first-person” narrative of Isamu-kun to a direct quotation from his uncle, who tells him about a cinematic reenactment of the enshrinement ceremony in which he personally participated. Interestingly, the description in the essay resorts not to visual but to acoustic experiences: in sheer darkness, hundreds of participants remain absolutely silent until they hear the opening of the wooden gates of the main hall, which would indicate the advent of the deity. Horns are then blown from afar and the sound makes the uncle feel his body tighten. The invisibility of the deity and the shrine space accelerates the discovery of the “internal” f¯ ukei not as a visual but as a psychological, sensual, and ideological event. The strong emotional vibration re-evoked in his uncle at that time animates his face. Upon hearing his uncle’s story and seeing his face, Isamu-kun expresses his love for the army and wishes to enlist, for which his uncle expresses enthusiastic support. The essay ends with a sonic boom from a military plane flying southward over their heads. 59 See Kojin Karatani, Riben xiandai wenxue de qiyuan, Beijing first edition, translated by Jing-hua Zhao (Beijing shi: SDX Joint Publishing Company, 2003), 57. 60 “Gokoku Jinja,” Elementary Japanese 3 (Taipei: Taipei General Governor Government, 1943), 51.

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Postwar Yuanshan and Martyrs’ Shrine in Taiwan Spatial Agency of the National Will: Martyrs’ Shrine Vis-à-Vis Shinto Shrine A jet plane eventually destroyed the Taiwan Shrine in an accident on October 25, 1944, the year before the surrender of Japan. It was also during this year that the Taiwan Shrine was upgraded to Taiwan Jingu after the sun goddess Amaterasu, who was being worshipped in Ise Jingu, was added on June 17 to the pantheon of deities of the Jinja, which was already the highest-ranking Shinto shrine in Taiwan at that time. However, the grand enshrinement ceremony in the new expanded site, which was scheduled on December 28 of that year, never came to pass as a military cargo plane crashed into the Jingu Area and destroyed many of its major architecture and landmarks, including the toriis , stone lamps, and monument for policemen in Taiwan (Fig. 4.9a, b). This accident symbolized the decline of the spatial domination of Shinto beliefs in Taipei. After the Chinese Nationalist Government took over Taiwan, a new round of inscriptions with spatial meaning soon began to take shape. When the KMT and its government arrived in Taiwan in 1945, removing the architectural residues of the Japanese period was understandably a part of the process of “uprooting Japan and implanting China” in postwar Taiwan. This process can be considered a crucial part of KMT’s legitimacy building and cultural reconstruction projects on the island. These projects included agendas in language education,

Fig. 4.9 a, b Aerial view of Yuanshan Area taken US Airforce (1945) (Source Hundred Years of Taipei Historical Maps, Center for GIS RCHSS, Academia Sinica, at: http://gissrv4.sinica.edu.tw/gis/taipei.aspx)

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publication, translation, and art and the establishment of a propaganda machine.61 These projects were certainly a direct result of the anti-Japan emotion that prevailed in the years immediately following the war.62 In 1974, the Ministry of the Interior published a decree stating “key points with regard to eradicating commemorative relics that represented the sense of superiority of colonial governance of Japanese imperialism,” the first item of which was the “demolition of Japanese Shinto shrines.”63 While more than 200 Shinto shrines of various ranks left by Japanese colonizers were demolished as old and unwanted symbols of shame, some of them, out of financial reasons, were only partially demolished and transformed into Chinese war monuments. To continue the wartime practice in the Mainland, the Chiang Kai-shek government built the Martyrs’ Shrine in Taiwan on the base of the Shinto shrines.64 Thus, martyrs’ shrines in Taiwan are the best visual representation of the changes in regime from the Japanese Empire to the ROC. Compared with its counterparts in the Mainland, martyrs’ shrines in Taiwan play an additional role in the ROC, that of burying and exorcizing the Japanese spirits. Tsai Chin-tang proposes a potential internal connection between martyrs’ shrines and the Japanese Shinto shrines. First, both of these shrines were constructed amid political and military turbulence during the formation of a new and modern nation-state. The establishment of these shrines was considered as a hasty reaction to the escalating warfare and increasing number of casualties and may be thought of as a double-edged sword in legitimizing the newly founded regimes in both societies. Tsai also mentions the possibility that Chiang Kai-shek’s idea to setup commemorative shrines in China is inspired by his visits to the Yasukuni Shrine while he was studying in the nearby Imperial Japanese

61 See Ying-che Huang, Qu Riben hua, zai Zhongguo hua: zhanhou Taiwan wenhua chongjian, 1945–1947 (Uprooting Japan, Implanting China: Cultural Reconstruction in Postwar Taiwan, 1945–1947) Xiu ding ban, san ban (Taipei shi: Maitian chuban, 2017). 62 See Chien-chung Chen, “Mapping the History of Historic Preservation in Taiwan

After 1990s” (master’s thesis, National Taiwan University Graduate Institute of Building and Planning, 2006), 44–57. 63 See Chen, “Mapping the History of Historic Preservation in Taiwan After 1990s,” 50, 56. 64 Tsai, “A Comparative Study on Taiwan’s Martyrs’ Shrine versus Japan’s Gokoku Shrine and Yasukuni Shrine,” 7–8.

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Army Academy (Rikugun Shikan Gakkou) in Ichigaya.65 A year before Chiang Kai-shek announced the official laws and regulations concerning this shrine in 1940, Japan changed its temporary commemorative site, sh¯ okonsha, to the permanent Gokoku Shrine.66 After comparing these two shrines in greater detail, Tsai modifies his view that martyrs’ shrine owed its inspiration to the Yasukuni Shrine by highlighting the discrepancies instead of the similarities between these structures. He argues that from the very beginning, the establishment of zhonglieci, or martyrs’ shrine, is “obtrusive” (tuwu) in the Chinese tradition; therefore, this shrine is not informed by the same long-lasting vitality of its Japanese counterparts.67 The system of the Gokoku Shrine/Yasukuni Shrine emerged as a new state religion from the fierce political confrontations during the transition from Bakumatsu to the Meiji Restoration. Therefore, the state Shinto belief stems from the traditional Shinto religion on the one hand and the formation of Meiji Japan as a modern nation-state on the other.68 The residues of “Yasukuni thoughts” in postwar Japan remains an important indicator of understanding Japan until today. By contrast, martyrs’ shrine is perceived as a towering, unfamiliar structure in the Chinese shrine culture that commemorates a tradition that “values letters and belittles arms.”69 Tsai believes that the Yasukuni/Gokoku Shrine was more sustainable than the Martyrs’ Shrine as the former has a much systematic social support and deeper cultural genealogy in Japanese society while the latter is only built as a temporary and immediate reaction to the circumstances of war. In addition, I believe that it is important to evaluate the role of martyrs’ shrine in creating a Chinese nation that is different from Japan. In Republican China, it is the unmediated state body per se, rather than its “romanticized” or “mystified” representative, that is ultimately 65 Tsai, “A Comparative Study on Taiwan’s Martyrs’ Shrine versus Japan’s Gokoku Shrine and Yasukuni Shrine,” 12. 66 Tsai, “A Comparative Study on Taiwan’s Martyrs’ Shrine versus Japan’s Gokoku Shrine and Yasukuni Shrine,” 13. 67 Tsai, “A Comparative Study on Taiwan’s Martyrs’ Shrine versus Japan’s Gokoku Shrine and Yasukuni Shrine,” 12. 68 Tsai, “A Comparative Study on Taiwan’s Martyrs’ Shrine versus Japan’s Gokoku Shrine and Yasukuni Shrine,” 13. 69 Tsai, “A Comparative Study on Taiwan’s Martyrs’ Shrine versus Japan’s Gokoku Shrine and Yasukuni Shrine,” 12–13.

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worshipped in a shrine. Neither Japan nor China was a theocracy in the western sense. While the western religious authorities began to collapse in the face of the modern nation-state as a process of “disenchantment” through secularization, the establishment of the Gokoku/Yasukuni Shrine and martyrs’ shrine can be seen as a process of “enchantment” of an already secular world. In both the Japanese and Chinese cases, the state will was worshipped as the deity that is not only different from but is also more powerful than “real” religious beliefs.70 The modernity of “de-secularization” is therefore embodied in both of the aforementioned shrines. Nevertheless, given that the monarchy system in China was destroyed by the revolution, the Republican government—or the state itself—had to act as the spiritual center of the nation. However, the state is less stable than the patrimonial system of monarchy, which was retained by Japan after its modernization. In modern China, the unified trinity of “nation,” “state,” and “party” (the KMT and later the CCP) constituted the initial form of a nation-state. After the party’s narrative was altered or after the regime was transferred to a new party, the national narrative was changed accordingly. According to Tsai, in both the Yasukuni Shrine and martyrs’ shrine, it was always the victorious regime that decides who will be worshipped, thereby effectively excluding its Civil War enemies as potential candidates. For instance, Saig¯ o Takamori (1828–1877), one of the three nobles in the Meiji Restoration who waged the Satsuma Rebellion, was not enshrined in the Yasukuni Shrine just as no names of fallen Communist Party soldiers and officers who contributed to the fight against Japanese can be found in the National Martyrs’ Shrine.71 Therefore, these shrines are not “national spaces” but spaces that speak only for the central state or the state in power. Chang Shih-ying contends that although the Sino-Japanese War was indisputably the most momentous event in China in the twentieth 70 In an announcement released in 1954, religious groups were forbidden from using Martyrs’ Shrine as a site for preaching. See “Wei zhonglieci buyi jieyong renhe zongjiao tuanti budao an,” 1954, The Taiwan Historica, file number: 41270025428017. 71 Tsai, “A Comparative Study on Taiwan’s Martyrs’ Shrine versus Japan’s Gokoku Shrine and Yasukuni Shrine,” 14–15, see also, Shih-ying Chang, “Chinese National Government’s Survey and Commemoration of Anti-Japanese War Martyrs,” Bulletin of Academia historica, no. 26 (2010): 2—the commemoration of fallen soldiers in Chongqing was limited to those who were sacrificed in the KMT-dominated region and excluded those who were sacrificed in Yan’an and the Japanese-occupied region under the puppet regime of Wang Jing-wei.

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century for both KMT and CCP governments, the narrative of the war on these two sides was deeply divided, if not opposite, with regard to who the genuine leader of the war and the true representative of China was, even if both the KMT and CCP troops were both fighting against Japan as parts of the Chinese nation.72 These contested narratives, including the narratives of martyrs’ shrine, reduce the power of the Sino-Japanese War as the core myth of the Chinese nation. Instead of claiming a consistent Chinese subjectivity in the war against the other, martyrs’ shrine could offer only as a weak space for maintaining national memory and nationalism. The Grand Hotel: Showcase of Spatial Continuity and Rupture in Yuanshan Thus, the building of martyrs’ shrines in Taiwan showed an even more complex relationship with the building of the Chinese nation under Chiang’s KMT government. After the KMT’s retreat to the island after its defeat by the CCP, Taiwan played a special role in the nation making of the ROC. The defeat of the KMT in the Civil War and their loss of the Mainland had uprooted shrines from their “national” soil. This is particularly true for the National Martyrs’ Shrine, which was actually a shrine “in exile” as it is impossible to build such a structure in Nanjing or Chongqing after the war. This shrine was built in Taipei, which served as the peripheral and temporary capital of the ROC, with an aim to strengthen two kinds of legitimacies, namely, that of the ROC in Mainland China and that of the KMT’s rule in Taiwan. If the defeat of the Nationalist Party in the Civil War had already weakened the legitimacy of this shrine in the Mainland, the “burden” of the Martyrs’ Shrine in Taiwan could only double. However, the Martyrs’ Shrine did not take up this double role overnight. In 1946, the KMT government decided to transform the Gokoku Shrine into the Martyrs’ Shrine.73 This transformation echoes Tsai’s opinion that the Martyrs’ Shrine is a direct counterpart of the Gokoku Shrine in terms of their functions in commemorating the national

72 Chang, “Chinese National Government’s Survey and Commemoration of AntiJapanese War Martyrs,” 8. 73 “Jieshou hu guo shenshe gai wei sheng zhonglieci,” 1946, The Taiwan Historica, file number: 312920002001. Surprisingly, another document showed that during the transitional period, even the previous Jinja staff were allowed to stay to work as administrators of the Gokoku Shrine. See “Jieshou hu guo shenshe gai wei sheng zhonglieci,” 1946, The Taiwan Historica, file number: 312920002002.

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military. An official document from the government in 1950 shows that due to insufficient funding, the transformation was only carried out to a limited level.74 In other regional cases, as can be seen in its Taiwanese color, the main deity being worshipped at some of the martyrs’ shrines in Taiwan was Koxinga (Zheng Cheng-gong (1624–1662)), the Ming Dynasty loyalist who ended Dutch colonization and began the Ming rule in Taiwan.75 Following the full retreat of the KMT government to Taiwan in 1949, the island’s position in the ROC began to change. Settling their power mainly in Taipei as the temporary capital, the KMT portrayed Taiwan as their main base for “reclaiming the Mainland.” In the following year, the military confrontation on the Korea Peninsula was intensified, marking the beginning of the tensions between Communist China and the US after WWII. Under the control of the US’s WWII ally Chiang and the KMT government, Taiwan was considered a crucial strategic point for the US’s military maneuvers in the Asia-Pacific. For its part, the KMT government was in need of American financial and military support to defend itself from the possible expansion of Communism into its last fortress. Under such circumstances, it is not difficult to understand why in 1952, on the former site of the Taiwan Shrine, a considerable amount of money went to the construction of the Grand Hotel Taipei, a megastructure whose function differed entirely from that of the Taiwan Shrine. It is said that the idea of building this hotel started with former US General Douglas MacArthur’s visit in Taipei in the early 1950s, during which he stayed in the Yangmingshan Grass Mountain Royal Guest House built in 1923 by the Japanese to accommodate Prince Hirohito. In their reports of MacArthur’s visit, the western media commented that Taiwan was still so Japanese that it had to host its revered guest in a Japanese house.76 In reaction to this comment, Chiang’s wife Madame Soong Mei-ling proposed the construction of a new hotel. The site of the symbolic spiritual center of colonial Taiwan thus gave way to accommodate the urgent need of Chiang’s government to host its Cold War 74 See “Bensheng Taipei shi zhengfu chengqing huan jian gai shi zhonglieci yi an dian qing cha zhao you,” 1950, The Taiwan Historica, file number: 41270012106009. 75 See “Taiwan sheng zhonglieci jisi banfa jianyi 2 dian an,” 1946, The Taiwan Historica, file number: 301600001006. 76 Kai-huang Chen, Yuanshan gushi: Yuanshan da fandian—jiazi fengyun (Taipei shi: Yuanshan dafandian, April 2012), 24.

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Fig. 4.10 Map of Yuanshan Area (1957) (Source Hundred Years of Taipei Historical Maps, Center for GIS RCHSS, Academia Sinica, at: http://gissrv4. sinica.edu.tw/gis/taipei.aspx)

allies, especially the US.77 On a Taipei City map made for the National Day Celebration in 1957, the Yuanshan Area included neither Martyrs’ Shrine nor the Grand Hotel. If this map tells a narrative of the space from the perspective of the cartographer, only the Yuanshan Recreation Club (a subsidiary yet a core organization under the Grand Hotel where “international members may foster friendships and connections”),78 the Cemetery to “five hundred heroes” who committed suicide after their defeat to communists in Taiyuan during the Civil War,79 and the Chiang Kai-shek Hall on the site of Taiwan Jingu were present in such narrative (Fig. 4.10).

77 Chen, Yuanshan gushi: Yuanshan da fandian—jiazi fengyun, 6. 78 The Yuanshan Club of Taipei, accessed November 2, 2018, at: http://www.grand-

hotel.org/club/en/?Psn=5501. 79 The heroic deed was said to be faked as propaganda by the KMT government even though it was written in the textbooks in Taiwan during Chiang’s period. This story was no longer widely circulated when its credibility was questioned after the end of the martial law.

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Fig. 4.11 Map of Yuanshan Area (1967) (Source Hundred Years of Taipei Historical Maps, Center for GIS RCHSS, Academia Sinica, at: http://gissrv4. sinica.edu.tw/gis/taipei.aspx)

From the 1950s to the 1970s, as this map shows, there was the actual presence of the US Army in Yuanshan. In 1953, dorm houses were already being built in the area of the Yuanshan Park to accommodate the members of the US Military Assistance Advisory Group and their families.80 The US Navy Institute was facing the Park (Fig. 4.11). On Section 3 of North Zhongshan Road, the former Chokushi Kaid¯ o and the US Rest and Relaxation (R&R) Center were built between 1965 and 1972 to entertain soldiers on furlough from the Vietnam War. The consumption of the US military forces in Taiwan thus became one of the major sources of foreign currency income for Taiwan after the cessation of US financial support in 1965.81

80 “Ju chengqing jiang Yuanshan ting meijun guwen tuan juan she jianzhu jidi zai junshi xuyao jiechu hou huifu yuanzhuang yi an ling yang zunzhao you,” 1953, The Taiwan Historica, file number: 44410022991004. 81 Xi-hai Huang, Monga maruyama no monogatari (Taipei: Yongye chuban she, 2004), 216–217.

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Such significant changes in the Yuanshan Area after the colonial period served as a foil to the delay in building a martyrs’ shrine in the nearby area. In the 1950s, a commemorative shrine dedicated to the fallen in the war against Japan served as a weak monument because the KMT-defined Chinese nationalism shifted its main emphasis in the postwar years. The relations of Taiwan with the US in the context of Cold War diplomacy and anti-Communism were prioritized over its memories of the anti-Japanese War and were considered very important in constructing national loyalty and mobilizing social sentiment. During this period, Taiwan actually sided with the Japanese. Replacing the Taiwan Shrine, the colossal QingDynasty-Palace-style architecture of the Grand Hotel dominated postwar Yuanshan and even the entire Taipei as a visual icon. It is not an exaggeration to say that the Grand Hotel determined the overall visual appearance of postwar Yuanshan. The Martyrs’ Shrine, which was renovated and upgraded in 1969, also became part of this spectacle. The main image of the Grand Hotel as seen today was not completely formed until 1973. This structure of the hotel evolved from Taiwan Hotel built in 1949 and was renamed to The Grand Hotel in 1952, the same year when the Yuanshan Recreation Club was established.82 Both the early form of this hotel in the 1950s and the 14-storey new Grand Hotel were designed by Yang Cho-cheng (1914–2006), who was among the first generation of mainland/Shanghai architects who came to Taiwan after WWII. In its early form, this hotel was characterized by its distinctive “Chinese” style with its red columns and golden roof tiling that resembled the color scheme and structure of the Forbidden City in Beijing (Fig. 4.12). Yang designed Chiang’s residence in Shilin (1950) and Cihu (1961) in a similar style. In 1980, Yang was commissioned to design the Grand Hotel’s branch in Kaohsiung and the Chiang Kai-shek Memorial Hall and National Theatre, after which he constructed the National Concert Hall in 1989 and the gigantic square space of the Chiang Kai-shek Memorial Park.83 The last three structures, which can be seen as a symbolic space of national cultural spirit, still occupy the center of Taipei today.

82 Chen, Yuanshan gushi: Yuanshan da fandian—jiazi fengyun, 25. 83 According to Matten (2011), “The Chiang Kai-shek Memorial Park in central Taipei

(250,000 square meters (2,700,000 square feet) of an urban residential area had been razed for this purpose).” See Marc Andre Matten, “The Chiang Kai-shek Memorial Hall in Taipei: A Contested Place of Memory,” in Places of Memory in Modern China: History, Politics, and Identity, ed. Marc Andre Matten (Leiden, The Netherlands: Brill, 2011), 57.

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Fig. 4.12 Old Yuanshan Hotel in the 1950s (Source Public Domain)

While the Grand Hotel was an icon in service of the leisure and tourism industry, on the surface, it was playing the de facto role of the “headquarters” of Cold War anti-communist allies of the ROC in Taiwan. Built on the site of the Taiwan Shrine, this structure fundamentally altered the spatial meaning of Taipei as an object of a new traveler’s gaze. In the musical film Air Hostess directed by Yi Wen (1920–1978) in 1959 and produced by Cathay Organization, one of the biggest film companies in the Asia Pacific at that time, the landscape of Asia in the capitalism camp was viewed from the eyes of three beautiful young middle-class girls who aspire to be independent by working as free-traveling air hostesses. In the film, the main protagonist, a lively young air hostess named Lin Keping (played by Grace Chang (1933–)) and her colleagues fly to Taipei from Hong Kong on duty. Their journey in Taipei begins soon after they land in Songshan Airport. The first shot of Taipei focuses on the overpass on North Zhongshan Road or Fuxing Bridge, under which a train is standing. Two fixed shots are then presented to give an upfront view of two landmarks in Taipei, namely, the Presidential Office Building (the former Governor’s House left by the Japanese) and the East Gate of old Taipei City, in an attempt to show the cultural diversity of Taipei through its major public architecture. The camera then begins to move, on an

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automobile apparently, in almost the same path toward the Taiwan Shrine shown in the Japanese propaganda film Southward Expansion to Taiwan (1940). The vehicle rapidly goes by way of the Meiji Bridge (present-day Zhongshan Bridge) and passes a large plaque that reads, “Grand Hotel Recreation Club.” The vehicle then continues its way up a hill, and a cannon can be seen on the left. A flashy red-and-white car then stops at the hotel entrance. One cannot see the entire hotel, but the shot imparts a sense of Qing Chinese Palace architecture, including a bright red pillar, glazed tile roof, brackets, and Chinese-style engravings on the building’s façade. Thus far, the film attempts to remove the Japanese color of Taipei by merging the western-looking colonial architectural relics with the old and new Chinese structures to generate a sense of “Taiwan.” The subsequent shot, which is taken from the view of Lin Ke-ping, the protagonist, toward Taipei City, unexpectedly reveals the previous incarnation of the Grand Hotel. Over the shoulder of the protagonist, we can clearly see the first layer of the torii of the Taiwan Shrine and two intact stone lamps on both sides. The sacred path toward the main hall of the Shinto shrine has now become a swimming pool. In the completely transformed spatial layout, the stairs on the path have been excavated, the hillside filled with water, and transformed into a leisure space for hotel guests. In real life, the torii would remain in its place until 1969 before it was replaced by a Chinese-style gate. Later in the film, Grace Chang sings the famous “The Taiwan Song” (Taiwan xiaodiao) in the hotel’s lavishly decorated Golden Dragon Banquet Hall. Adapted from the popular Southern Min Chinese song “Night in the City of Tainan” in postwar Taiwan composed by Hsu Shih (1919–1980), a famous Taiwanese songwriter who studied music in Japan and began to extensively collect Taiwanese local folk melodies after his return to Taiwan, Grace Chang’s song offers an intriguing metaphorical parallel to the story of Yuanshan and the Grand Hotel in the immediate postwar Taipei. In the original version, the song narrates the story of a love forlorn young man. To fit the film’s storyline, the director rewrote it to three parts that praises Taiwan for its strategic position, rich natural resources, and beautiful landscapes. “The Taiwan Song” sung by Grace Chang is apparently written from an outsider’s point of view and positions Taiwan as a “treasure island” of the ROC, a position that is reminiscent of Japan’s depiction of Taiwan in its propagandas. Interestingly, even if the “surface” of this song is re-invented via delocalizing its lyrics during its performance in the Grand Hotel’s Chinese setting, the song retains its

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Fig. 4.13 Postcard showing Copper Dragon in Taiwan Shrine (Source Public Domain)

distinctive mix of Taiwanese folk tune and Japanese popular song, especially in its second half that highly resembles Ringo no Uta (1946) or “Song of Apple,” which is considered the most popular song after the end of WWII in Japan.84 If the film gives only a brief glimpse of the hidden structural continuity between the Taiwan Shrine and the Grand Hotel, there are other more direct connections between the two in the hotel space—for example, the Golden Dragon Fountain. In the Grand Hotel, the emphasis on the image of dragons directly speaks to the intended image of Chineseness. Apart from the Nine-Dragon Wall (which was a replica of the same dragon wall in Beijing’s Forbidden City located at the entrance of the ground floor banquet hall), most importantly, there is a golden dragon sculpture fountain at the entrance of the Golden Dragon Hall.85 Chinese as it appears to be, the dragon sculpture was actually made of bronze and served as a decorative fountain at the garden of the Taiwan Shrine (Fig. 4.13). 84 Tian-jin Tsai, “Xu shi ‘nandu zhi ye’ chuanchang ji xuanlu laiyuan tanjiu,” Gaoxiong wenhua yanjiu (October 2009): 1–51. 85 Chen, Yuanshan gushi: Yuanshan da fandian—jiazi fengyun, 90.

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This artefact was said to be the only object that remained intact near the spot of the plane crash that almost completely destroyed the shrine.86 In terms of aesthetics, the new dragon fountain was gilded with 24K gold in 1987 to be in line with the Chinese taste for “beauty” or “luck” (Fig. 4.14). While the introductory plaque of the dragon on the base of the sculpture serves to introduce the “hundred year’s history” of the hotel and downplays its relation with the Japanese period, the real identity of this dragon can be still observed in the details. Specifically, while Chinese dragons in the Ming and Qing dynasties usually have four to five paws, Japanese dragons, in contrast to the Chinese tradition, only have three paws. The “Century Golden Dragon” in the Grand Hotel, as it turned out, has only three paws. Its uniqueness, although hidden by the golden coat, highlighted the endurance of spatial objects even after their previous meanings were ripped off, altered, and covered. The same “recycling” strategy was applied to other objects from the Shinto shrine to the Grand Hotel. For instance, the stone lions donated by the Lin Families to the Taiwan Shrine in 1901 were re-erected in the square in front of the hotel. The stone base of the Victory Monument for the Japanese Imperial Navy, which was located on the worshipping path of the shrine, now became the base for the construction of a new stone monument at the entrance of the hotel’s parking garage. The stone body of the monument was also remade from another monument dedicated to the receiving of new weapons near the shrine. By replacing the original inscriptions on the monument with the new words “Historic Site of Jiantan (Jiantan Shengji),” the military connotation of this structure was completely erased.87 During Taiwan’s martial law period (1949–1987), the Grand Hotel represented the “national façade” of Taiwan in accommodating revered national guests from overseas, such as former US President Eisenhower 86 Chen, Yuanshan gushi: Yuanshan da fandian—jiazi fengyun, 89–90. 87 Huang, “A Study of the Taiwan Grand Shrine during the Period of Japanese Rule to

the Ritual Artifacts and Offerings,” 42. Another famous case of remaking of old memorial objects from Taiwan Shrine and other Shinto shrines was the effacement and relocation of bronze horses, which can now be seen in public parks or in their original locations. However, the Shinto shrines were transformed into the Martyrs’ Shrine. Accordingly, the horses were changed or deprived of their original symbolisms. See a detailed discussion by Joseph R. Allen, “A Horse in a Park in a City on an Island in the Sea,” in Taipei: City of Displacements (Seattle: University of Washington Press, 2012), 159–180.

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Fig. 4.14 Golden Dragon Today (2019) (Source Photo by the author)

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in 1960 and King Bhumibol Adulyadej of Thailand and his wife in 1963. This hotel was also famous for hosting important meetings. For example, the negotiations after the termination of diplomatic relations between the ROC and the US took place in the hotel’s Emei Hall (now Kunlun Hall) in 1978. The Grand Hotel proudly claimed in its official introduction that it was “voted the Best Hotel by the U.S. magazine ‘Holiday,’ which described it as ‘a calming oasis within the hustle and bustle of the world.’”88 Although the Grand Hotel was supposedly a “public space” similar to the Taiwan Shrine, it was in fact much less accessible to the public as a national guesthouse for the elite. Therefore, the Grand Hotel remained a mysterious “palace” for Chiang’s family and high-ranking officials from the Mainland. To add to the mysteriousness of this hotel, rumor has it that there is a secret emergency escape tunnel that directly leads to Chiang’s Shilin Residence. Many years later, a journalist revealed the truth of the tunnel: beginning with a 20-meter sliding path and 74 steps built by its side, the whole tunnel meanders for 85 meters in total and leads to a metal gate that opens to Jiantan Park.89 This well-equipped tunnel was said to be initially built according to the normal standards. Following the instructions of Kung Ling-chun (1919–1994), the chief manager of the Grand Hotel and confidant of Madame Soong, Yang redesigned the tunnel by upgrading its anti-explosion, soundproof, lightning, and protective functions,90 The tunnel, however, was not built for public use, but only for the privileged. In this way, Yuanshan and its “sanctity,” which was once represented by an imperial Shinto shrine, now shifted to that of another kind represented by the Grand Hotel as a space of Chinese national dignity and elite power. Both kinds of sanctity were nevertheless similar in their roots; specifically, they epitomized an imposed hierarchy of authoritarian power in Taiwan with a top-down (both visually and geographically) will. From the Ise style of Shinto shrine to the quasi-Chinese Northern Palace, Yuanshan’s icon was always about elsewhere. Between 1970 and 1973, the Grand Hotel underwent renovation and became the 14-storey high-rise of today. The “modernity” of the hotel

88 “Index,” Yuanshan da fandian (The Grand Hotel), accessed November 8, 2018, at: http://www.grand-hotel.org/taipei/en/?Psn=5305. 89 Chen, Yuanshan gushi: Yuanshan da fandian—jiazi fengyun, 92–93. 90 Chen, Yuanshan gushi: Yuanshan da fandian—jiazi fengyun, 92.

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reached a new level. Following the death of Chiang Kai-shek in 1976, the termination of the ROC–US diplomatic relations in 1978, and the gradual loosening of the tight political grip under Chiang Ching-kuo’s presidency from 1978 to 1984, the Grand Hotel no longer served as a “national” space. Nevertheless, Taipei’s Grand Hotel remained Taiwan’s most “politically important” hotel.91 With its fortress-like exclusiveness to KMT leaders, the hotel has become a space that bears witness to the historic moments in the democratization process of Taiwan. The KMT had dominated the one-party state system since its arrival in Taiwan, but in 1986, a brand-new Taiwan-oriented political party rose to challenge its monopoly of power. The Democratic Progressive Party (DPP) was formally established at the Grand Hotel. In the 1990s, the Hotel was “secularized” into a spectacle amid Taiwan’s thriving global tourism, not the abstract and symbolic kind that appears in Air Hostess but one that represents a real space under a seemingly “democratic” capitalism in which political power transformed itself to economic power. The hotel was also the setting for Ang Lee’s well-known film Eat Drink Man Woman (1994). The complete collapse of the Grand Hotel’s old image eventually occurred in 1995 in a way reminiscent of the burning down of the Taiwan Shrine that symbolizes the end of the Japanese colonial era. Not long after Taiwan’s political thaw, a big fire whose cause remains largely unknown quickly devoured the top part of the hotel and destroyed its 10th, 11th, and 12th floors along with its famous presidential suites on June 27. Nevertheless, this disastrous fire did not evoke much response, much less sympathy, from the public, and the burning hotel became a spectacle. In an interview conducted by Taipei Radio, Chen Chih-wu of Tamkang University questioned the ostensible “publicness” of the hotel building. He thought that even if the construction of the hotel was funded by public money, its operation was placed under the supervision of neither the legal system nor the public due to the privilege it enjoyed under the undemocratic system. In this sense, the Grand Hotel was both public and private. On the premise that the “city is the citizens’ public property,” Chen proposed three suggestions on how to handle the half-destroyed hotel. First, given that the Grand Hotel symbolized the old, authoritarian era, he suggested that the ruins of the hotel should be maintained as

91 The Grand Hotel in Kaohsiung was built in 1957, with the similar Northern Palace Style as the one in Taipei.

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memorial relics of the decaying old society. Second, owing to the importance of its space in Taipei since the Japanese colonial period, the whole architecture of the hotel should be destroyed to recover—from the hands of dictators—the natural landscape of Yuanshan which can then turn into a public park. Third, he thought it would be fair at least to demolish the burnt-down part of the hotel to lessen the long-term repressive feeling that the building created in the nearby mountains.92 In China Times , one of the most widely read newspaper in Taiwan since 1950, Shih Wei-chuan mentioned that the location of the hotel on the mountains presupposed a gaze from the high to the low, which symbolized the power relations between the elite and the mass.93 In the same newspaper, urban studies scholar Xia Zhu-jiu pointed out that the history of Grand Hotel was the history of the ROC in Taiwan. He regarded the fire as a symbol of the end of an era. Thanks to this fire, all previously concealed violations of laws and regulations in the processes of constructing and running the hotel, including land rights, rental contracts, construction licenses, urban planning, registration of foundations, scrutiny of public security, specifications of height of building under flight administration regulations and that of distance from military zones, management, and tax, were all exposed to the public. The Grand Hotel, according to Xia, was law unto itself; it was the ROC. He also celebrated the fire that, at least symbolically, destroyed the feudal nostalgia (fengjian xiangchou) of the KMT government, which was amply expressed by the hotel’s visual design.94 These criticisms, suggestions, and analyses on the Grand Hotel resulted from the fire accident and gave voice to society’s long repressed dissatisfaction with the establishment. The “fall” of Yuanshan as a “sacred” space since the Japanese period marked a new era when monuments and their spatial meanings were no longer determined by their builders alone. The Belated Construction of The Martyrs’ Shrine The fact that the construction of the Grand Hotel was prioritized over that of the Martyrs’ Shrine as the first landmark to be built after the KMT Government moved to Taiwan indicated that handling Cold War

92 Chi-wu Chen, “Yuanshan zhuanti,” Du shi gaige zuzhi, July 1995. 93 Wei-chuan Shih, “Shui de Yuanshan, shui de lifayuan?” China Times , July 3, 1995. 94 Zhu-jiu Xia, “Yuanshan de fengjian youling zai youdang,” China Times , July 3, 1995.

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confrontations were more important than dealing with the anti-Japanese War legacies in the agenda of the ROC’s postwar politics. While the Grand Hotel was completed soon after the demolition of the remains of the Taiwan Shrine, the Martyrs’ Shrine was first based on the architecture of old Gokoku Shrine with only the name changed.95 It is particularly difficult to imagine the complicated feelings of Japanese Prime Minister Kishi Nobusuke (who served from 1957 to 1960 and became Chiang Kaishek’s trusted Cold War ally in their shared cause of anti-Communism) when he laid his wreath for the fallen soldiers at the Martyrs’ Shrine in 1957. When former US President Eisenhower and Filipino president Diosdado Macapagal visited the shrine in the early 1960s, they were shocked to see that the Chinese heroes were enshrined and worshipped in what was originally their enemy’s memorial space, which was in such poor condition after having been neglected for a long time.96 In 1963, the high-ranking army general He Ying-qin (1917–1978) proposed in the KMT Central Review Committee Meeting that a new Martyrs’ Shrine should be erected in place of the dilapidated, repurposed Shinto shrine. However, this proposal was shelved by Chiang Kai-shek in 1965 because the funding was allotted to the construction of two large-scale memorial structures, namely, the National Dr. Sun Yat-sen Memorial Hall (built in 1965) and the Chung-Shan Building (completed in 1966), both of which were named after the first president of the ROC and the founder of the KMT. As symbols of the KMT’s legitimacy as the government of all of China, these structures were seen as more urgently needed than the Martyrs’ Shrine. Only when the torii-turned-entrance gate of the Martyrs’ Shrine was about to collapse in 1967 due to the damage caused by termites and when General He highlighted in the Review Committee Meeting the importance of renovating the old Shinto shrine into a new Chinese martyrs’ shrine was the proposal finally approved.97 In September 1967, the Executive Yuan (Xingzheng Yuan) approved an official renovation plan, and in December, the renovation project finally began. The new Martyrs’ Shrine was completed in 1969 and occupied almost 5 acres of land in the eastern part of the Yuanshan Area. Echoing the Grand Hotel’s 95 “Bensheng Taipei shi zhengfu chengqing huan jian gai shi zhonglieci yi an dian qing cha zhao you.” 96 Chin-tang Tsai, Cong shenshe dao zhonglieci: taiwan guojia zong side zhuanhuan (Taipei: qun xue chuban youxian gongsi, 2015), 80. 97 Tsai, Cong shenshe dao zhonglieci: taiwan guojia zong side zhuanhuan, 81.

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“Chinese style,” the Martyrs’ Shrine presents a highly explicit imitation of the Hall of Supreme Harmony, which is the largest hall in the Forbidden City in Beijing. Since its construction, the shrine has become an archetype for other martyrs’ shrines built in different municipalities across Taiwan, including those in Keelung, Taizhong, Tainan, Hualian and Zhanghua. The “belated” construction of the Martyrs’ Shrine in Yuanshan can be ascribed to several reasons, the most important of which was that during the time of its construction, Taipei was transformed from a symbolically temporary, makeshift capital of the ROC into a permanent political center of the KMT-led ROC. For Chiang’s government, “Taiwan was once a ‘province,’ ‘base’ and ‘model’ and the identification of Chinese on the mainland as our compatriots. The new authority constantly constituted the people of Taiwan as sojourners on an island whose sole purpose was to be developed well enough to allow the ROC military to retake the mainland at some point in the future.”98 Nevertheless, with the deteriorating relations between Mainland China and the Soviet Union in the 1950s, the US China policy shifted toward the possibility of recognizing the two Chinas. In 1958, the Defense Treaty between the United States of America and the Republic of China was signed between Taipei and Washington, thereby signaling the official cessation of “the retrieval of the Mainland” as the ROC’s main national policy. This drastic change in the relation between the Communist Mainland and the Nationalist Taiwan as well as their respective roles in the US military mapping in the Asia Pacific drove Taipei to move formally from the margins to the center of the ROC. On July 1, 1967, the status of Taipei was officially elevated from a provincial municipality to a special centrally administered municipality; in other words, the city was placed at the same level of other provinces under the direct administration of the Executive Yuan.99 Accordingly, the position of the Taipei Martyrs’ Shrine was also upgraded from the provincial to the national level. This shift was reflected in the source of funding that supported the renovation work of the shrine: between 1966 and 1967, the Home Affairs Bureau passed a proposal from the Provincial Chairman

98 Jonathan Benda, “Naming Taiwan: Nationalist and Post-Nationalist Rhetoric in the Inaugural Addresses of Chiang Kai-shek and Chen Shui-bian,” 2001, accessed November 12, 2018, at: http://web.thu.edu.tw/benda/www/naming.html. 99 Wang and Heath, “Constructions of National Identity: A Tale of Twin Capital Building in Early Post-war Taiwan,” 34.

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Huang Chieh (1902–1995) to divide the cost among the central, provincial, and municipal governments.100 A member of the Executive Yuan also proposed during a meeting of the Standing Committee of the Political Bureau (zhongchanghui) in 1967 that even though the administrative level of Taipei Yuanshan Martyrs’ Shrine was provincial, it was de facto a central, national shrine.101 According to Wang Yi-Wen and Tim Heath, “the rise of Taipei in status, consequently, was visually materialized and visibly reflected in its cityscape.”102 Given that a Chinese commemorative shrine housed within a Japanese Shinto shrine was considered odd even by foreign guests, it was decided that the visual style of the new shrine must display its “authentic” Chineseness. Moreover, the style of the Martyrs’ Shrine did not entirely speak against its physical and mental predecessor; the time of its construction also coincided with the start of the “Chinese Cultural Renaissance” (CCR) campaign in 1966. As a direct countering gesture to the Great Proletarian Cultural Revolution on the Communist Mainland, the CCR campaign crystallized the KMT’s idea of “modernizing China” while preserving (selectively) the nation’s past traditions. Peaked during the 1960s and 1970s, the CCR symbolized the KMT’s “cultural shift” in vindicating its legitimacy on the Chinese nation-state, which, in the past, was mainly carried out through military agendas and campaigns. The general purpose of the CCR as the KMT’s major cultural policy at the time was to mold Chiang Kai-shek as the leader of a Confucian orthodoxy building process in preserving the traditional Chinese Culture vis-à-vis its destruction by the Communist Party during the Cultural Revolution.

100 “Huang jie zhuxi: Taipei shi zhonglieci ying xing gaijian an ke jiao you Taipei shi zhengfu fuze banli, qi jingfei xi minzheng ting yanjiu yi zhongyang, sheng, shi san dui deng fangshi jiejue,” 1966, The Taiwan Historica, file number: 502006015; “Zhuji chu qian wei gaijian taipei Yuanshan zhonglieci jingfei 3600 wan you zhongyang sheng shi pingjun gongtong fudan yi an qing ti fu hui taolun an,” 1967, The Taiwan Historica, file number: 501094725. 101 “Huang jie zhuxi: Ba yue er ri canjia di 312 ci zhong changhui, xingzheng yuan congzheng zhuguan tongzhi hangao guanyu gaijian Taipei Yuanshan zhonglieci yi an zhi banli qingxing, xingzheng yuan renwei Taipei shi Yuanshan zhong ci sui shu difang zhonglieci, shi wei zhongyang zhonglieci,” 1967, The Taiwan Historica, file number: 502008601. 102 Wang and Heath, “Constructions of National Identity: A Tale of Twin Capital Building in Early Post-war Taiwan,” 34.

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Meanwhile, the political goal of the CCR was clearly stated as antiCommunism.103 Instead of framing the definition of “Chinese culture” in cultural and historical terms by fully embracing the revival-style nostalgia, the CCR fashioned a Chinese culture in a modernized light calculated to further enhance Chiang and the KMT’s position to represent the real China. This vision thus encompassed Three People’s Principles proposed by Dr. Sun Yat-sen while promoting ethics, democracy, and science as means for realizing the national founder’s schema.104 The main planks of this movement included promoting Mandarin Chinese, providing additional support for studying the Chinese literary and philosophical classics, prescribing the Confucian classic The Four Books and other texts of Chinese traditional Culture as school textbooks, and encouraging appropriate lifestyles and behavioral norms.105 As an overt propaganda program that emerged from the cross-strait confrontations in the Cold War period, a central objective of the CCR was to strengthen the identification of Taiwan residents (both from the mainland and locally-born) with the Chinese nation while further enhancing commitment to anti-Communism. The CCR was also an endeavor by the ROC on Taiwan to promote its own strategy for China’s modernization against that championed by Mao Ze-dong on the Mainland. However, as Chang Chung-fu argues, the effect of the CCR was limited: in the larger context of military dictatorship and strict censorship on freedom of speech, not only did it reiterate the clichéd ideology of calling upon the people to direct their loyalty to both the leader and the nation but also fell easily into the self-enemy binarism that lacked profound qualities.106

103 Chung-fu Chang, “From Anti-Communism Legitimacy to the Transformation of Nationalism: The Chinese Culture Revival Movement in Taiwan,” Asian Studies, additional 5 (March 2017): 72. 104 See Chang, “From Anti-Communism Legitimacy to the Transformation of Nation-

alism: The Chinese Culture Revival Movement in Taiwan,” 72. 105 “Zhonghua wenhua fuxing yundong” (Chinese Cultural Renaissance Movement) Encyclopedia of Taiwan, Ministry of Culture, accessed November 12, 2018, at: http:// nrch.culture.tw/twpedia.aspx?id=3968. 106 Chang, “From Anti-Communism Legitimacy to the Transformation of Nationalism: The Chinese Culture Revival Movement in Taiwan,” 65.

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If Taiwan had become the body of China per se rather than merely a large offshore island, then the perception of Taiwan as a “shrunken” China ironically facilitated the island’s development of its own “national” consciousness. The CCR forcefully neglected the psychological affinity of the local Taiwanese to their own culture, which embodied both Chinese and Japanese influences. A campaign that tried to marginalize the culture of Taiwan, it reversely further fueled Taiwan’s adversarial attitude to the Chinese culture when the national consciousness mutated toward the making of a Taiwanese nation before and after democratization. The CCR sowed the seed of one of the deepest divisions in political discourses in post-martial law: whether the Taiwanese nationalism should be based on the preservation or removal of Chinese elements.107 Against this backdrop, the movement’s most visible and long-lasting results can be seen in a series of “Chinese style” architectures built at the time. If the early version of the Grand Hotel finished in 1961 already demonstrated the Chiang government’s preferred visual language, it was the CCR that created the golden period for the Sinic revival style in Taiwan.108 As a major cultural attraction that promotes Chinese culture in Taiwan, the National Palace Museum, which opened in 1965, adopted the style of the Northern Palace, which was designed by Chiang’s favorite architect Huang Pao-yu (1918–2000) (Fig. 4.15). The museum, a symbolic and actual rival to the national museum in Beijing now under Communist control, housed some of the finest pieces of cultural treasure that the KMT took from Beijing’s Forbidden City (which were initially relocated to Nanjing, Chongqing and Shanghai during the Sino-Japanese War) to Taiwan toward the end of the Civil War. Another pivotal architecture born out of this backdrop was the Chung-shan (i.e., Dr. Sun Yat-sen) Building in Yangming Mountain (Fig. 4.16). This grand architecture, which was designed by Hsiu Tse-lan (1925– 2016), a female architect who came from the Mainland to Taiwan in

107 Chang, “From Anti-Communism Legitimacy to the Transformation of Nationalism: The Chinese Culture Revival Movement in Taiwan,” 65. 108 Even before the CCR began, the trend of building public buildings in Chinese style could be seen in Taiwan. Examples include the Bank of Kaohsiung Branch (1949), the National Central Library (1955, built on the former site of Kenkou Jinja), the National Science Education Centre (1959), the Chinese Cultural University (1962), and the National Historical Museum (1964).

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Fig. 4.15 The National Palace Museum, Taipei, in the 1970s (Source Public Domain)

Fig. 4.16 Chung-shan Building (Source Wong Wei-te, “Chung-Shan Building,” at: https://www.flickr.com/photos/wongwt/25722909830, CC BY-SA 2.0, at: https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=49840944)

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1949, served as an assembly venue for the KMT’s congresses and other important political gatherings at the time. The central image of the building, which was represented by its Rotonda Hall, easily evoked associations with the Hall of Prayer for Good Harvests at the Temple of Heaven in Beijing.109 In his speech at the inaugural ceremony on November 12, 1966, Chiang called this building “the symbol of reconstruction of the Chinese national culture on the base for anti-Communism restoration.”110 The relation between Chung-shan Building and the CCR was thus made all the more obvious. It was also during this ceremony when Chiang Kai-shek first proposed the core values of the CCR under his own reframing of Dr. Sun’s Three People’s Principles. A year later, the first congress of the World League for Freedom and Democracy, which was preceded by the Asian Peoples’ Anti-Communist League, also took place in the same building.111 Chinese Modernism in Taiwan: Nation, Architecture, and Orthodoxy Before examining the spatial connotations of the Martyrs’ Shrine in detail, it is necessary to explore further the relationship between the “Chinese” architectural style and its implications in the national building of the ROC in both the Mainland and Taiwan. According to Fu Chao-Ching, “a feature common to all these examples (of Chinese classical style in Taiwan) is their dual character of Chinese classicism in terms of style and

109 See Ya-chun Chiang, “Tes-Nan Hsiu and Chinese Cultural Renaissance,” Architectural Institute of Taiwan Magazine, no. 86 (April 2017): 11. Chung-shan Building is a complex that includes meeting halls and restaurants of various sizes that are connected by classical-style roofs. Despite its highly symbolic “royal palace” image, this building actually has an innovative layout that is tailor-made for modern political gatherings and banquets. Apart from its highly Qing-Dynasty-style external form, Hsiu also borrowed the style of the Shang dynasty (B.C. 1600–B.C. 1046) in designing the interior of the building, thereby differentiating it from other contemporary Sinic-revival-style structures in Taiwan. See Chao-qing Fu, Zhongguo gudian shiyang xin jianzhu: ershi shiji zhongguo xin jianzhu guanzhi hua di lishi yanjiu, first edition (Taipei shi: Nantian Shuju, 1993), 187. 110 Fu, Zhongguo gudian shiyang xin jianzhu: ershi shiji zhongguo xin jianzhu guanzhi hua di lishi yanjiu, 274. 111 Right after the KMT government’s retreat to Taiwan, Chiang Kai-shek, Elpidio Quirino of the Republic of the Philippines, and Syngman Rhee of the Republic of Korea (ROK) founded the APACL in Jinhae in ROK on June 15, 1954. In 1966, after the name of the league was changed, the number of members increased to 27 and the membership was extended from Asia to Australia and Africa.

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beaux-arts trademarks in terms of composition.”112 However, we need to take a step back to examine the relational context between the preference for Chinese classical style and the modern ROC’s construction of its orthodoxy before the KMT’s retreat to Taiwan. Both Huang Pao-yu and Hsiu Tse-lan were students of the Department of Architecture at National Central University (NCU), which was established in 1927. Ever since its establishment, the curriculum of this department had highlighted architectural classicism as a representation of the general guideline, “architecture is art.” By establishing the canonized position of classicism, the training of architects by NCU followed the main principle that both technical details and functions should submit to a “perfect form,” which was further blended with the popular ideology of national revivalism in architectural aesthetics.113 This tradition continued after the Sino-Japanese War broke out in 1937, during which NCU moved from Nanjing to Chongqing, the temporary capital of China at the time. The intimate relationship between NCU and the state was further strengthened in 1939 when the curriculum of the Department of Architecture became a role model for the other higher education institutions in China. In 1943, Chiang Kai-shek himself held the concurrent position as the president of NCU, thereby showing the affinity between the KMT’s political power and the educational guidelines of the university.114 In this vein, the architectural features of the Martyrs’ Shrine and its contemporary “sister” architectures were considered direct manifestations of the attempts of Chinese modern architecture to speak to the ideals of the Chinese modern nation-state by the KMT-led ROC since the Mainland years. There are two major paths to achieve these ideals, by visually evoking the ancient palace, mausoleum, and other monumental structures of the aristocracy on the one hand and by continuously writing the figure, theory, and name of Dr. Sun Yat-sen into the orthodoxies of the architecture and the builder(s) on the other. This practice is best represented by the Sun Yat-sen Mausoleum in Nanjing (1926–1929), which was designed by Lü Yan-zhi (1894–1929) (Fig. 4.17). 112 Fu, Zhongguo gudian shiyang xin jianzhu: ershi shiji zhongguo xin jianzhu guanzhi hua di lishi yanjiu, 137. 113 Fu, Zhongguo gudian shiyang xin jianzhu: ershi shiji zhongguo xin jianzhu guanzhi hua di lishi yanjiu, 9. 114 Fu, Zhongguo gudian shiyang xin jianzhu: ershi shiji zhongguo xin jianzhu guanzhi hua di lishi yanjiu, 9–10.

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Fig. 4.17 Sun Yat-Sen Mausoleum in Sun’s Funeral, June 1, 1929, Nanjing (Source Public Domain)

Not coincidentally, Lü received the first nomination for the head of the Department of Architecture of NCU. However, as he was too preoccupied with the Sun Yat-sen Mausoleum project, he was unable to take up this position.115 The gigantic mausoleum space skillfully combined traditional Chinese elements as can be seen in the design of its entrance and main hall (which are adorned with decorative motifs such as a curved roof and dougong ) and its obvious allusions to western monuments, especially the Lincoln Memorial Hall in Washington, D.C. and the French beaux-arts style memorial space planning.116 From the bird’s eye view, the overall monument space resembled a huge bell, a style that was commonly used in early twentieth century China to “awaken the Chinese people from their long slumber” and fight against Western oppressors.117 Among all the design plans submitted for the mausoleum, Lü’s was chosen by the selection committee not only because it was the most financially feasible 115 Chiang, “Tes-Nan Hsiu and Chinese Cultural Renaissance,” 9. 116 De-lin Lai, Zhongguo jianzhu geming: Minguo zaoqi de lizhi jianzhu (Taipei shi:

Boya shuwu youxian gongsi, 2011), 152–156. 117 Lai, Zhongguo jianzhu geming: Minguo zaoqi de lizhi jianzhu, 162–163.

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but also because it satisfied the KMT’s requirement for the mausoleum to show the “classical Chinese style with distinctive and monumental features,” Dr. Sun’s Three People’s Principles, his ideals of building a new China with material civilization, democracy, and national independence, and the image of the bell and its representation of a national awakening (Fig. 4.18).118 The large open space of the mausoleum, as conveyed by the long ascending steps from the foothill, also created what historian Li Gongzhong called “open monumentality,” a key component of public spaces in early modern China.119 The Sun Yat-sen Mausoleum, despite its resemblance to the emperor’s graveyard in many senses, is the first structure that resembles a public space for open-air gatherings and rituals. This mausoleum invented a new religion of modern China that was no longer based on a closed, “private” ceremony exclusive to the privileged elites in the past, but, as Lai De-lin points out, through gongji—or public ritual— introduced by the KMT, Dr. Sun “was transfigured from a party leader to a national icon.”120 In sum, Lai concludes that during the early years of the ROC, the Chinese classical style was not a fixed paradigm but an open-ended discourse. The (re)invention of the Chinese classical style was invoked in the larger context of the formation of the Chinese nation and nationalism in face of western influences and their predominance in architectural language.121 This archetype of the Chinese modern architecture set by the Sun Yat-sen Mausoleum was written again and again into the architectural

118 Lai, Zhongguo jianzhu geming: Minguo zaoqi de lizhi jianzhu, 168. 119 Lai, Zhongguo jianzhu geming: Minguo zaoqi de lizhi jianzhu, 159. 120 De-lin Lai, “Chinese Modern: Sun Yat -Sen’s Mausoleum as a Crucible for Defining

Modern Chinese Architecture” (Ph.D. diss., The University of Chicago, 2007), 108: The KMT started performing weekly memorial services (jinnianzhou) in the mausoleum to cultivate the public’s loyalty to the nation. According to Lai, “Chinese Modern: Sun Yat -Sen’s Mausoleum as a Crucible for Defining Modern Chinese Architecture,” 109, intended to imitate the religious service of Christianity as a means to inculcate a belief among the Chinese people, the Jinian Zhou was to be held every Monday (originally Sunday) morning and included such activities as standing in silence, bowing three times to Sun’s portrait, reading aloud his testament, reciting his other talks, and reporting party affairs in front of his portrait. Sun’s image and his testament thus entered the political activities and even daily life of the entire KMT.” 121 See Lai, Zhongguo jianzhu geming: Minguo zaoqi de lizhi jianzhu, 114.

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Fig. 4.18 The Bell-shaped Sun Yat-sen Mausoleum (Source Public Domain)

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discourse that traveled from Nanjing, Guangzhou (Sun Yat-sen Memorial Hall (1929) and Sun Yat-sen Memorial (1931), both of which were designed by Lü) to Taiwan. To some extent, this process of rewriting and reinventing Chineseness in architectural design involves a series of experiments and negotiations with the Chineseness reflected in the Forbidden City in Beijing both in the physical and symbolic senses. Paradoxically, if Dr. Sun’s revolution and his principles are said to have broken up with the oppressive Qing Dynasty, the architectural modernity in the Republican years still had to borrow the image of the Qing royal style to secure its authoritativeness. However, it is still important to scrutinize the meaning of the “Chinese” style and its relationship with a specific “Chineseness” or “Chinese nation” that this style tries to define and convey the ROC’s (sole) legitimacy in Taiwan’s historical and social contexts. Liang Si-cheng’s (1901–1972) Qing Structural Regulations (Qingshi yingzhao zeli) (1934) and Lin Hui-yin’s (1904–1955) On Several Characteristics of Chinese Architecture (Lun zhongguo jianzhu zhi jige tezheng ) (1936), both published by the Society for the Study of Chinese Architecture (zhongguo yingzhao xueshe), emerged at the time of the construction of a new national building in early twentieth-century China. These two central works in the history of Chinese modern architecture focus mainly on analyzing the official/royal/northern style of Qing Chinese wooden structure as the archetype of Chinese architecture. Arguably, this definition was less comprehensive, for example, than what Japanese architect It¯o Ch¯uta (1867–1954) summarizes in his 1931 book about Chinese architectural history, Shina kenchikushi. In this book, It¯o surveys various Chinese architectural styles and construction methods throughout the long history of Chinese civilization. He categorizes several Chinese architectural styles and forms into three major geographical areas, namely, the north, the middle, and the south, and claims that defining “Chinese architecture” is as difficult as defining “European architecture” because the former possesses some variances owing to the differences in the environmental conditions and temperament (qizhi) of dwellers across the different regions of China.122 However, Liang and Lin’s emphasis on the official style is strategic. According to Zhu Tao, Liang’s writings, along with those of his wife Lin, could be seen as direct responses to the predominant western view on Chinese architecture as typified 122 Ch¯ uta It¯o, Zhongguo jianzhu shi (original title: Shina kenchikushi), translated by Qing-quan Chen (Taipei shi: Taiwan shangwu yinshu guan, 1967), 19.

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by the works of British architecture historians such as James Fergusson (1808–1886) and Banister Fletcher (1866–1953).123 Fergusson and Fletcher regard both the Chinese and Japanese architecture as ahistorical and lacking in historical transformation.124 In this context, Lin and Liang’s writings highlight the “urgency” of showing both Chinese and western architects that the traditional Chinese architectural structuring methods resemble those of modern (western) architecture. The subsequent outbreak of the Sino-Japanese War fueled the architects’ nationalist sentiment in declaring the autonomy of Chinese architecture in modernity. Therefore, Lin argues toward the end of her writing that without making radical changes in structures, a highly satisfactory Chinese modern architecture would emerge as long as the material of this architecture is adjusted and developed based on the present needs.125 Interestingly, Liang was critical of Lü’s Sun Yat-sen Mausoleum as he thought that this mausoleum only had a shell of a quasi-Chinese form because Lü (along with many other contemporary Chinese architects at the time) lacked sufficient knowledge about traditional Chinese layouts, structuring, and details, thereby resulting in many mistakes in the design process.126 In any case, the state-level search for ways to define modern Chinese architecture was discontinued after the Civil War when Taiwan was separated from the Mainland. In the “new China” in the Mainland, the Communist ideology introduced many fluctuations in the definition of this architectural modernity in waves of political campaigns. Many factors might contribute to the construction of the new meanings of modern Chinese architecture: China’s learning of architectural principles from the Soviet Union, the place of “Chinese traditions” in the Communist revolution; and individual preferences of political leaders. Liang and Lin also struggled with their own ideals, theories, and the high pressure of realpolitik. On the surface, all examples of Chinese revival-style architecture in Taiwan seem to carry on the project of Liang and Lin as well 123 Tao Zhu, Liang Si-cheng yu ta de shidai, first edition (Hong Kong: Oxford University Press, 2014), 16 and 20; De-lin Lai, “Lin Hui-yin lun zhongguo jianzhu zhi ji ge tezheng yu It¯o Ch¯uta zhongguo jianzhu shi,” Beijing Youth Daily, February 28, 2014, C2. 124 See Zhu, Liang Si-cheng yu ta de shidai, 19–37. 125 Hui-yin Lin, lun zhongguo jianzhu zhi ji ge tezheng (China: Society for the Study

of Chinese Architecture, 1936). 126 Zhu, Liang Si-cheng yu ta de shidai, 37.

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as that of Lü on the Mainland. From the Grand Hotel to the Martyrs’ Shrine, the architects adopted the official Chinese-style façade and utilized new materials. However, their Chinese style also leans toward a highly conservative and form-oriented (instead of structure-oriented) architectural language of the Northern Palace. The definition of Chineseness in these architecture was highly limited not only by the goal of reviving the Chinese nation in the Cultural Renaissance Movement and the confrontational relationship between Taiwan and the Mainland but also personal understanding of the visual form of Chineseness or Chinese modernism by KMT political elites, in particular that of Chiang Kai-shek. Therefore, it is not difficult to understand why contemporary Taiwanese architects severely criticize the style both in Mainland China and Taiwan. Both Han Pao-teh (1934–2014) and Xia Zhu-jiu argue that the research scopes of Liang Si-cheng and the Society for the Study of Chinese Architecture were limited to the northern official style and ignored the diversity of Chinese regions and folk practices.127 In the design competition of Kaohsiung’s Zhongshan Building in 1970, the winning design (submitted by Jingxing Architect Studio) was the only entry to adopt the Chinese revival style.128 In response to this selection, Han writes that the decision makers confused “renaissance” with “returning to the past.” “Renaissance,” Han believes, is not about copying the past but about searching for the new (qiuxin) and the practical (qiushi) in order to build a new architecture that is closely related with both the modern life and the modern urban environment.129 My concluding remarks on the “afterlife” of Chinese modernism, which adopted the form of Chinese revival classical style in Taiwan, can be summarized as follows. If the main goal of Chinese modernism in the Mainland from the early Republican years to the war was to invent a new architectural language (both in terms of form and structure) for the

127 Zhu, Liang Si-cheng yu ta de shidai, 37. Zhu’s quotation of Han and Xia’s criticism was prompted by Lai’s response that one must understand the historical context of the 1930 and 1940s to understand Liang’s choice of emphasis. However, I think that it is also important to understand the context of Han and Xia’s criticism in relation to the spread of the style spread in Taiwan during the postwar years. 128 Fu, Zhongguo gudian shiyang xin jianzhu: ershi shiji zhongguo xin jianzhu guanzhi hua di lishi yanjiu, 276. 129 Fu, Zhongguo gudian shiyang xin jianzhu: ershi shiji zhongguo xin jianzhu guanzhi hua di lishi yanjiu, 276.

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“new China” in face of its past and the influence of the West, the goal of Taiwan’s Chinese modernism was to distinguish itself from at least three existing visual languages of (modern) architecture as their antitheses. The first is the language of architecture from the Japanese colonial period during which two sub-languages can be detected, namely, that of the Japanese western and that of Shinto shrines. The building of the Martyrs’ Shrine presented an example par excellence of the resistance to the latter. The replacement of the predominant power of Japanese architects with that of Mainland architects laid the basis for this transformation in postwar Taiwan. The second is that of Communist China. Exemplified by Beijing’s “The Great Constructions (shida jianzhu)” project, which was conducted to commemorate the 10th anniversary of the establishment of the PRC in 1959, Chinese modernism in the Mainland manifested itself with a mixture of various styles that express the idea of modern Chineseness, including that of the concise modernist (e.g., The Great Hall of the People), the Soviet Stalinist (e.g., The Military Museum of the Chinese People’s Revolution), and the Chinese revival style (e.g., The Beijing Railway Station and the Ethnic Cultural Palace). By the time the Cultural Revolution started in 1966, the Chinese revival style was no longer a legitimate form of Chinese modernism as the radicalness of denying Chinese cultural traditions escalated drastically. In the campaign to destroy “the old fours” (old customs, cultures, habits, and ideas), ancient architectures were seen as physical and symbolic representation of these four “olds,” and many old temples, palaces, graveyards, and monuments from the ancient civilizations were either destroyed or damaged as a consequence. Taiwan’s Chinese modernism was a direct “protest” to what was happening in the Mainland. Finally, the Chinese revival style also marginalized Taiwan’s local color in architecture. Japanese colonizers already started to demolish Taiwan’s Minnan and Hakka architecture to make way for their “modern” urban planning projects. Meanwhile, the old city wall, the western city gate, as well as the Martial Temple and the Temple of Confucius in the inner city of Taipei were all demolished around 1900. Similarly, the Mainland regime regarded Taiwan’s indigenous architecture as insufficient after the role of Taiwan in the ROC changed after 1949. The KMT perceived Taiwan as their only showcase of Chineseness. In a speech he delivered during the inauguration of Zhongshan Building in 1966, Chiang contrasted the “shabbiness” and “limitation” of Taiwanese architecture in relation to its capacity of

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“embodying the beauty and richness of Chinese culture.”130 In the same year, the East Gate of Taipei city was shifted from Minnan style to Chinese revival style. Meanwhile, as Fu Chao-ching argues, it is also important to recognize that “the purpose (of the Chinese Revival Style) was to establish its superior image for the central government’s buildings.” This effort was partially driven by political ideology and by the design of individual architects.131 The Sun Yat-sen Memorial Hall designed by Wang Dahung (1918–2018), for example, is a result of the compromise between the regime’s and the architect’s preferred visual form. Wang was born in Beijing but was trained mostly in Europe and the US. In 1940, he studied under Walter Gropius at Harvard University. An architect with a strong tendency toward Bauhaus-style modernist architecture, Wang’s original design of the Memorial Hall, another mega-project commissioned by the government in 1965, triumphed over all other design submissions. His previous design of the Palace Museum in Mies van De Rohe style also stood out from other entries, but the selection committee eventually picked Huang Po-yu’s design of Chinese revival style. In his design of the Sun Yat-sen Memorial Hall, Wang interpreted his client’s demand in a less radical manner. The roof, for example, was shaped like the black gauze caps worn by ancient Chinese officials (Fig. 4.19).132 However, the design was still a step away from the instructions of the President, who complained that the elements of “Chinese architecture” in Wang’s design remained inadequate. In the final plan, the main entrance of the Memorial Hall was turned upward, breaking the original design’s highly abstract yet introvert expression of the power embodied in the giant roof. Wang “failed” again in articulating his own interpretation of Chinese modernist architecture in Taiwan and yet the Memorial Hall signaled a shift from the Chinese revival style in his earlier years. Following the form of Zhongshan Building(s), the Grand Hotel, the Martyrs’ Shrine, and many other structures that adopt a similar style, 130 Fu, Zhongguo gudian shiyang xin jianzhu: ershi shiji zhongguo xin jianzhu guanzhi

hua di lishi yanjiu, 274. 131 Chao-ching Fu, “Beaux-Arts Practice and Education by Chinese Architects in Taiwan,” in Jeffrey W. Cody, Nancy S. Steinhardt, and Tony Atkin. Chinese Architecture and the Beaux-Arts (Honolulu: University of Hawaii Press, 2011), 136. 132 Ming-song Shyu, A guide to Wang Da Hong’s architecture, first edition (Taipei xian xindian shi: Muma wenhua chubanshe, 2014), 144.

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Fig. 4.19 Sun Yat-sen Memorial Hall, Taipei (Source CEphoto, Uwe Aranas or alternatively © CEphoto, Uwe Aranas, “Taipei Taiwan Sun-Yat-sen-MemorialHall,” CC BY-SA 3.0, at: https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid= 49734793)

Chinese modernism in Taiwan during the 1950s and 1960s could be defined as a largely backward-looking and exhibiting a kind of imagined nostalgia. Continuities and Discontinuities: A Chinese National War Monument in Taiwan Against this backdrop, the renovated Martyrs’ Shrine in Taipei could be treated as another significant example of the sweeping trend of the Chinese style. Although the official designer of the shrine was Yao Wenying (1907–?), as noted on the memorial plaque, the actual planner and designer was Yao’s son Yao Yuan-jhong (1931–), who Chiang chose over the other eight contestants (Fig. 4.20).133

133 “Yao Yuan-jhong on the Design of the Taipei Martyrs’ Shrine,” The Martyrs’ Shrine, accessed November 14, 2018, at: http://library.taiwanschoolnet.org/cyberfair2006/hui gogo/index2/index2_3.html.

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Fig. 4.20 Bird’s Eye View of The National Martyrs’ Shrine (Source “Yao Yuan-jhong on the Design of the Taipei Martyrs’ Shrine,” The Martyrs’ Shrine, at: http://library.taiwanschoolnet.org/diplomacy2006/huigogo2/ind ex2/index2_3.html)

The overall design of the shrine borrowed the Qing royal architectural style as its main reference. Specifically, as Yao Yuan-jhong claimed in an interview, he drew upon Liang Si-cheng’s Qing Structural Regulations (1934). For Yao, Liang’s study on the methodologies and patterns of building from previous dynasties provided an important basis for defining “architectural Chineseness.” In writing Qing Structural Regulations , Liang consulted engineering treatises, documents, and craftsman manuscripts in addition to the on-site observations that he made in the field trips around China together with his wife, Lin Hui-yin, his younger brother the archaeologist Liang Si-yong (1904–1954) and other companions. As mentioned, the book contains long sections on the Forbidden City, the Temple of Heaven, and the major city gates in Beijing. Under the guidelines of Liang’s writing, Yao’s design of the major components of the shrine, including the gateway, wing rooms, drum tower, bell tower, shrine portal, civilian martyrs’ shrines, and military martyrs’ shrine and sanctuary, as well as the layout of the whole shrine

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Fig. 4.21 Design draft of the Martyrs’ Shrine (Source “Yao Yuan-jhong on the Design of the Taipei Martyrs’ Shrine,” The Martyrs’ Shrine, at: http://library. taiwanschoolnet.org/diplomacy2006/huigogo2/index2/index2_3.html)

area, is highly symmetrical and does not deviate from the basic features of the ancient Chinese royal space (Fig. 4.21). The main hall of the Martyrs’ Shrine was lavishly designed to show its “royal-ness.” Its roof was decorated with yellow-colored glazed tiles, and its ridges with celestials and images of the seven beasts.134 Several modifications were also applied on the architectural details of the shrine to fashion this structure as the main venue for the ROC’s “state religion.” Instead of using the characters for “fortune (fu),” “prosperity (lu),” and “longevity (shou)” to decorate the eaves tiles, window panes, and drip channels, Yao replaced them with the national totem of the ROC, namely, the plum blossom (Fig. 4.22). Another feature that distinguishes the Martyrs’ Shrine from the traditional Chinese royal architecture was the use of reinforced concrete structures. Only the windows, doors, and ceilings were made out of wood. As with the Grand Hotel and other Chinese-style buildings that

134 “Yao Yuan-jhong on the Design of the Taipei Martyrs’ Shrine.”

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Fig. 4.22 Plum blossom pattern of the eaves tiles (Source “Yao Yuan-jhong on the Design of the Taipei Martyrs’ Shrine,” The Martyrs’ Shrine, at: http://lib rary.taiwanschoolnet.org/diplomacy2006/huigogo2/index2/index2_3.html)

were completed during the same period, Chiang Kai-shek directly intervened in the overall visual image-making of the Martyrs’ Shrine. He even met the architect several times and visited the construction site to “make sure the result would faithfully reflect his vision of a national ‘sacred space.’”135 As the first fully completed Chinese war shrine on the highest national level in Taiwan, the Martyrs’ Shrine distinguishes itself from both its predecessor (Gokoku Shrine) and other commemorative shrines built in Mainland China. Japanese Shinto shrines typically comprise two halls (the main hall and the worship hall) for worshipping. The separation of these two halls represents the demarcation between the human world and the divine world. While the worship hall is open to everyone, the main hall is only accessible to the shrine clergy. Moreover, there is no iconic figure of the main deity.136 In comparison, in line with the Taoist tradition or the style of traditional Chinese Buddhist temples, the worship hall of Chinese commemorative shrines serves as the main hall that houses the main deity. In the sanctuary of the Martyrs’ Shrine, the major object of worshipping

135 Tsai, Cong shenshe dao zhonglieci: aiwan guojia zong side zhuanhuan, 165. 136 Tsai, Cong shenshe dao zhonglieci: aiwan guojia zong side zhuanhuan, 159.

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Fig. 4.23 The Sanctuary of the Martyrs’ Shrine (Source Photo by the author)

is “a general spirit tablet for honoring the martyrs as a whole (Guomin Lieshi zhi Lingwei),”137 which was placed in a niche altar colored in gold and red (Fig. 4.23). A portrait of Dr. Sun Yat-sen is also placed on the right-hand side of the altar while the spirit tablet of Huang Di (Yellow Emperor), the legendary figure venerated as the ancestor of the Chinese people, is placed on the left-hand side.138 Individual (for fallen leaders, officials, officers, and soldiers) and collective memorial tablets (lingwei) were also enshrined in the civilian and military martyrs’ shrines. The Martyrs’ Shrine also features some “local color” that separates it from all other commemorative shrines built in the Mainland. First, while the main purpose of commemorative shrines in the Mainland were to memorialize those military heroes who died during the battles with the Japanese in the War of Resistance, memorial tablets here in Taipei were dedicated to those who were sacrificed in two other major periods in the history of the ROC since its establishment in 1911: the period of the 137 See “An Introduction to the National Revolutionary Martyrs’ Shrine of R.O.C.,” National Revolutionary Martyrs’ Shrine of R.O.C., accessed November 16, 2018, at: https://afrc.mnd.gov.tw/faith_martyr_en/Content.aspx?ID=&MenuID=453&MP=2. 138 “An Introduction to the National Revolutionary Martyrs’ Shrine of R.O.C.”

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nation’s building and the period of the anti-Communism campaigns in both the Mainland and Taiwan. The former includes subsequent periods of the punitive campaign against Yuan Shih-kai (1859–1916), the movement led by Dr. Sun Yat-sen to defend the provisional constitution of the ROC (hufa), the eastern expedition (dongzheng ),” and the northern expedition. The latter includes the encircling operations against the communists (jiaoni), the suppression of nationwide communist rebellions (kanluan), and national recovery. Following the special instructions of the KMT, the Martyr’s Shrine is also a place for venerating Taiwanese who contributed to the antiJapanese campaigns in two other periods.139 The first period covered the early Japanese colonial years after the defeat of Qing China in the first Sino-Japanese War (1894–1895). Although the Martyrs’ Shrine is seen as the sacred space of the ROC, the anti-Japanese Han martyrs in Taiwan, including Kan Tai-sai (1870–1900), Ke Tie (1876–1900) and Lin Shao-mao (1865–1902), are also honored in this shrine.140 Meanwhile, Taiwanese aborigines, most famously Mona Rudao (1879– 1930), who led the Musha Uprising Incident, the last major anti-Japanese campaign that resulted in a large number of Japanese and tribal casualties, and Hanaoka Ichir¯o (1908–1930) aka Dakis Nomin, a Seediq aborigine who completed his education in a Japanese school and became the first aborigine teacher in the Japanese colonization period, are also memorialized in the shrine. The second batch of “specially admitted” spirits included those Taiwanese–Japanese soldiers who came over from the Japanese side to the Chinese side between 1943 and 1945 on Hainan Island. Some of them participated in the later battles against the Communists.141 The inclusion of these Taiwanese “anti-Japanese heroes” indicates that Chiang’s government acknowledged the importance of recognizing Taiwan’s contributions to the making of the ROC national myth, in an effort to strengthen Taiwanese attachment to the ROC state. Unprecedented in history, the Martyrs’ Shrine, introduces the practice of Yellow Emperor worship. The Yellow Emperor is one of the three major deities that are recognized as ancestors of the Han Chinese, whose 139 Tsai, Cong shenshe dao zhonglieci: aiwan guojia zong side zhuanhuan, 87 and 101. The special instructions issued in 1969 were the embodiments of Chiang Kai-shek’s own will. 140 Kan Tai-sai, an anti-Japanese leader in the early Japanese occupation of Taiwan. 141 Tsai, Cong shenshe dao zhonglieci: aiwan guojia zong side zhuanhuan, 102.

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worship cult has given forth a long history of cultural production activities, for example, Huangdi Neijing , a classic in Chinese medicine finished in 475-221 BC and 206 BCE–220 CE by scholars of the Warring State Period. The placement of the spirit tablets in his and Dr. Sun’s honor on the left and right side of the main altar is puzzling at first glance. However, the relation between them can be easily understood if we realize that the myth of the Yellow Emperor served as a central element in the reinvention of the modern Chinese nation in the twentieth century. For example, one of the founding members of the Xinhai Revolution in 1911, Shao Yuan-chong (1890–1936), contended that the Yellow Emperor was not only “the first ancestor of the zhonghua minzu” but also the creative genius behind the creation of the Chinese state and culture. He was confident that if only the Chinese population understood their direct racial and historical lineage from the Yellow Emperor, they would naturally be united into a single, indivisible body politic.142 The revival of the Yellow Emperor cult aimed not only to suture the division between modern China and the long history of Chinese civilization but also to unite and bring comfort to the diverse and divided Chinese people who suffered during and after the dramatic social changes, revolutions, and warfare that beset the country. According to Tsai Jun-jen, “Beginning from the Yellow Emperor, the (Confucian) orthodoxy is thought to be a political heritage continuously preserved by ancient sages, fought for by national heroes in previous dynasties and the founding of a new Republic, linked in an endless historical line.”143 The spring ritual held annually on March 29 (the day of the Huanghuagang Uprising) and the autumn ritual celebrated on September 3 (Armed Forces Day) also combine both ceremonies of worshiping performed in the direction of the Sun Yat-sen Mausoleum in Nanjing and Mausoleum of the Yellow Emperor in Shan’xi Province in middle China. Both cults enhance each other by projecting their own temporalities onto the Martyrs’ Shrine and its rituals. In recent years, the qualification for enshrinement was extended to civil servants, such as firemen, policemen, and members of the civil defense, as well as to anyone who sacrificed their lives in the course of a heroic deed or saving

142 James Leibold, “Competing Narratives of Racial Unity in Republican China: From the Yellow Emperor to Peking Man,” Modern China 32, no. 2 (2006): 181–220. 143 Tsai, Cong shenshe dao zhonglieci: taiwan guojia zong side zhuanhuan, 169.

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the lives of others.144 In sum, as a semi-perpetual sacred space of Chinese national memory, the Martyrs’ Shrine incarnates the main narrative that legitimizes the ROC as the true representative of China not only through its visual appearance but also through its reinventions of the objects of worshipping and rituals.

Conclusion: Monument of Urgency The predicament faced by the Martyrs’ Shrine in Taipei allows us to explore some very crucial yet unsorted matters of urgency that have for a long time covered up the war memories it is related to. From the perspective of the ROC and KMT, these matters of urgency include rebuilding national legitimacy in the Mainland and Taiwan after WWII, the geographical division and ruptured sovereignty across the Taiwan Strait, “de-Japanization,” the emergence of a new narrative of Chinese nationalism in Taiwan, democratization and the rise of localism. As the major rival of the KMT, the DPP has vehemently advocated a Taiwanese identity that is different from KMT-defined Chinese identity, handling political legacies left by the KMT authoritarianism and democratic liberalism in human rights issues. For those who lived in Taiwan from the Japanese colonial period up to the end of WWII, these matters of urgency were social, cultural, and political. They are also predominantly visual and spatial. First, in the early postwar period, the original object of worshipping—the war heroes and the Emperor—was replaced by the “enemy’s” counterparts under Japanese militarist imperialism. From Shinto Jinja to Martyrs’ Shrine, the elimination or appropriation of existing architectural elements, such as toriis , not only served as means of “correcting” the shameful symbolism left by Taiwan’s former conqueror but also as the exercise of power by the newly arrived regime. Second, after martial law was lifted in Taiwan in 1987, Taiwanese society was still heavily burdened by the memories of the KMT’s military dictatorship, conflicts between the mainlanders (waishengren) and Taiwanese locals (benshengren), and rising nostalgia for the Japanese colonial period. Under such circumstances, the Martyrs’ Shrine, which serves as a symbol of the unwanted undemocratic past 144 This change occurred in the late 1990s when a policeman, school teacher, and student were enshrined between 1997 and 1999. See Tsai, Cong shenshe dao zhonglieci: taiwan guojia zong side zhuanhuan, 104.

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and is localized to a certain extent by the inclusion of Taiwanese war heroes and local stories, occupies a dual position where it is both “externally” Chinese and “internally” (even if only partially) Taiwanese. While the main task of democratic Taiwan today is to practice “transitional justice,” which involves a series of measures that aim to redress the legacies of human rights abuses in the past and engage in a “truth-seeking (fact-finding)” processes of past violations and injustice,145 those memorials and monuments left behind by the undemocratic past have become important physical and social spaces where a novel imagination of the community can be formed, negotiated, and reconciled. The difficulty of dealing with the Martyrs’ Shrine (and other martyrs’ shrines in Taiwan) lies in the fact that this monument cannot be seen only as an object to be redressed in the genealogy of the dark history of Taiwan’s martial law period. Still in use, martyrs’ shrines in Taiwan are not only part of the Sino-Japanese War memory in Mainland China but also—similar to Japanese colonial history in Taiwan—a part of Taiwanese history. For today’s Taiwan, the Martyrs’ Shrine is caught between being a sacred space for quasi-sovereignty, and being a target of “correction” in the process of transitional justice. For Mainland China, after the radical liquidation of the KMT legacies during the Mao period, the renewed relation with the KMT, the economic ties that were established in the wake of China’s opening up and economic reform policies, the major concerns surrounding the reunification of China via the implementation of “one country two systems,” and the strong opposition from the pro-independence DPP became matters of urgency. In reality, the memory of the Martyrs’ Shrine as a sacred carrier of memory about a unified China that fought against Japan was revived in both Mainland China and Taiwan. Since 2000, the Taiwanese government retrieved the ashes of dead soldiers from former WWII battlefields overseas, such as Papua New Guinea, India, and Burma, and set the memorial tablets in Taipei’s National Martyrs’ Shrine.146 In 2013 and 2014, ashes of 226 dead soldiers from the Chinese Expeditionary Force were returned to Yunnan’s Martyrs’ Shrine or the Graveyard of the National Heroes 145 “What is Transitional Justice,” International Center for Transitional Justice, accessed December 22, 2018, at: https://www.ictj.org/about/transitional-justice. 146 See “Zhongguo yuanzheng jun Miandian zhenwang yingling ru si taipei zhonglieci,” Beyondnewsnet, September 1, 2014, accessed November 2, 2018, at: http://beyondnew snet.com/20140901/9064/.

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from Burma.147 These recent rituals of “returning and welcoming souls” (yingling ) of soldiers who died during WWII on both sides of the Taiwan Strait illustrate a seemingly reconciled narrative about the contribution of the KMT troops in WWII as a basis of the “unification” of China. Mainland tourists, especially families whose ancestors were killed in the war and are now being worshipped in Taiwan’s commemorative shrines, also showed increasing interest in visiting those shrines that have basically disappeared in the Mainland. Statistics show a rapid increase in the number of visitors to Taipei’s Martyrs’ Shrine from 325,151 in 2008 to 1,400,796 in 2010. The majority of these visitors came from Mainland tourist groups.148 In this matrix of personal and collective memories, political and diplomatic maneuvers, and economic interests, Taiwan’s National Martyrs’ Shrine still maintains its solemn façade that tells a story of the birth of a nation from a perspective that is highly Sino-, male-, and Han centric. Its rise and (half-)fall underscore the difficulty in articulating a modern Chinese or Taiwanese vision of nationhood. However, such difficulty comprises the major course and discourse of “becoming Taiwanese” and shows that the formation of a modern identity is never a fixed, given, and comfortable process, as the monument or its builders try to suggest.

Glossary Alishan 阿里山 Bagua shan 八卦山 Bakumatsu 幕末 beggaku 別格 beifa 北伐 benshengren 本省人 147 The total number of casualties in the India Burma theater on the Chinese side was approximately 200,000. General Sun Li-jen, who built “the Army Number One India-Burma Corps Memorial Military Cemetery,” was the leading commander in these battles. 148 See Yun-wen Lai, “Willingness to visit graves: Empirical evidence from Martyrs’

Shrine based on visitors’ emotional experience” (Master’s thesis, National Taiwan University Department of Bio-Industry Communication and Development, Taipei, 2012), 9. See also “The total number of visitors from Korea, Malaysia, mainland China and Hong Kong visited Taiwan in the past ten years,” Tourism Statistics Database of the Taiwan Tourism Bureau, accessed October 4, 2019, at: https://stat.taiwan.net.tw/.

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chunji 春祭 Chen Wei-ying 陳維英 Chiang Wei-shui 蔣渭水 Chokushi Kaid¯o 敇使街道 ch¯ ukond¯o 忠魂堂 ci 祠 Dazhi 大直 Deng Nan-guang 鄧南光 dongzheng 東征 dougong 斗拱 Eight Immortals Shan 八仙山 fengjian xiangchou 封建鄉愁 fu, lu, shou, 福祿壽 f¯ ukei 風景 Grace Chang 葛蘭 Gochinza 30-sh¯ unen kinen Taiwan jinja shashinch¯o 《御鎮座三十周年 記念臺灣神社写真帖》 Gokoku Jinja 護国神社 gongji 公祭 Guoshang Muyuan 國殤墓園 Guomin Lieshi zhi Lingwei 國民烈士之靈位 Guomin Gemingjun Zhengwang Jiangshi Gongmu 國民革命軍陣亡將 士公墓 Hagiya Sh¯ ukin 萩谷秋琴 Hanaoka Ichir¯ o 花岡一郎 Han Pao-teh 漢寶德 Hashiguchi Bunz¯ o 橋口文蔵 He Ying-qin 何應欽 Hirohito 裕仁 Hsiu Tse-lan 修澤蘭 Hsu Shih 許石 Huangdi 黃帝 Huangdi Neijing 《黃帝內經》 Huang Pao-yu 黃寶瑜 Huang Chieh 黃傑 hufa 護法 Huguo Rinzai Chansi 護國臨濟禪寺 In¯ o Kanori 伊能嘉矩 Ise Jingu 伊勢神宮

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Ishii Tatsui 石井龍猪 It¯ o Ch¯ uta 伊東忠太 Jiantan Shengji 劍潭勝跡 Jiantan 劍潭 jiaoni 剿逆 Jiexiao Si 節孝寺 Kaitaku Sanjin 開拓三神 kami 神 Kan Tai-sai 簡大獅 kanluan 戡亂 kanpeisha 官幣社 kanshasai 感謝祭 Ke Tie 柯鐵 Kenkou Jinja 建功神社 kigansai 祈願祭 Kimigay¯o 君が代 Kishi Nobusuke 岸信介 Kitashirakawa Yoshihisa 北白川宮能久 kizuna 絆 Kodama Gentar¯ o 児玉源太郎 Kokumin Seishin Kensh¯ ujo 國民精神研修所 Kokumin Seishin S¯od¯oin 國民精神総動員運動 kokuheisha 国幣社 K¯ominka 皇民化 komainu 狛犬 Koyasu Nobukuni 子安宣邦 Kung Ling-chun 孔令俊 Kurakichi Funakoshi 船越倉吉 Liang Si-cheng 梁思成 Liang Si-yong 梁思永 lingwei 靈位 Linggu Si 靈谷寺 Lin Ben-yuan 林本源 Lin Shao-mao 林少貓 Lin Hui-yin 林徽因 Lun zhongguo jianzhu zhi jige tezheng 《論中國建築之幾個特徵》 Lü Yan-zhi 呂彦直 Man-ka 艋舺 Meiji nij¯ ushichi hachi nen Nisshin senshi 明治二十七八年日清戰役

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Miyanoshita 宮ノ下 Mizuno Jun 水野遵 Nanyue Zhonglieci 南嶽忠烈祠 Nanjin Taiwan 《南進台灣》 Ozaki Hotsumi 尾崎秀実 Qingshi yingzhao zeli 《清式營造則例》 qiuji 秋祭 qiuxin 求新 qiushi 求實 qizhi 氣質 Rikugun Shikan Gakkou 陸軍士官学校 Ringo no Uta 《リンゴの唄》 Saig¯ o Takamori 西郷隆盛 sand¯o 参道 Sanmin zhuyi 三民主義 Sanshi che 三市街 Shao Yuan-chong 邵元沖 Shinmei-zukuri 神明造 Shina kenchikushi 《支那建築史》 shida jianzhu 十大建築 sh¯okonsha 招魂社 Taiwan bijutsutenrankai/Taiteu 台灣美術展覧会/台展 Taiwan Hosokyokai 台灣放送協会 Taiwan Nichinichi Shinp¯o 《台灣日日新報》 Taiwan Jingu 台灣神宮 Taiwan Jih¯o 《台灣時報》 Taiwan Aikokufujin Shimpo 《台灣愛国婦人新報》 Taiwan xiaodiao 《台灣小調》 Taiwan bajing 台灣八景 Torii Ry¯ uz¯ o 鳥居龍藏 torii 鳥居 tuwu 突兀 Wang Da-hung 王大閎 waishengren 外省人 Xingzheng Yuan 行政院 Yang Cho-cheng 楊卓成 Yao Wen-ying 姚文英 Yao Yuan-jhong 姚元中 Yasukuni Jinja 靖國神社

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Yi Wen 易文 yingling 迎靈 Yoshida Hatsusaburo 吉田初三郎 Yuan Shih-kai 袁世凱 Yuanshan 圓山 Yuanshan dafandian 圓山大飯店 Zheng Cheng-gong 鄭成功 zhonglieci 忠烈祠 zhonghua minzu 中華民族 zhonglieci banfa 忠烈祠辦法 zhongchanghui 中常會 zhongguo yingzhao xueshe 中國營造學社

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Shozawa, Jun and Chu-mei Lin. Zhan hou Taiwan de Riben jiyi: chong fan zaixian zhan hou de shikong. Taipei shi: Yun chen wenhua shiye gufen youxian gongsi, 2017. Shyu, Ming-song. A guide to Wang Da Hong’s architecture. First edition. Taipei xian xindian shi: Muma wenhua chubanshe, 2014. Su, Shuo-bin. Kan bujian yu kan de jian de Taipei. Taipei shi: Qun xue, 2010. Sung, Hsiao-wen. “The Establishing Courses and Features Studies of Yuan-Shan Park and Taipei Park in Japanese Colonial Period.” Master’s thesis, National Taiwan University of Science and Technology Department of Architecture, 2003. Sung, Yu-chen Sharon and Liang-yin Chen. “A Study of Spatial Hierarchy of Martial Arts Halls in Taiwan.” Architecture Science, no. 7 (2013): 21–36. Taipei ting. Taipei ting zhi. Taipei shi: Chengwen chuban she, 1919. “Taiwan jinja.” Tabi to unyu, no. 1 (November 1, 1937): 1. Store in National Central Library, Taiwan Branch. File number: 0705–191. Taiwan ni okeru jinja oyobi shuukyou. Taipei zhou: Taiwan zongdu fu wen jiao ju shehui ke, 1935. “Taiwan sheng zhonglieci jisi banfa jianyi 2 dian an.” 1946. The Taiwan Historica. File number: 301600001006. Taiwan shenshe shewu suo and Taiwan jiaoyu hui. Photo Book in Commemoration of the 30th Anniversary of Taiwan Shrine’s Enshrinement. Taipei shi: Taiwan jinja jimusho, 1931. National Taiwan University Library Collection. Taiwan shenshe zhi. Ninth edition. Taipei shi: Taiwan shenshe shewu suo, 1935. Taiwan shenzhi hui. “Taiwan no Yasukuni Jinja: Kenkou Jinja no soken.” Jing shen 2, no. 2 (1928): 11. Taiwan shenzhi hui. “Taiwan hu guo shenshe yu zao ying fengzan hui quyi shu bing hui ze.” Jing shen 13, no. 8 (1928): 51–52. The Map of Taiwan City Drawn by US Military. Center for GIS, RCHSS, Academia Sinica. Accessed November 12, 2018. At: http://gissrv4.sinica. edu.tw/gis/taipei.aspx?fbclid=IwAR2jswEFdcxXO__bCrQVsmf5ZAUWXw xYSmCTg0PfuEuADfgql27pFcI6kv0. The Map of Taipei city in 1967. Center for GIS, RCHSS, Academia Sinica. Accessed November 12, 2018. At http://gissrv4.sinica.edu.tw/gis/taipei. aspx?fbclid=IwAR2jswEFdcxXO__bCrQVsmf5ZAUWXwxYSmCTg0PfuE uADfgql27pFcI6kv0. The Martyrs’ Shrine. “Yao Yuan-jhong on the Design of the Taipei Martyrs’ Shrine.” Accessed November 14, 2018. At: http://library.taiwanschoolnet. org/cyberfair2006/huigogo/index2/index2_3.html. “The Total Number of Visitors from Korea, Malaysia, Mainland China and Hong Kong Visited Taiwan in the Past Ten Years.” Tourism Statistics Database of the Taiwan Tourism Bureau. Accessed October 4, 2019. At: https://stat.tai wan.net.tw/.

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The Yuanshan Club of Taipei. Accessed November 2, 2018. At: http://www. grand-hotel.org/club/en/?Psn=5501. Tsai, Chin-tang. “A Comparative Study on Taiwan’s Martyrs’ Shrine versus Japan’s Gokoku Shrine and Yasukuni Shrine.” Journal of National Taiwan Normal University, no. 3 (2010): 3–22. Tsai, Chin-tang. Cong shenshe dao zhonglieci: taiwan guojia zong side zhuanhuan. Taipei: qun xue chuban youxian gongsi, 2015. Tsai, Chin-tang. “Masuda Fukutaro de simiao yu shensheguan.” Guangwu tongshi xuebao 1 (March 1, 2004): 191–209. Tsai, Chin-tang. “Zhonglieci yanjiu: ‘guoshang shengyu’ jianli de lishi yange.” (A Study of Martyrs’ Shrines: The History of the Establishment of “Sacred Spaces for the Nation’s Martyrs”) Conference for the presentation of the results of the National Science Council’s research plans in Taiwan History, Institute of Taiwan History, Academia Sinica, 2001. Tsai, Hou-nan. “The Institutionalization of Urban Park in Taiwan, 1895–1987.” Ph.D. diss., National Taiwan University Department of Civil Engineering, 1991. Tsai, Tian-jin. “Xu shi ‘nandu zhi ye’ chuanchang ji xuanlu laiyuan tanjiu.” Gaoxiong wenhua yanjiu (October 2009): 1–51. US Military’s Aerial Photograph in 1944. Center for GIS, RCHSS, Academia Sinica. Accessed November 12, 2018. At: http://gissrv4.sinica.edu.tw/gis/ taipei.aspx?fbclid=IwAR2jswEFdcxXO__bCrQVsmf5ZAUWXwxYSmCTg0P fuEuADfgql27pFcI6kv0. US military’s aerial photograph in 1945. Center for GIS, RCHSS, Academia Sinica. Accessed November 12, 2018. At: http://gissrv4.sinica.edu.tw/gis/ taipei.aspx?fbclid=IwAR2jswEFdcxXO__bCrQVsmf5ZAUWXwxYSmCTg0P fuEuADfgql27pFcI6kv0. Wang, Yi-Wen and Tim Heath. “Constructions of National Identity: A Tale of Twin Capital Building in Early Post-war Taiwan.” Taiwan in Comparative Perspective 2 (December 2008): 21–46. “Wei zhonglieci buyi jieyong renhe zongjiao tuanti budao an.” 1954. The Taiwan Historica. File number: 41270025428017. Xia, Zhu-jiu. “Yuanshan de fengjian youling zai youdang.” China Times, July 3, 1995. Xu, Dao-liang. Dute yu enci: Jidujiao xinyang yu qita zongjiao de bijiao. First edition. Hong Kong: Tien Dao Publishing House Ltd, 2008. Yamakawa, Ch¯ osh¯ o. Taiwan f¯ ukei shashin cho, 1–12. Taipei: tongji shi baoshe, 1925. Store in National Central Library, Taiwan Branch, 109 0748-89. Yonezawa, Takanori. Jinja no Kaibou Zukan. Translated by Jia’en Chen. Xinbei Shi: Feng shu fang wen hua chuban she, 2017.

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Yoshikazu, Ogawa. Taiwan tetsud¯ o ryok¯ o annai (Sh¯ owa ky¯ u nen edition) (Guide of the Rail Travel in Taiwan), 1–12 and 149–154. Taipei: Railway Division of Taiwan Governor-General’s Bureau of Transportation, 1934. Store in National Central Library, Taiwan Branch. File number: 0948-106. Yuanshan da fandian (The Grand Hotel). “Index.” Accessed November 8, 2018. At: http://www.grand-hotel.org/taipei/en/?Psn=5305. Zhu, Tao. Liang Si-cheng yu ta de shidai. First edition. Hong Kong: Oxford University Press, 2014. “Zhuji chu qian wei gaijian Taipei Yuanshan zhonglieci jingfei 3600 wan you zhongyang sheng shi pingjun gongtong fudan yi an qing ti fu hui taolun an.” 1967. The Taiwan Historica. File number: 501094725. “Zhongguo yuanzheng jun Miandian zhenwang yingling ru si Taipei zhonglieci.” Beyondnewsnet, September 1, 2014. Accessed November 2, 2018. At: http:// beyondnewsnet.com/20140901/9064/.

CHAPTER 5

The Monument That Became Public Toilet: The New 1st Army Cemetery in Guangzhou

Introduction: Chinese Expedition Force in WWII This chapter investigates the case of the “New 1st Army Cemetery,” the only one of the five monuments discussed in this book that is physically hidden from sight. If other monuments in Mainland China are created more in the discourse of “the Resistance War against Japan,” this particular monument can actually be said to be a WWII monument. It commemorates the fallen soldiers in the battles and expeditions that involved not only the fights between Chinese and Japanese on and off Chinese soil, but also those of a lesser known allied force made up of soldiers from China, Britain, and the US. The New 1st Army was among the most elite troops of the Nationalist Government during the War. The unit was a part of the Chinese Expedition Force (CEF), an umbrella name for the Chinese Nationalist Army who fought and operated against Japan between 1942 and 1945 in Burma and India. The formation of the CEF was a result of the escalating aggression of Japan toward the British Burma that happened in quick succession after its occupation of Hong Kong and Manila in 1941 and Singapore in 1942. The plan of the Japanese Army in Burma aimed at two purposes. On the one hand, it tried to cut off the road thoroughbass between Burma and Yunnan, China, blocking the bloodline of transportation from Southeast Asia to southwest China. On the other hand, conquering Burma would further support Japan’s goods supply in its expansion into China and India, eventually enabling the © The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Nature Singapore Pte Ltd. 2020 L. Pan, Image, Imagination and Imaginarium, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-981-15-9674-2_5

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Japanese troops to converge with the Nazi German forces in the Middle East.1 There were two rounds of expeditions of the CEF. The first round was right after the Japanese invasion of Burma in 1942. Due to the limited number of British Burma forces, the British government requested assistance from Chiang Kai-shek (1887–1975). With the US’s involvement in the war against Japan after the Pearl Harbour, the US Government also showed its support of China’s entry into Burma by dispatching Lieutenant General Joseph Stilwell (1883–1946) to co-command the Chinese New Fifth and Sixth Army. Even before the Japanese conquered Rangoon in early March, 1942, the CEF, had been sent for the first time to Burma in late February to fight against Japanese together with the British.2 Although the Chinese-British allied forces won several important battles, among which the Battle of Yenangyaung3 might be the most famous, the Chinese fight against the Japanese was extremely tough. Many factors, including the disparity in military equipment and the number of welltrained soldiers between the Chinese and the Japanese Army, the humid and hot weather in the region, and the chaotic command resulting from the power struggles among the British, the American and the Chinese higher-level commanders, all contributed to the hardship of the battle.4

1 Mei-fang Yuan and Mu-yun Lu, Zhongguo Yuanzhengjun: Tian Mian zhanzheng pintu yu lao zhanshi koushu lishi (Hong Kong: Red Publish (Qingsen wenhua), 2015), 52. 2 Yuan and Lu, Zhongguo Yuanzhengjun: Tian Mian zhanzheng pintu yu lao zhanshi

koushu lishi, 52, 61. 3 The Battle of Yenangyaung was fought first between the Japanese army and the British army near Yenangyaung, where its adjunct oil fields were the main targets of the Japanese military invasion in the area. The British fell back at the fierce attacks from the Japanese and had to ask for rescue (through Stilwell) from Chiang Kai-shek in April 1942. The 113th Regiment of the 38th Division was then sent under the command of Liu Fang-wu (1898–1994), and contributed greatly to the rescue of more than 200 British soldiers. See also Captain Gerald Fitzpatrick, Ditched in Burma: No Mandalay, No Maymyo, 79 Survive (Fitzpatrick Publishing, 2012) and Zhongguo Yuanzhengjun wang, “Kangri mingjiang: Liu Fang-wu,” Zhongguo Yuanzhengjun wang, December 28, 2012, accessed May 27, 2019, at: http://www.yuanzhengjun.cn/yzj/renwu/148.html. 4 British’s distrust of the Chinese force, the constant conflicts between Stilwell and

Chiang in their views and interests and the disparate views between Chiang, Du Yu-ming (1904–1981), chief Commander of the Fifth Army of the Kuomingtang Army and the unit leaders were major factors that caused the commanding chaos. See also Rana Mitter, China’s War with Japan, 1937 –1945: The Struggle for Survival (London: Allen Lane, an Imprint of Penguin, 2013), 253–259.

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The death of General Dai Anlan (1904–1942) on May 26, 1942 during the retreats of the Chinese troops to Yunnan and India can be seen as a marker of the failure of the first round of expeditions of the CEF.5 The second round of expeditions was initiated after the first retreats. The New 1st Army was formed from the Chinese Army in India, also known as the X Force, which consisted of the New 38th Division under Sun Li-jen (1900–1990) and the New 22nd Division under Liao Yaohsiang (1906–1968). They received military training from the US Army in the retreat to Ramgarh, Bihar, India. The New 1st Army officially came into being in February 1943, and later became one of the most capable and modernized military units in the entire Sino-Japanese War. Sun was known for his outstanding educational background in both China and the US. A student of Tsinghua College in Beijing, Sun obtained a scholarship in 1923 to finish his study in civil engineering in Purdue University and graduated in the next year. At a time when China was overrun by warlords, Sun decided to serve in the army and applied to Virginia Military Institute, where he studied until 1927. Sun was also recognized for his military talents and strong empathy with his subordinates. After the Battle of Yenangyaung, out of consideration of the well-being of his troops, Sun led them to safety in defiance of the order from the Chief Commander Du Yu-ming (1904–1981) to retreat through Kachin Hills, an extremely dense jungle area on the peak area of Northern Burma, to India. The unit under the command of Dai Anlan, who followed the order, in comparison, suffered more casualties due to the lethal blows of the Japanese and the harsh natural environment of the hills.6 Notably, the New 1st Army Cemetery in Guangzhou was not the first monument Sun built for his sacrificed soldiers. Even during the war, Sun already hosted the construction of some of the earliest monuments that commemorated the fallen CEF soldiers in both Burma and China. In

5 General Dai Anlan was one of the most famous military leaders in the Chinese Expedition Force and died unfortunately from injuries and lack of proper treatment in Burma after his 200th Division was attacked by the Japanese on May 16, 1942. The retreat routes of the Chinese army were many. Two of them led to the southern part of Yunnan and the other three, which went through the Kachin Hills, led eventually to India. See Yuan and Lu, Zhongguo Yuanzhengjun: Tian Mian zhanzheng pintu yu lao zhanshi koushu lishi, 73. 6 Yuan and Lu, Zhongguo Yuanzhengjun: Tian Mian zhanzheng pintu yu lao zhanshi koushu lishi, 76.

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April 1943, Sun ordered a Cemetery of Yenan Camp near the battlefield of Yenangyaung in Burma to be built to memorialize fallen soldiers numbering approximately 9000.7 After the successful fightback of the X Force in the Battle of Northern Burma in April 1945, a Memorial to the Loyal Spirits (Zhonglingta) that contained the remains of 1900 fallen soldiers was constructed northeast to Lashio on the eastern side of the Burma Road under Sun’s command. Before returning to China, Sun hosted the erection of a larger scale monument—the Fortress of the Loyal Spirit (Jingzhong Baolei) in the form of a Burmese pagoda to honor the memory of the dead soldiers near the New 1st Army’s camp in Myitkyina, Burma. Sun ordered his troops to collect the remains of his soldiers who died in the battles in Hukawng Valley and Mogaung Valley and transport them to be buried under the Fortress. Individual names of the soldiers were inscribed on two steel plaques on the monument.8 Sun’s care for his soldiers and respect to those who had fallen was manifested in his eagerness to build monuments. After Japan’s defeat in August 1945, Sun and the New 1st Army received order to take over Guangzhou and to attend the ceremony of accepting Japan’s surrender. Sun was then eager to build a formal monument for the fallen on the retrieved territory in China. He soon began to search for a suitable location. After three scoutings from a plane, he finally decided to choose the area on the northeast part of Guangzhou’s suburb. The New 1st Cemetery lies on the northeast corner of the city’s main memorial concurrent axes, that are formed by a north-south line from the Sun Yat-sen Monument on the Yuexiu Mountain (Yuexiu shan) to the Sun Yat-sen Memorial Hall and an east-west line of Xianlie Road (Xianlie lu), where other commemorative spaces such as the 19th Route Army Songhu Anti-Japanese War Martyrs’ Memorial Park, the Xinhai Revolution Martyrs’ Cemetery Unit and others were erected. The central axis of the New 1st Cemetery runs northeast to southeast, with an interesting potential of connecting itself with the existing axis of the memorial landscape. Today’s dilapidated condition of the Cemetery well illustrates its yearlong marginal position in contemporary China’s war narrative. In the first 7 Ke-qin Shen, Sun Li-jen chuan (shangxia) zengding ban (Taipei Shi: Taiwan xuesheng shuju youxian gongsi, 2005), 341. 8 Shen, Sun Li-jen chuan (shangxia) zengding ban, 341. Even disabled old soldiers were commissioned to be guards to manage the environment of the cemetery.

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place, it was not until recently that the history of the CEF was widely known in both Taiwan and mainland China. The CEF and the battles it fought in the borderland of China and other regions in Asia were highly crucial to the victory of the War, constituting the only international battlefield in the Sino-Japanese War. As British and American formed an allied force with China in these battles, the history of the CEF is also an example par excellence of how the Sino-Japanese War was not only a regional war, but also a significant part of WWII. However, historical writings on all sides, including the Republican China, the US-British Alliance, and later the People’s Republic of China, downplayed the history of the CEF for their own reasons. For the Kuomintang government, the China-BurmaIndia theater had not shown its importance toward the end of the war as other earlier battles in areas of higher political significance, such as the Battle of Shanghai, occupied a predominant position in the postwar commemoration before 1949. Moreover, the later fate of the key figure in the expeditions of the CEF, Sun Li-jen, who came into conflict first with Du Yu-ming and then with the Chiang Family, may also account for the forgetting of the CEF history on the side of the Nationalist Party. During the Chinese Civil War, Sun was already dismissed from the commanding position in Northeast China in 1947 due to the Sun-Du conflict.9 Later in Taiwan, Sun was falsely charged with conspiracy with Mainland Communists to revolt against the KMT Government in 1955.10 He was kept under house arrest between 1955 and 1988 in Taichung until President Li Teng-hui (1923–2020) lifted his penalty shortly after Chiang Ching-kuo’s death.11 9 Shen, Sun Li-jen chuan (shangxia) zengding ban, 426, 445–462. 10 Sun was suspected by Chiang Kai-shek and his son Chiang Ching-kuo of planning

to stage a coup with the help of the Americans to subvert the Chiang Government. In May 1955, Lieutenant-Colonel Kuo Ting-liang, one of Sun’s subordinates, was arrested and tortured into admitting conspiracy with a communist agent. As his senior, Sun was in turn forced to relinquish all his powers. Soon later in August, Sun himself was held under house arrest. Known as the “Kuo Ting-Liang Communist Spy Case,” the incident was apparently a case of power struggle between Sun and Chiang, or the latter’s liquidation of the suspected rising power that would threaten his absolute power in the KMT and the ROC on Taiwan. Also see Xin-yi Zeng, “Sun jiangjun yu daxiang Lin wang,” Wuya pinglun, no. 1 (1988): 44. 11 Chiang Ching-kuo and Sun Li-jen have opposite views on how to build the state’s military structure which might have resulted in Sun’s fall from power. See Li-jen Sun, Nan Jiang and Wei-xian Deng, Sun Li-jen yuan an ping fan (Taipei Shi: Xin mei chuban she, 1988), Qing-yu Xue and Fu-jie Wang, Sun Li-jen: Bei ruanjin de di er ge Zhang

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For the British, in comparison with its main battlefield in Europe, this theater is much less important. Even though Sun was awarded the Commander of the Most Excellent Order of the British Empire (CBE) by King George VI for his leadership in the Battle of Yenangyaung and for his successful rescue of the British army, the rare, if not unwanted narrative, of “Chinese army rescuing British army” was also seldom mentioned by British war memory narratives.12 The Burmese, on the other hand, even welcomed he Japanese army who promised them, at least at the beginning, to realize independence from the British colonialism.13 It is of course even more understandable for the People’s Republic to downplay the history of the CEF and Sun’s contribution to the war. Not only the KMT and its government and army as a whole became the enemy during the Civil War and thus had no more place in the Communist historical writing on the Sino-Japanese War, the New 1st Army was also the main force units in the Civil War against the Communist troops in Northeast China. However, as in the case of Sihang Warehouse, as crossStrait relationship underwent changes after the opening up of China in the late 1970s, Sino-Japanese War relics left by the KMT have gradually been seen as important “milieu de memoire” for the formation of the United Front in the new era. It was through a very popular TV drama in the Mainland “My Chief and My Regiment” (Wode tuanzhang wodetuan) (2009) that the story of the CEF began to be widely known and noticed by the Chinese public. Adapted from the eponymous novel by Lan Xiao-long (1973–), the TV drama restores the CEF’s battles in the war in the popular imagination. The Chinese Expedition Force (Zhongguo Yuanzhengjun), a documentary of 10 episodes, which was produced by Hong Kong Phoenix TV in 2005, was probably the first TV production that gives a comprehensive introduction of the CEF’s battles in Northern Burma and Western Yunnan in Mandarin Chinese. In 2010, the China Central TV produced a more extensive 12-episode TV documentary on

Xueliang (Qingdao: Qingdao chuban she, 1998), and Bo-hui Wang and Da-nian Ning, Zhongguo zhu yin jun yin mian kangzhan xia Sun Li-jenzhushu he yuan an (Beijing: Tuan jie chuban she, 2009). 12 Jun Jie, “Jinian Zhongguo Yuanzhengjun jiangshi,” in War and Peace: International Symposium on the 70th anniversary of the Victory of the Second Sino-Japanese War, Taiwan, ed. De-mei Zheng, et al. (Taoyuan Shi: Guo fang da xue, 2015), 148. 13 See Masanori It¯ o et al., Ri jun Dong nan ya zhanshi (Kunming: Kunming jun qu si ling bu er bu, 1980) and Xu-dong Zhang, Miandian jindai minzu zhuyi yundong yanjiu (Jin lang xueshu chuban she, 2017).

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the CEF.14 The public, who was by and large ignorant of this part of the history and the CEF until then, was shocked and deeply touched by these documentaries. In the existing research, only very limited information is available on the New 1st Army Cemetery. Most of the first- and second-hand research on the monument can be traced to probably one person: Lu Jie-feng. Lu is an independent researcher who used to work for Communist Party newspapers in Guangzhou. She wrote several books about the Sun Yat-sen Memorial Hall and Huanghuagang Revolutionary Martyrs’ Monuments (Huanghuagang Qishier Lieshimu) in Guangzhou. Her contribution to the collection of basic first-hand materials of the cemetery is huge. She discovered the original plan of the cemetery, old photos, materials on the designer of the cemetery, and the rubbing of the original epitaph written by Sun. In 2015, she curated an exhibition on the cemetery in Guangzhou’s Sun Yat-sen Library, to which she donated all the materials she collected on the cemetery since 2005.15 Lu takes a clearly restorative attitude in her research toward the monument. While the government was inclined to accept the proposal of moving the remaining parts of the cemetery to another site and reconstructing it, Lu insists that the cemetery should be restored to its original form on the original site.16 While Lu’s major concern (and the concern of many other historical studies of the CEF) is to restore the monument as it was, the purpose of this chapter is to understand the making of the monument from a broader perspective. I argue that the importance of exploring the history of the cemetery lies in the following respects. First, as the largest monument in commemorating the fallen soldiers of the CEF, the invisibility of the New 1st Army Cemetery has a lot to do with the ambiguity of the WWII narratives in both mainland China and Taiwan. The examination of 14 Yun Qu, et al., Zhongguo Yuanzhengjun (Beijing: Jiu zhou yin xiang chuban gongsi, 2009), and Lin Wang, et al., Zhongguo Yuanzhengjun (Beijing: Zhongguo guoji dianshi zong gongsi, 2010). 15 Sun zhongguo zhounian Province,

Yat-sen Library of Guangdong Province, Dingtianlidi ying hun chang cun: zhu yin jun yin mian kangzhan shengli ji xin yijun guangzhou shouxiang 70 jinian te zhan zhanlan tu lu (Guangzhou: Sun Yat-sen Library of Guangdong 2015).

16 Lu’s main argument is that it is against the Cultural Relics Protection Law of the People’s Republic of China to partially move the relics. See Jia-wen Cheng, “Kangzhan yingxiong mu lun cai chang ni chaiqian zao kangyi,” United Daily News, May 13, 2013, A13.

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the transformation of the monument helps bring to light the complicities and tensions within the memories of the war beyond a simple nationalistic point of view—on the contrary, it reveals the difficulties of defining Chinese nationalism after the Civil War. Second, the design and planning of the cemetery reveal the designer’s unique consideration of monumentality in modern China. Its concise and abstract architectural design distinguishes it largely from its contemporary counterparts in Guangzhou (such as the Huanghuagang Revolutionary Martyrs’ Monuments and the Sun Yat-sen Memorial Hall) and elsewhere in China (e.g., the Sun Yat-sen Mausoleum in Nanjing). While other Republican monuments take their outer form of Chinese palace or European garden with decorative, refined symbolism, the cemetery crystallizes a bold experiment in using “cold,” abstract and concise aesthetics to create the atmosphere of solemnity. Both the cemetery designer Guo Yuan-xi (1905–1966) and the designer of the copper eagle on the façade of the main tower of the monument Zheng Ke (1906–1987) were advocates of Bauhaus and modernist design in China. Third, the invisibility of the monument speaks to a history of violent dissembling of the commemorative space amid rapid urban transformations of Guangzhou. It is in this violent process that not only the history of the cemetery and its commemorative language, but also the history of Guangzhou, can be traced.

New 1st Army Cemetery: Construction and Location On August 26, 1945, General He Ying-qin (1890–1987) ordered to divide the Chinese theater of the war into 15 zones where ceremonies of Japanese surrender would be held. Sun Li-jen participated the ceremony in Guangzhou’s Sun Yat-sen Memorial Hall as the commander of the New 1st Army. Soon after, Sun began to plan the building of the cemetery. The most direct reference to the construction process is probably Sun’s own writing of the cemetery inscription, which was defaced after 1949. According to Sun, he looked carefully for a position for the cemetery by flying over Guangzhou three times to gain an aerial view of the city.17 He finally decided on the area at the foot of the southeast side of 17 Di-xun Ding and Bo-hui Wang, “Lujun xinbian di yi jun yuanzheng yin mian zhenwang jiangshi jinianbei,” in Zhongguo zhu yin jun yin mian kangzhan (Beijing Shi: Tuan jie chuban she, 2009), 240–241.

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Baiyun Mountain, facing Shahe River in the South, still largely tabula rasa at that time. The cemetery site lay to the East of the existing monumental architectures and memorials, such as the Sun Yat-sen Memorial Hall and other cemeteries of the revolutionary martyrs, which were already forming Guangzhou’s commemorative space in the city center. Sun claimed that the choice was made to locate the cemetery close to those of the previous martyrs, but the location it could be also seen as occupying a central position in relation to the Cemetery of the First Division Martyrs to the northeast, the 19th Route Army Songhu Anti-Japanese War Martyrs’ Memorial to the south, and the Memorial Cemetery for the Seventy-two Huanghuagang Martyrs to the west. From the entrance to the memorial tower, the central axis of the cemetery was also not in a straight line running in the northerly-southerly direction but rather, northeastsouthwest direction vertical to Matougang Mountain.18 The terrain of the cemetery rose upward from south to north, a way of utilizing the physical feature of the land to create a sense of awe in public monument in modern China, as in Sun Yat-sen Mausoleum in Nanjing. Roughly rectangular in shape, the cemetery area was 250 meters long and around 300 meters wide, with a total area of 75,000 square meters. Preceded by other largescale cemeteries in the area, the New 1st Army Cemetery was of moderate ambition in terms of its size. The 19th Route Army Songhu Anti-Japanese War Martyrs’ Memorial takes up around 62,120 square meters while the Huanghuagang Cemetery around 160,000 square meters. On November 5, 1945, the foundation of the cemetery was laid and 600 Japanese POW were used as a major labor force for the construction. The main groundwork of the cemetery was completed in March 1946. According to the June issue of Chinese Army in India-Burma Campaign: Active Participation by The New 1st Army published in 1947, the structure of the cemetery consisted of the following elements: the memorial tower, the three stone bridges, the pond, the memorial pavilion, the entrance arch, and the North-South avenue.19

18 Jie-feng Lu, “Lao cheng yinji: Xin yi jun gongmu yuanmao,” Yangcheng Evening News, April 13, 2008. 19 Tie-hua He and Sun Ke-gang, Chinese Army in India-Burma Campaign: Active Participation by The New 1st Army (Shanghai: Shidai Books, 1947), 116–117 and “Guangzhou baiyun shanxia, xin yijun yuanzheng yin mian zhenwang jiangshi jinianbei,” Huasheng 2, no. 1 (1947): 34–35.

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The height of the main tower, the central structure of the cemetery, was allegedly between 21 and 23 meters high.20 The tower’s four sides were made of granite. On the south side, there was a monumental tablet (H: 4 m, W: 0.6 m) made of Liaoning blue stone inscribed with “Memorial Tower for Fallen Soldiers of the First New Army in India and Burma” in Sun’s handwriting in lishu, the type of script adopted for official use in ancient China. On the north side, inscriptional record, also written by Sun, explained the purpose and construction process of the monument. The tower consisted of four rectangular pillars of the same shape and there have been various interpretations of their symbolic meanings. The prevailing interpretation states that the four pillars stand for the four maxims of the New 1st Army: justice (yi), courage (yong ), loyalty (zhong ), and sincerity (cheng ). The four maxims not only echo the eight moral merits that Sun Yat-sen adopted from Confucian classics in his theorization of “Nation” in his seminal Three Peoples’ Principles, they also speak to the “four moral standards” proposed by Guanzi in the Spring and Autumn period that were turned into the four national guidelines for Chiang Kai-shek’s “New Life Movement (Xinshenghuo Yundong )” launched in 1934.21 In another interpretation, the four pillars represent the three divisions and one division troop of the New 1st Army (Fig. 5.1).22 Lu Jie-feng even contends that the design of the memorial tower, if seen from above, resembled that of the Iron Cross ensign of the Kingdom of Prussia that was later adopted by the German Empire and Nazi Germany.23 Lu may be too arbitrary in her view but her point that the design embodies the democratic nature of the monument may not be wrong. Except for the front that faced south, 27,000 names of the fallen are inscribed on the side marble plaques (H: 5 m and W: 2 m) of the tower. It is noticeable that this is probably the first monument in Chinese

20 Li-jen Sun, Lujun xin bian di yi jun yin mian zhenwang jiangshi mu ji, September

6, 1947. 21 See Qing-yu Xue, Ying yang guo wei: gen sui Sun Li-jen jiangjun Miandian kang Ri qin li ji (Taipei shi: Dongda tushu gongsi, 1997), 378, according to Sun’s own memoir. 22 See accounts by Yang Yi-li, then a Major Adjutant in Sun’s troop, who stayed in Guangzhou to supervise the construction of the cemetery while Sun led the New 1st Army to fight against the Communist in Northeast China. Xiong-fei Tan and Ai-mei Tan, The forgotten times: two Tan’s and a female spy (Beijing Shi: Xin xing chuban she, 2016), 80. 23 Lu, “Lao cheng yinji: Xin yi jun gongmu yuanmao.”

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Fig. 5.1 “Main Tower of The New First Army Cemetery” (Source ChineseAmerican Weekly 256 [1947]: 145)

history that has all individual names of the fallen in a battle, regardless of their rank, inscribed on a public monument.24 Rather than commemorating one particular political or military leader, or celebrating the victory of the war, the monument was primarily a site for mourning in placing each individual as an equal object for remembrance. The cemetery can thus be seen as China’s very first large-scale civic war monument, whose construction was also financed by the donations from the officers and soldiers rather than by state sponsors. Underneath the monument was a pit tomb (6.69 m × 6.69 m × 15.7 m) for accommodating the ashes of the soldiers. According to Yang Yi-li (1922–2016), the construction supervisor of the monument and Sun’s subordinate, Sun even saved a small lot of land (1.5 m × 3 m)

24 The most prominent recent example of inscribing individual names on the monument

is the memorial to the victims of the Nanking Massacre. By the end of 2018, 10,664 names of the victims were inscribed on the wall of victims and the number is increasing. See Fang Jiang, “Nanjing da tusha yunan zhe xingming xin zeng 26 ge,” xinhuanet, December 11, 2018, accessed June 10, 2019, at: http://www.xinhuanet.com//mrdx/ 2018-12/11/c_137665418.htm.

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Fig. 5.2 Memorial Pavilion and Bridge (Source Public Doman)

beside the tower for his own grave, refusing to be enshrined in the National Martyrs’ Shrine.25 To the south of the monument, there were two artificial ponds—the Flower Basket Pond on the left and the Gourd Gond on the right. Curved bridges were built to connect the two ponds. Around 70 meters to the South from the monument’s front, a memorial pavilion was erected. The pavilion was octagonal in shape and 7 meters in height (Fig. 5.2). The Pavilion, which was built on as an addition to the main part of the cemetery in the second half of 1947, had a specific function. It accommodated a special wooden board with Chiang Kai-shek’s handwritten inscription “Great Feats Left in the Southern Frontiers (Xunliu yanjiao).” Sun’s own record of the battles of the army in Burma and southern Yunnan as well as the construction process of the cemetery were inscribed on a stone tablet, which was also erected in the pavilion. The design of entrance of the cemetery was also rarely seen in other monuments at that time. Two columns formed a gate(way) with a span of 30 meters in between. On top of each column, four characters were carved on the 25 Jia-wen Cheng, “Sun Li-jen bushu pan dangju luxing xiufu chengnuo,” United Daily News, May 13, 2013.

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southern side as a pair of couplet: on the left “dingtian lidi” (indomitable spirit stands upright) and on the right “yinghun changcun” (long live the heroes’ spirits). The cemetery’s full name was also inscribed under the left side of the couplet. On the inner side of the two columns, there were two giant statues of two soldiers facing each other as if standing in guard for the cemetery. Their legs were abstracted to a decorative form. The two columns were annexed to a guard room on each side, connected by a transitional structure that shaped two side gates underneath. Another semi-figurative design could be found on the façade of the guard rooms: two decorative ribs resemble bullet heads that were dramatically prolonged, making the room appear up straight as the stone soldiers. The design of the entrance was highly innovative and unconventional (Fig. 5.3). Boldly, it tried to invent a new architectural grammar for war monuments or public monuments in China: without compromising on solemnity, it was concisely lined, moderately decorative and symbolic. The new language was bold as it allows much more space for interpretation rather than being anchored to an intended meaning from the monument builder. To better understand how the cemetery came to its unique form, it is necessary not only to examine the designer’s personal preference but also to grasp a broad picture of Guangzhou’s urban planning, architectural education, and other practices of commemorative space building in and before wartime China from the 1920s to 1940s.

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Fig. 5.3 Entrance of the Cemetery (1947) (Source Public Domain)

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Building the Southern Capital: Guangzhou City as Commemorative Space in the Republican Era Sun Yat-sen Memorial Hall and Guangzhou’s Spatial Center of Power As was previously mentioned, the cemetery was a “late-comer” to a preexisting structure of Guangzhou’s commemorative space. By the outbreak of the Sino-Japanese War, the Sun Yat-sen Memorial Hall had unequivocally formed the center of the city through its monumentality. The construction of the memorial hall was a “response” to a series of political and social circumstances in the 1920s’ China, reflecting KMT’s (divided) national ideals and ways of legitimization. They were crystallized in the style and function of commemorative artifacts and the invention of new public space. After the turbulent Warlord Era (1916–1928), the KMT was finally able to centralize its unified power as the state authority. After Sun’s death in 1925, the construction of the Sun Yat-sen Mausoleum in Nanjing prompted a new beginning of building public monuments in modern China. The KMT had a clear agenda of making a sacred space using Sun as a national symbol. The mausoleum, as the guidelines in the open call for design proposal stated, had to “make use of old Chinese forms, but should be of a character that marked it as special and commemorative; but it is also acceptable to create a new style based on the Chinese architectural spirit.”26 The balance between the two distinctive styles crystallized the KMT’s message to the new republic and the world, that is, the KMT enjoyed the only privileged position as the heir of Sun’s national building ideals—Three People’s Principles. These principles place material civilization (Western) democracy, and national independence as the three major goals of the ROC to shape China’s future.27 Under this guideline, as Rudolf G. Wagner contends, “whether from Western architects or Chinese architects trained in the West, the plans all share the characteristic of using Western architectural features and building materials combined with an outer form and accouterments that alluded to Chinese architectural traditions, especially in the roof, which as

26 Translation adapted from Rudolf G. Wagner, “1925–1928: Enshrining the Father of the Republic,” in Chinese Architecture and the Beaux-Arts, ed. Jeffrey W. Cody, Nancy S. Steinhardt and Tony Atkin (Hong Kong: Hong Kong University Press, 2011), 236–278. 27 See Wagner, “1925–1928: Enshrining the Father of the Republic,” 245 on spatial symbolism in the Mausoleum of the Three Principles.

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architect/architectural historian Liang Si-cheng (1901–1972) noted, was the most marked particularity of Chinese architecture.”28 As Sun’s Mausoleum lay the key tone of commemorative space in the Republic of China, a further mobilization of Sun’s symbol in various cities in China followed. Although the capital of the ROC was in Nanjing, Guangzhou had been under the KMT’s core power control since the 1911 Revolution. Despite the on-going internal power struggles among the party factions that were based separately in Beijing, Shanghai, and Guangdong, Guangzhou remained a key city to demonstrate the KMT’s legitimacy in China, especially after Sun’s death.29 In fact, a rival ROC government was set up in Guangzhou to counter the influence of that in Beijing in 1925. A year before, the city also held the First National Congress of this ROC government.30 In this sense, Guangzhou was the capital in the south and the installation of another symbolic space of Sun Yat-sen was a natural move to show that it represented a power parallel to Beijing. Thus, Henry K. Murphy (1877–1954), the American architect, for whom Lü Yan-zhi (1894–1929), the Chinese architect who designed both the Sun Yat-sen Mausoleum in Nanjing and the Sun Yat-sen Memorial Hall in Guangzhou, worked in New York, was later appointed by Chiang Kai-shek in the design of Nanjing as a new capital of China also participated in the construction of Sun Yat-sen Memorial and the planning of its surrounding area.31 Designed by Lü Yan-zhi, Sun Yat-sen Memorial Hall took up a similar construction approach that combines Chinese and Western architectural

28 Wagner, “1925–1928: Enshrining the Father of the Republic,” 241. 29 On the division and struggles among Chiang Kai-shek, Wang Jing-wei and Hu Han-

min, see Yi-lin Jin, “Wang Jing-wei yu guomindang de paixi jiuge: yi ning yue duizhi wei zhongxin de kaocha,” Social Sciences in China, no. 3 (2008): 174–191. 30 See Minoru Kitamura and Lin Si-yun, The Reluctant Combatant: Japan and the Second Sino-Japanese War, translated by Connie Prener (Lanham, Maryland: University Press of America, Inc., 2014), 10. 31 Murphy’s most important guiding philosophy of his practice in China can be

embodied in the term “adaptive architecture,” which promotes the use of the traditions of Chinese architecture such as elevation, roof form and axial symmetry with contemporary technologies in order to achieve “structural significance” and “purity of form and colour.” See Jeffrey W Cody, Building in China: Henry K. Murphy’s “adaptive architecture,” 1914–1935 (Hong Kong: The Chinese University Press, 2001).

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elements, techniques and styles.32 Although both the Mausoleum in Nanjing and the Memorial Hall in Guangzhou speak to the invention of a modern Chinese commemorative culture and symbolism, the difference between them is also clear. While the Mausoleum is a single colossal ritual space on the outskirts of the capital, the Memorial Hall lies in the heart of Guangzhou and its construction formed a dynamics with other architectural artifacts in the area. The choice of the location of the Sun Yat-sen Memorial Hall continued the spatial order from the Qing Dynasty. Located at the southern foot of Yuexiu Mountain, the Hall was built in the former site of Guangdong Provincial Military Commander’s Office of late Qing, which later became the Presidential Hall where Sun declared to be the temporary President of the ROC in opposition to the Beiyang Government in Beijing in 1921. After the completion of the Hall, a monument stele dedicated to Sun was erected in late 1920s northwards on the Yuexiu Mountain, forming a clear axis with the Sun Yat-sen Monument. “The two buildings,” according to Wagner, “are linked into an ensemble through a staircase with 498 steps leading from the Memorial Hall to the stele.”33 Also in line is a square with a bronze sculpture of Sun in front of the Hall. A larger spatial connection between the Hall and its nearby environment can be seen in Lü Yan-zhi’s suggestion to connect the monument, the Hall, and the Central Park in the southern side, which was designated as Guangzhou’s central land under the suggestion of Murphy in 1922.34 Eventually, even the historic landmarks including the Zhenhai Tower (Zhenhai Lou) built in 1380 and the pagoda at Temple of the Six Banyan Trees (Liurong Si, built in AD 537) are also integrated into the area, with the Hall as the center. Peng Changxin argues that the inclusion of the Zhenhai Tower helps to strengthen nationalistic discourse embodied by the Memorial Hall. Turned from a wooden structure to a steel concrete building under the suggestion of local painter Chen Shu-ren (1884–1948) in 1927, the renovated

32 On the Sun Yat-sen Mausoleum, see De-lin Lai, “The Sun Yat-sen Memorial Auditorium, a Preaching Space for Modern China,” in Chinese Architecture and the Beaux-Arts, ed. Jeffrey W. Cody, Nancy S. Steinhardt and Tony Atkin (Hong Kong: Hong Kong University Press, 2011), 279–299, and Yun-xi Chen, Chong bai yu ji yi: Sun Zhongshan fu hao de jian gou yu chuan bo (Nanjing Shi: Nanjing da xue chuban she, 2009). 33 Wagner, “1925–1928: Enshrining the Father of the Republic,” 241. 34 Chang-xin Peng, Modernity—Locality—Modern Transformation of Lingnan City and

Architecture (Shanghai Shi: Tongji daxue chuban she, 2012), 225.

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Zhenhai Tower was then decorated with the KMT Party Emblem on its top part. One month after the Sun Monument was founded, the Municipal Museum of Guangzhou found its home in the Tower, where scientific specimen, history, customs, and artworks were displayed.35 The city center à la commemorative space with the Sun Yat-sen Memorial Hall as the center remained until today. The symmetrical and obviously beauxarts style that features visual stability and order takes a strong hold of the Hall area. The Hall was also used as a key preaching space of political thoughts for modern China.36 While the national “standard” commemorative space in Guangzhou is characterized by this north-south axis of “Chinese style beaux-arts,” other significant and earlier commemorative space-making efforts tell a story of the East-West axis which is shaped not by one central spatial artifact but by a line-up of monuments. In Guangzhou’s case, these monuments consist mainly of tombs and graveyards on Xianlie Road, or Martyrs’ Road. The abundant number of this particular type of the monuments reveals the fact that, on the one hand, how bloody the Chinese revolution in the early Twentieth century was, and on the other hand, how an ancient type of monumental artifacts dedicated to royal members were now translated into public monuments in a modern period. Tombs on Xianlie Road (Martyrs’ Road) Xianlie Road’s history can be traced to the late Qing Dynasty when a rich merchant hosted the building of a road between Baiyun Mountain and the East Gate of Guangzhou’s old town, with a total length of 3.67 km. After the 1911 Revolution, to commemorate the revolutionary martyrs who sacrificed themselves in the uprising against the Qing Dynasty, the new Republican Government erected numerous tombs for individual martyrs as well as cemeteries along the road. Among them, the most considerable in size and significance is The Huanghuagang 72 Martyrs’ Tomb located in the middle section of the road. The tomb was built for the seventy-two martyrs from Tongmenghui (Chinese United League)—or the predecessor of the KMT Party—who fell in the 1911 35 Peng, Modernity—Locality—Modern Transformation of Lingnan City and Architecture, 226. 36 See Lai, “The Sun Yat-sen Memorial Auditorium, a Preaching Space for Modern China,” 279–299.

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Revolution. With the completion of the tomb in 1921, the road also assumed its name. Core members of the League solicited donations from overseas Chinese to build the graveyard. Yang Xi-zong (1889–?) was in charge of its early design plan. Apart from Lü Yan-zhi, Yang can be said to be the most important architect who exerted huge influences on the formation of Guangzhou’s commemorative space in the 1920s. Yang was the planner of the Guangzhou First Park, later the Central Park, which, as previously mentioned, was incorporated into the Sun Yat-sen Memorial Hall as part of the city’s central power space. Yang studied together with Lü Yan-zhi at Cornell University and graduated in the same year with Lü in 1918. However, unlike Lü’s “Chinese beaux-arts,” the Chinese elements in Yang’s design were less visible. Mainly built between 1921 and 1926, the Huanghuagang Tomb consists of an entrance gate, a pond for mourning in silence (mo chi), a memorial (jigongfang ), a pavilion (Huanghua ting ), a dragon column (longzhu), a square pond (sifang chi) and a tree planted by Sun Yat-sen. Yang’s design incorporates an obvious western-style, which is shown in the decorative details of the tomb and in the monumental pavilion that enshrines the stele with the line “Tomb for the Seventy-Two Martyrs” (Fig. 5.4).

Fig. 5.4 Tomb for the Seventy-Two Martyrs (1930s) (Source Public Domain)

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Most noticeably and controversially, a French-American style Statue of Liberty is mounted on the top of the central memorial which takes the form of a mountain made up of a heap of 72 bluestone cubes with inscriptions of the names of individual overseas KMT branches. The statue, about 2 meter in height, was a gift from the league members in the United States.37 Under the supervision of Lin Sen (1868– 1943), Sun Yat-sen’s staunch supporter and a founding member of the KMT, the Huanghuagang Martyrs’ Tomb explicitly illustrates through the borrowing of existing Western symbols the pursuit of Sun and his followers of a future of the young Republic of China that is based on Western liberalism. In comparison, another Guangzhou monument designed by Yang on the eastern section of Xianlie Road, the 19th Route Army Songhu Anti-Japanese War Martyrs’ Memorial Park, is even more “Westernized.” Originally built for the martyrs of the 19th Route Army’s predecessor 11th Route Army, a graveyard was first completed in 1928. After Japan’s aggression in Shanghai in 1932, overseas Chinese raised fund to expand the graveyard into the Memorial Park exclusively for the fallen from the 19th Route Army, which largely consisted of soldiers from Guangdong. In 1933, the Memorial Park came into its rough form, taking up an area of more than 62,000 square meters. In the layout of this Park, Yang used a more overt architectural language of European monumental structures. The Park’s entrance is marked by a Roman Classical style arch of triumph made from granite (Fig. 5.5). The core monument of the Park, lying at the end of the long central axis starting from the arch, takes the form of a Roman-style memorial column A bronze statue of a solider, two bronze lions, and eight Chinese bronze cauldrons are arrayed on the stone pedestal under the column. At the back of the Memorial Column is a semicircle piazza formed by twelve Doric stone columns. These columns set the main aesthetical tone for the cemetery’s form as an Ancient Greek hieron space. Together with other artifacts in the park, including the Soldiers’ Tomb, Officers’ Tomb, Generals’ Tomb, Plaque of Heroes’ Names, Pavilion of Resisting Japan, Relief Wall, and the Martyrs’ Museum, the Park creates a solemn space of mourning and order.

37 The statue’s overt allusion to the Western symbolism of liberty even caused such controversies within the KMT that the party emblem of “blue sky white sun” replaced the statue in 1937. During the Cultural Revolution, the statue was destroyed and replaced with a statue of a torch. A new Statue of Liberty, which is somewhat different from the original, was installed back to the monument in 1981.

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Fig. 5.5 Entrance of the 19th Route Army Martyrs’ Memorial Park (Source By Lee Chin-tung, “19th Route Army Martyrs’ Memorial Park,” CC BY-SA 4.0, at: https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=7007905)

In Guangzhou, the predominant application of the Western-style in commemorative architecture may be a part of the architectural trend in Southern China, in particular the areas in Guangdong where most overseas Chinese originally came from. For example, diaolou, the watchtowers built in the 1920s and 1930s in Kaiping County, Guangdong, “display a complex and flamboyant fusion of Chinese and Western structural and decorative forms,” as stated in the UNESCO’s description when it was listed as World Cultural Heritage in 2007.38 The integration of the Western-style exemplifies the aesthetical choice of the Chinese émigré in Australia and North America. Thus, Yang Xi-zong’s design of the 72 Martyrs’ Tomb and the 19th Route Army Memorial Park, which were both financially funded by overseas Chinese, echoes this trend in the particular time and space. Another distinctive example of the “Westernized style” of the monuments on Xianlie Road is the Tomb of Zhu Zhi-xin

38 See United Nations Educational, Scientific and Cultural Organization, “Kaiping Diaolou and Villages,” United Nations Educational, Scientific and Cultural Organization, 2007, accessed July 11, 2019, at: http://whc.unesco.org/en/list/1112.

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(1885–1920).39 Although it is unclear who the actual designer of the tomb garden was, one can easily relate a similar aesthetics, particularly in the Doric memorial column behind the main memorial pavilion, to Yang’s design in the Memorial Park. The entrance gate and the three pavilions in the garden—one enshrining the main memorial tablet, the other two on each of the main monuments southern side – were of a unique quasi-Western style. They seem to be built in an adaptive style similar, for example, to the eclectic architecture in Southeast Asia and Southern China (Fig. 5.6). The pavilions and the memorial column are rendered in bright yellow—a color that may be commonly found in houses in Portuguese colonies like Macau and Malacca, but rarely seen in Chinese monuments. This Westernization of monuments for the Chinese modern revolution sends a strong message not to be neglected, namely, the establishment of the Republic and the KMT and Sun Yat-sen’s activities would not have been impossible had it not been for the support from overseas Chinese. In an interesting contrast, while other Sun Yat-sen-oriented commemorative architectures in Nanjing, Guangzhou and elsewhere utilized a kind of visually recognizable Chineseness (albeit an ancient Chineseness) in legitimizing the KMT’s orthodoxy as the leading party of modern Chinese nation-state, other key monuments in central Guangzhou didn’t fuel into the same imagination. Sun Ke’s Ideals of Modern Chinese City: Guangzhou as a Model Thus, the making of Guangzhou’s urban planning through commemorative space had, as stated above, stark political implications. Meanwhile, it was also largely driven by the desire of modernizing Chinese cities in the new era through visual communication and the entailing state-led discipline in public life. In other Chinese cities, urban modernization and urban planning often came with colonialism. As discussed in previous chapters, the “top-down” urban “correction/improvement”

39 Zhu Zhi-xin was one of the earliest members of tongmenghui and a close colleague

of Sun Yat-sen. He was shot by accident in a conflict between the Guangxi Clique and the troop in Dongguan. His early death caused Sun’s great grief and much efforts in commemoration of Zhu was given. Zhu’s tomb was completed in 1921 under the supervision of Wang Jing-wei (1883–1944) and a secondary school, named after Zhu, was opened in his memory.

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Fig. 5.6 Pavilion in Zhu Zhi-xin Tomb (Source Photo by the author)

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plan in Taipei was brought by the Japanese colonial government while Shanghai’s rapid urban modernization between the 1920s and 1930s in the International Settlement started under the supervision of the Municipal Council led by the British and the Americans. In comparison, the campaign of “urban improvement” (chengshi gailiang ) in Guangzhou embodied the wish for shaping a new Chinese urban form on the part of Chinese political/social elites. Sun Yat-sen’s son Sun Ke (1891– 1973) played an important role in launching urban planning projects in Guangzhou. Sun Ke lived in Hawaii since he was five and later spent his college year in UC Berkeley and Columbia University. During his years in the US, Sun had already nurtured an interest in municipal administration and went on field trips to various American cities.40 Highly impressed with and influenced by the rationality in the urban planning process in Europe and the US and the result of it, his ideas on making the new Guangzhou city were based largely on the cities in the West. In 1919, Sun published a paper “On Urban Planning” in Volume 1, Issue 5 of a Shanghai magazine Construction (Jianshe), in which he introduces the main features of urban development in European and US cities and briefly his own urban planning ideas. Sun stresses the importance of physical infrastructure, such as streets, bridges, ditches, waterways, houses, and parks, to the overall development of a city. He is particularly concerned with traffic and road construction and thus advocates the demolition of the old city wall to give way to networks of interconnected streets and American-style boulevards. Sun also mentions Ebenezer Howard’s Garden City, with which he is deeply impressed and which he endorses in his real planning practice. However, Sun probably at least partially misunderstands Howard’s core idea of the Garden City, which focuses not only on the harmonious co-living between humans and nature, but also on the limitation of endless urban sprawl and consequently the disappearance of farmland. Sun translates “Garden City” to “huayuan dushi,” which implies a city with “gardens” and downplays the “idyllic” aspect of the city in Howard’s idea. Sun took office as Guangzhou Mayor for three times between 1921 and 1927, during which he could literally experiment with and implement his thoughts—a privilege other urban planners and architects of

40 Qiao-li Hu, “Qian lun Sun Ke de dushi guihua sixiang ji shijian,” Journal of Guangzhou Institute of Socialism, no. 4 (2013): 73.

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the similar mind did not enjoy. Accordingly, the Guangzhou Municipal Council was established in 1921 to take charge of the engineering, design, planning, and finance issues related to city building. Beginning with 1921, three public parks were built in Guangzhou, the first of which was the First Park south of the Sun Yat-sen Memorial Hall mentioned above. By 1934, more than 10 parks were built in Guangzhou, topping all Chinese cities at that time.41 In 1922, the “Committee for Architectural Aesthetics” (jianzhu shenmeihui) was launched under the supervision of Mayor Sun. The committee’s duty is to evaluate the aesthetic values of public and private architecture in Guangzhou.42 In 1924, Sun made a speech in Shanghai University on urban administration in Guangzhou, reiterating the value of models in the West while pointing out the difficulty and the slow development in urban planning in China.43 Sun expresses his favor with the plan of Washington, describing it as a “model that combines grid and radiance plans,” which were the most popular options of urban street planning at that time. With the efforts of the committee, Guangzhou underwent rapid urbanization in the 1920s. New wide roads replaced meandering narrow alleys; the old city walls were demolished; shopping malls were built; temples were turned to schools and charity institutions; public hygiene and public leisure life were taken into consideration; planning on a new harbor and new land acquisition were under way.44 In fact, the planning practice of Henry Murphy, Sun Ke’s close friend, in Nanjing, Shanghai and Guangzhou also echoed Sun‘s ideals of modern China. Their emphasis on the city’s grand order, cleanliness and greenness spoke to the political, aesthetical (ultimately political), and functional epitomes of Republican Chinese cities. These epitomes were a fusion among Chinese traditional architectural features, Western civil engineering technologies and modern (Western) urban functions and plans. The making of Guangzhou’s urban planning through commemorative space was both politically and socially driven by the desire to make Chinese cities look and function better in the early twentieth century. 41 Hu, “Qian lun Sun Ke de dushi guihua sixiang ji shijian,” 74–76. 42 Peng, Modernity—Locality—Modern transformation of Lingnan City and Architec-

ture, 75. 43 Ke Sun, “Yanjiang: Guangzhou shizheng,” Minguo ribao—juewu 10, no. 12 (1924):

2–4. 44 Peng, Modernity—Locality—Modern Transformation of Lingnan city and Architecture, 75–79.

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Xiangqin University: The Making of Vernacular Modernism in Guangdong In this vein, national monuments and urban planning in early Republican Guangzhou can be characterized by visual grandeur and order. The Chinese Revival Style of the worshiping space of Sun Yat-sen, the Roman Baroque style of the Martyrs’ Tombs, and the planning of modern Guangzhou spearheaded by Sun Ke all expressed the government’s preference for architectural classicism and monumentality. Meanwhile, with the rapid urbanization of Guangzhou in the 1920s, more and more professionals in architectural design, urban planning, and civil engineering were in demand. Under such circumstances, a new architecture department was born in Guangzhou Provincial Institute of Technology (shengli gongzhuan) around 1932 and 1933. It evolved into the Department of Architectural Engineering at Xiangqin University (Xiangqin daxue), which was officially opened in 1934 in memory of one of the founding members of the KMT Ku Ying-fen (1873–1931).45 The department was the third architectural department in China’s institutions of higher education and the first in Southern China.46 In comparison with those in the other two universities, whose founding members were mainly trained in the US, the curriculum design of Xiangqin University’s architectural department shows a strong preference for the European and Japanese architectural education at that time, which emphasized structure, material and techniques of engineering to meet the practical needs of society rather than on its visual aesthetics.47 Key figures who introduced such guidelines of teaching were Hu De-yuan (1900–1986) and Lin Ke-ming (1900–1999). Trained in the Tokyo Institute of Technology in Japan and École d’architecture de Lyon in France, respectively, Hu and Lin were ardent advocates of functionalism in architectural education, which

45 Ku’s close friend Chen Ji-tang (1890–1954), the chairman of the government of Guangdong since 1931, was the major advocate of building the university. 46 For the history of Xiangqin University, see Ke-ming Lin and Tong-po Cai, “Shengli rangqin daxue,” Guangzhou wenshi, 2008, accessed July 14, 2019, at: http://www.gzz xws.gov.cn/gzws/gzws/ml/52/200809/t20080916_7933.htm. The first two were established in 1927 at National Central University in Nanjing and in 1928 at Northeastern University in Shenyang and. See Peng, Modernity—Locality—Modern Transformation of Lingnan city and Architecture, 304. 47 Peng, Modernity—Locality—Modern Transformation of Lingnan city and Architecture, 306–308. A full comparison of three curriculum designs on page 309.

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made the department stand out from the beaux-art predominance in the North. Both of them systematically introduced “modern architecture” and features of modernism in their publications: Lin published “What is Modern Architecture?” (Shenme shi xiandai jianzhu) in 1933 and Hu “Patterns of Modern Architecture” (Jindai jianzhu yangshi) in 1935.48 In March 1935, the Exhibition of Architectural Drawings (jianzhu tuan zhanlanhui), where over 300 drawings by students of the department were exhibited, was held in the Guangzhou Municipal Sun Yat-sen Library. The purpose of the exhibition, as Lin stated in the special issue of the faculty journal dedicated to the show, was to familiarize the public with the new suggestion on housing reforms and draw their attention to the cause of “new architecture.”49 It also aimed to encourage students to discuss and research modern architecture. In the summer of the same year, Lin and Hu went on a field trip to Japan, not only to update themselves with the latest modern architecture developments in Kobe, Osaka, and Tokyo but also to visit the Architecture Department at the Tokyo Institute of Technology.50 Lin’s design of Xiangqin University’s Shiliugang Campus on the southern outskirts of Guangzhou, which was finished in 1936, also well exemplified his preference for architecture’s concise outlook as well as practical use.51 Xiangqin’s preference for modernism can also be illustrated in the department’s journal Die Architektur, which was later renamed as Die Neue Baukunst (Xin Jianzhu). Established by graduates of the department Zheng Zu-liang, Li Lun-jie, and Huo Yun-he in October 1936, the

48 South China University of Technology, “Overview of South China University of Technology,” South China University of Technology, accessed August 21, 2019, at: https://www2.scut.edu.cn/architecture/2872/listm.htm and Chang-xin Peng and Shaopang Zhuang, Hua nan jianzhu ba shi nian: Hua nan li gong da xue jianzhu xue ke da shi ji (1932–2012) (The eighty years of South Building: South China University of Technology of Architecture Discipline Memorabilia (1932–2012)) (Guangzhou: South China University of Technology Press, 2012). 49 Peng and Zhuang, Hua nan jianzhu ba shi nian: Hua nan li gong da xue jianzhu xue ke da shi ji (1932–2012), 22. 50 Peng, Modernity—Locality—Modern Transformation of Lingnan City and Architecture, 310, and Peng and Zhuang, Hua nan jianzhu ba shi nian: Hua nan li gong da xue jianzhu xue ke da shi ji (1932–2012), 26. 51 Peng, Modernity—Locality—Modern Transformation of Lingnan City and Architecture, 311, and Peng and Zhuang, Hua nan jianzhu ba shi nian: Hua nan li gong da xue jianzhu xue ke da shi ji (1932–2012), 35–37.

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journal became an important platform for promoting modernism. The German title of the journal suggests a link with the German Bauhaus style, with which modernism apparently has a close link and which was introduced to the professors and students at the department for discussion. The inaugural statement of the journal tries to redefine architectural studies in the following ways: first, architecture is a new subject that is different from “house-building” craftsmanship in the Chinese tradition. The birth of the journal was a result from the fact that “we can’t tolerate and ignore” the “poor quality, decay and dilapidation” of the city that lacks a modern architectural plan that is function-oriented and concerned with hygiene.52 A modern city life is thus guaranteed by the new architecture, echoing the “New Life Movement” promoted by the KMT Government since 1934. The campaign’s slogan “tidiness, cleanliness, simplicity, plain living, speed and accuracy” is even used in the preface of the magazine.53 Second, there is a necessity of redefining “beauty” in modern architecture. The statement emphasizes the beauty of effectiveness, convenience, practical use, and functionalism over that of decoration and symbolism. In sum, the architectural education at Xiangqin University carved out a new space of “minor cosmopolitanism” that distinguishes itself largely from the mainstream Chinese modernism in the Lingnan region. This mainstream modernism not only features the French-US beaux-art grandeur, but manifests the symbolisms of classism—be it the Chinese imperial or Roman style. In terms of Xiangqin’s conceptualization of modernism, it is undeniable that their major reference is still predominantly Western (including Japanese). Nevertheless, as the inaugural statement of Die Neue Baukunst shows, the choice is still based upon the very immediate Chinese context: the new architecture speaks to the new techniques and social needs of a modern China. Peng Chang-xin argues that while modernism was imported to Shanghai and Nanjing as a style, modernism in Guangdong (or what Peng calls “Lingnan modernism”) was preconditioned by the political, economic, and cultural context in Guangdong at that time.54 52 “Chuangkan ci,” Die Neue Baukunst (Xin Jianzhu), no. 1 (1936): 2–3. 53 Peng, Modernity—Locality—Modern Transformation of Lingnan City and Architec-

ture, 318. 54 Peng, Modernity—Locality—Modern Transformation of Lingnan City and Architecture, 26.

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In the following, I will refer to the designer of the cemetery Guo Yuanxi (1904–2005), who was also a founding member of Xiangqin University, and elaborate on his pursuit of modernism before he built the New 1st Army Cemetery. Visually, Guo Yuan-xi’s New 1st Army Cemetery was on the margins of the urban mapping of Guangzhou in both the literal and symbolic sense. However, as a publicly financed monument dedicated to a particular army in a particular war, the cemetery was not burdened with the task of embodying the main message of national memory. As a result, the cemetery was unique among all war monuments completed in the Republican years. To understand this uniqueness, it is necessary to first examine Guo’s practice and thoughts in Guangdong. Guo’s own writings on how he understood and envisioned the future of Chinese cities and architecture provide us with the possibility of deciphering the aesthetical genealogy of New 1st Army Cemetery.

Guo Yuan-xi: Chinese Bauhaus and War Monument Guo Yuan-xi’s Thoughts on Forms of National Architecture and Urban Planning As one of the first group (from 1933 to 1938) of the faculty staff at Xiangqin’s Architecture Department, Guo’s educational background and practices resonated deeply with Xiangqin’s educational philosophy. Guo gained his first degree from Tsinghua College in 1926, three years after Sun Li-jen’s graduation. In the same year, Guo began his bachelor program in the Architecture Department at University of Pennsylvania and later continued his study in the Master Program in Architecture at MIT until 1930. Only two years after his graduation, Guo was commissioned to an important project: the supervision of the construction team, which consisted of both Chinese laborers and American contractors, of the Chinese Pavilion at the 1933 Chicago World Fair. Themed as “A Century of Progress,” the fair was intended not only to be a platform for the US to demonstrate its recovery from the Great Depression, but also a stage for the countries around the world to showcase, if not in competition with each other, their new technological progress, and to promote commercial opportunities internationally. For the young Republic of China, this fair had multiple meanings. The KMT government had been aspiring to use architectural modernity in Nanjing

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(e.g., the Sun Yat-sen Mausoleum and the Capital Plan under the supervision of Henry Murphy) and Shanghai (e.g., the Greater Shanghai Plan) to show off the nation’s achievements in modernization to an international audience. In this vein, the Chinese Pavilion could serve as a great opportunity in advertising China on the showground directly to the West. As Cole Roskam notes, “it was through participation in such events that Chinese observers began to understand how architecture was used by Euro-American nations to determine a country’s ‘level of civilization’…”55 The most usual training that the US/Europe afforded their Chinese architecture students as was shown earlier, was “to promote the intertwining of Western design principles and new building materials with imperial era ornamental motifs and compositional strategies, ceremonial axes, decorated bracket sets and sloping roof structures in the construction of political and cultural monuments described at the time both modern and distinctively Chinese.”56 Meanwhile, the Chinese Pavilion had to speak directly to the very immediate political circumstances in East Asia. Japan had just invaded and occupied Northeast China for four months after China decided to participate in the fair on September 18, 1931. With the establishment of the quasi-colony Manchuria, which actually functioned as a puppet government under Japanese rule, the Chinese Pavilion would not only compete with the Japanese Pavilion but also the Manchurian Pavilion in claiming its rein over the territory historically, thus disputing the illegitimacy of the facts of Japanese military aggression. In the end, the Chinese Pavilion took up a more “urgent” but also “convenient” final form. Sponsored by Vincent Bendix (1881–1945), a rich Swedish merchant who was also a trustee of the fair and a Chinese culture lover, the Chinese Pavilion was built as a replica of the Golden Temple in Jehol, namely, the Wanfaguiyi Hall (Wanfaguiyi Dian), constructed between 1767 and 1771, which was nested in the Emperor Qian Long’s summer retreat in Chengde, Heibei Provnice.57 55 Cole Roskam, “Situating Chinese Architecture Within ‘A Century of Progress’: The

Chinese Pavilion, the Bendix Golden Temple, and the 1933 Chicago World’s Fair,” Journal of the Society of Architectural Historians 73, no. 3 (2014): 348. 56 Roskam, “Situating Chinese Architecture within ‘A Century of Progress’: The Chinese Pavilion, the Bendix Golden Temple, and the 1933 Chicago World’s Fair,” 349. 57 Roskam, “Situating Chinese Architecture within ‘A Century of Progress’: The Chinese Pavilion, the Bendix Golden Temple, and the 1933 Chicago World’s Fair,” 351.

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The temple crystallizes the architectural and cultural diversity of Qing Dynasty palace structure as it blends Tibetan and Han Chinese Buddhist temple features.58 From Guo’s writings published around the time of the fair, his attitude toward the Chinese Pavilion seemed ambivalent. In an editorial in the Fair’s official newspaper, he tried to redefine “modern” beyond the American idea of “modernism” that dominated the Expo by speaking highly of the Chinese Pavilion’s merits as its significant meaning of the structure, its principles of construction, the use of materials, and the creation of a piece of art embodying architecture, painting, and sculpture as an entirety will belittle any of the modern efforts to create a modern style. In my humble opinion this Chinese temple …are more modern in their spirit than any other structure at this Century of Progress…59

Yet, back in China between 1934 and 1937, Guo’s writings and speeches saw his efforts in promoting Western modernism in architecture construction and urban planning ideas of Le Corbusier and Frank Lloyd Wright.60 In his 1934 article “Considerations on the Construction and Design of World Fair Pavilions” published in Chinese in a journal Zhongguo jianzhu (Chinese Architecture), he argued that the local environmental conditions should be taken into consideration. This environment is not, however, only natural, but also social. Guo apparently relates the construction of the pavilion with the representation of the modern Chinese nation in the US context. He wrote: “In the US, science has developed so well and the people’s mind is also progressive. In contrast, the image of Chinese in their eye is only associated with restaurant, laundry shop, 58 See Kari Shepherdson-Scott, “Conflicting Politics and Contesting Borders: Exhibiting (Japanese) Manchuria at the Chicago World’s Fair, 1933–34,” The Journal of Asian Studies 74, no. 3 (2015): 539–564 and Roskam, “Situating Chinese Architecture within ‘A Century of Progress’: The Chinese Pavilion, the Bendix Golden Temple, and the 1933 Chicago World’s Fair,” 351. 59 Yuan-xi Guo, “A Message,” Official World’s Fair Weekly, May 20, 1933. 60 See Yuan-xi Guo, “Bolanhui chenlie ge guan yingzao sheji zhi kaolu,” Zhongguo

jianzhu 2, no. 2 (February 1934): 12–15, (1934a), Yuan-xi Guo, “Xin Zhongguo jianzhu zhi shangque,” Jianzhu yuekan 2, no. 6 (June 1934): 15–22, (1934b), Yuan-xi Guo, “Fangzao zhi re he jin ting: fu zhaopian,” “Dianji zhuan guan: fu zhaopian,” “Meiguo zhengfu ji lianbang zhuan guan: fu zhaopian,” Zhongguo jianzhu 2, no. 1 (1934): 36–38, (1934c), and Yuan-xi Guo, “Pingmin hua xin zhongguo jianzhu,” Rang qin daxue jikan 1, no. 3 (1937): 160–162.

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low hygienic standard and mysteriousness. So the Chinese Pavilion has to be designed and built with the scientific method and explained to the visitors so that it can become an architecture that represents our national culture.” To echo the theme of the Chicago Fair, the Chinese Pavilion “should be constructed with the scientific way of building of the 20th century.” In terms of the form of the pavilion, he contends that it should embody the progress that China has made in the past century to show the new currents of thoughts and new art since the Revolution. Therefore, contrasting with his praise of the Golden Temple in the fair’s publication, whose target audience was the US visitors, he continued to state that “we can’t use the royal palace, temples and pagodas to embody our nation’s spirit.”61 The new China, in Guo’s opinion, was therefore incarnated in the conjunction between the historical time and the specific space. Nevertheless, Guo’s reservations toward the Chinese style doesn’t mean he fully embraces the Western-style though he repeatedly expresses in his other writings his admiration toward the Western yingzao—a particular term in Chinese which refers to architectural construction. In “Deliberations on Architecture in New China” (1934b), he admires the developed, economic and beautiful European and American modern architecture in comparison with the stagnant progress in Chinese architecture, which focuses mainly on institutional architectures for the privileged such as palace and temple. For Guo, modern architecture is the core spirit of modern China as the primary function of architecture is to protect life and property, promote industrial prosperity and social well-being, and ultimately strengthen the power of the nation and its citizens, in short, to serve the public and the people.62 Although new architecture in China should learn from the West, he is also strongly opposed to the status quo of the “modernization” process in China at that time: architects either stuck to the traditional forms or applied Western patterns mechanically or superficially without taking the local environment into considerations.63

61 Guo, “Bolanhui chenlie ge guan yingzao sheji zhi kaolu,” 14 (1934a). 62 Guo, “Xin Zhongguo jianzhu zhi shangque” (1934b). 63 Also see Guo, “Pingmin hua xin zhongguo jianzhu,” where he argues for five major

points that would help modernize Chinese architecture: (1) the modernization of architectural materials; (2) new methods of yingzao to save manpower, raise efficiency and reduce economic output; (3) adaptive to local climate and environment; (4) revision of business rules in architecture industry to reduce corruption and facilitate reform; (5) professionalization of architects.

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Similar thoughts on developing a particular modern architecture style, function, and building method in the Chinese context are expressed in his speech to the students in Xiangqin University titled “New Chinese Architecture and its Task,” which further connects architecture with the (imagination of) the political ideals of the new Republic. In particular, he quotes Sun Yat-sen’s Plans for National Reconstruction (Jianguo fanglue) and his Three People’s Principles.64 Despite the ambivalence shown in his writings, Guo’s architectural philosophy can still be described as a kind of nationalistic Chinese modernism. Nevertheless, this modernism is different from the beauxart inspired nationalistic modernism, which largely utilizes the Chinese palace style to claim its legitimacy through public monumental architecture. It prevailed in China in the 1920s–1930s and was most welcomed by the KMT government. The Chineseness of Guo’s modernism, in comparison, is exemplified by three aspects. First, the local environment, the climate, and geographical features of China, which is further conditioned by the regional differences. Second, the goal of modern architecture is to meet the needs of the common Chinese people, not the elite class, thus a civilianization (pingminhua) of architecture. To reach this goal, new architecture should be built for pragmatic functions, with hygienic standards, in a scientific manner and at a low cost. Eventually, the significance of building and architecture lies in their role in shaping a strong spirit and body of the Chinese people.65 Last, the style and function of new architecture represent not only the physical embodiments of the national ideology and but also contribute to the industrial development of the nation. Arguably, Guo’s thoughts are apparent echoes of the educational philosophy of Xiangqin University and the vernacular modernism that the Architecture Department advocated.

64 Yuan-xi Guo, “yanjiang: xin zhongguo jianzhu ji gongzuo,” Rang da xunkan, no. 14 (1936): 29–32. 65 Guo, “Pingmin hua xin zhongguo jianzhu,” 158.

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Designing the New 1st Army Cemetery: The Birth of Chinese Bauhaus Monument? Although Guo’s concerns on new architecture focus mainly on civilian housing, the design of the major components of the New 1st Army Cemetery still speak to the Guo’s interpretation of Chinese modernism. For example, the main entrance of the Cemetery zone is not only a symbolic borderline between the outside and the inside of the cemetery. The two guard rooms at the entrance were also functional. As for the style, the structures were barely decorated with complicated patterns but were instead built with square shapes and straight lines to give a neat appearance. On the inner sides of both columns that formed the main entrance, there were relief sculptures of two soldiers, who wore steel helmets on their head and stood with hands pressed on the chest, probably holding a gun. The upper body of the soldiers (around two meters long) was figurative while their legs (four meters long) were abstracted to a decorative part of simple geometrical lines. This design seems to echo the facades of the guards’ room, on which similarly simple straight decorative cylinder lines were embedded, with a bullet head-shaped top. The art-deco-ish design was concise, non-narrative, and free from any national characteristics. In an image (see Fig. 5.3), the sculpture of the solider can be seen to dwarf a real solider who stood in front of the gate, creating a breath-taking effect of the magnificence of the monument. The entrance differed largely from those of the other cemetery monuments and mausoleums built around the same time in China: it was neither a Chinese pailou, as in the case of the Sun Yat-sen Mausoleum, nor an Arch de Triumph, as in the case of the 19th Route Army’s Cemetery. The image of the entrance gate was “universal” but showed signs of the designer’s search for a new language for Chinese monuments that can stand independently from the national traditions as well as from the Western tradition. Meanwhile, Guo still integrated local memorial culture into the layout of the cemetery. Halfway on the slope between the entrance and the main monument tower, a memorial pavilion, two artificial ponds, and a bridge were built. These three elements added a touch of the southern garden to the monument area. After the 1911 Revolution, the pavilion, a common architectural component in Chinese garden, was given the new function of the memorial. Early pavilion memorials were built for commemorating the Revolution or Sun Yat-sen. In Guangzhou’s Yuexiu Park, a Guangfu

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(Restoration) Pavilion (Guangfu ting ) was erected in 1929 as a memorial to the Revolution. In Sun’s Mausoleum in Nanjing, pavilions with memorial steles under their roofs were built in 1932. Pavilion memorials are, like pavilions in gardens, usually a part of the scenic landscape. Although memorial pavilions are also a leisure space for visitors to take a short break, the traditional use of a pavilion as a decorative part of the garden changed. In the new China, they are attached with political meanings and become physical reminders of the state-orchestrated public memory. In Guo’s design, the memorial pavilions also showed that the cemetery was a space for public pilgrimage. The main memorial tower of the cemetery was shaped in a form unseen elsewhere in the history of monument aesthetics in China. Apart from its “over-conciseness,” it is appalling that it bore a strong similarity with the main tower of the German Pavilion in the 1937 World Expo in Paris (Fig. 5.7). The Parisan World Expo German Pavilion can be seen as a crystallization and one of the earliest debut of Hitler’s German aesthetics on an international stage. Designed by Hitler’s favorite architect Albert Speer (1905–1981), the German Pavilion comprised of two major units: a gigantic front tower stood at 45 meters high and a long windowless hall of exhibition connected to it at the back. Like the tower at the New 1st Army Cemetery, the German Pavilion featured a static vertical rectangular tower as its major visual form. The tower was supported by 10 fluted piers, upholding a cornice for a revised Reichsadler, the Emblem of the German Reich used between 1935 and 1945.66 In the pavilion version, the eagle was not presented in the more aggressive, ready-to-fly (or attack) pose as in the original, where the wings were opened, but with folded wings clawing on a swastika, probably to show Germany’s intention of promoting peace.67 The body of the tower was built with steel -yet it was overlaid with a façade of German limestone, “with swastikapatterned red and gold mosaic tile applied in the recesses between the

66 The Reichsadler was derived from the Parteiadler (Emblem of NSDAP) after Hilter came to power in 1933. The only difference between the two emblems is the direction of the eagle’s gaze: Reichsadler toward the left and the Parteiadler toward the right. 67 Karen A Fiss, “In Hitler’s Salon: The German Pavilion at the 1937 Paris Exposition Internationale,” in Richard A. Etlin, Art, Culture, and Media under the Third Reich (Chicago: University of Chicago, 2002), 316–317.

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Fig. 5.7 German Pavilion in 1937 World Expo Paris (Source Public Domain)

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fluted piers.”68 Speer’s design was sober and “shared with functionalist architecture the renunciation of superfluous ornamentation.” Yet at the same time, it corresponded to other architectures of the Third Reich, which paid homage to, according to Hitler’s wish, the grandeur of ancient Rome and its concise aesthetical order. As Karen Fiss describes, “the pavilion’s large cut-stone, grandiose piers, simplified cornice, flat roof, and ceremonial entrance were intended to recall the architectonic finity between early antiquity and the Third Reich in both artistic and political terms.”69 In analyzing the design of the night-time lighting of the pavilion, Danilo Udovicki-Selb notices that the tower’s visual emphasis on order and function was also accompanied by ideals in Bauhaus modernism. When lit at night, the pavilion “acquired the appearance of a giant luminescent topaz, its gilded mosaics lining the folds between pillars and reflecting concealed light sources…the light Zeiss-Ikon designed for the Germans illuminated only the building’s interstices, creating the ghostly appearance of a photo-negative.”70 He continues, “with its crystalline appearance, Speer’s pavilion seemed a ghostly simulation of the Bauhaus ideal: ‘democratic transparency.’”71 Architecture and art critic Wilhelm Lotz writes in the pavilion’s guidebook: “For building does not simply mean the provision of a roof to cover people’s heads, building is a powerful display of the forces of a nation which expresses therein its vital energy. …The country, and that means the entire people, stand behind these buildings, which are an expression of that force which has built the state, namely the unfailing creative spirit of the German nation.”72 Ultimately, the tower was, in Paul Westheim (1886–1963)’s word, a

68 Fiss, “In Hitler’s Salon: The German Pavilion at the 1937 Paris Exposition Internationale,” 319. 69 Fiss, “In Hitler’s Salon: The German Pavilion at the 1937 Paris Exposition Internationale.” 70 Danilo Udoviˇcki-Selb, “Facing Hitler’s Pavilion: The Uses of Modernity in the Soviet

Pavilion at the 1937 Paris International Exhibition,” Journal of Contemporary History 47, no. 1 (2012): 21. 71 Udoviˇcki-Selb, “Facing Hitler’s Pavilion: The Uses of Modernity in the Soviet Pavilion at the 1937 Paris International Exhibition,” 22. 72 Fiss, “In Hitler’s Salon: The German Pavilion at the 1937 Paris Exposition Internationale,” 319.

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“Reklameturm” – an advertising tower for the national ideology.73 Westheim, a German exile art historian and publisher of the journal Kunstblatt in Paris, was among the fiercest criticizers of the tower, contending that Albert Speer completely sacrificed the principle of functionality in making this meaninglessly high but useless structure.74 He also noted that the pavilion looked like a crematorium and the tower was the crematorium chimney.75 The “architectural death cult”76 embodied by the German Pavilion’s tower corresponds to the visuality of the main monument at New 1st Army Cemetery. As a marker of the tomb of the soldiers, the cemetery tower is less ambitious in height than the pavilion, being around half its size. Yet, the material used was understandably more permanent. The cemetery tower was also construed in four straight vertical piers, symbolizing the spirit of the army in the Confucian ideals. The piers formed a cross in the central pedestal, echoing a larger cross, which was shaped by the stone stairs on all directions that surrounded the outer pedestal (Fig. 5.8). Other than the differences in details, the descriptions on the style of the German pavilion can also be applied to the tower in Guangzhou: concise and static. The connection between the two is not impossible given the fact that Guo as well as other teachers at Xiangqin University were staunch advocates of the German Bauhaus’ non-decorative style, its functionality and “democratic transparency.” A more direct evidence of this influence can be found in Xiangqin’s journal Die Neue Baukunst in 1937, in which an image of the pavilion was published together with Alvar Aalto’s Finnish

73 Christian Welzbacher, Monumente der Macht: Eine politische Architekturgeschichte

Deutschlands 1920–1960 (Berlin: Parthas Verlag, 2016), 193. 74 Welzbacher, Monumente der Macht: Eine politische Architekturgeschichte Deutschlands 1920–1960, 191–193. 75 Fiss, “In Hitler’s Salon: The German Pavilion at the 1937 Paris Exposition Internationale,” 319–320. Also see Udoviˇcki-Selb, “Facing Hitler’s Pavilion: The Uses of Modernity in the Soviet Pavilion at the 1937 Paris International Exhibition,” and Welzbacher, Monumente der Macht: Eine politische Architekturgeschichte Deutschlands 1920–1960 on how the German pavilion presented a visual confrontation and competition with the Soviet pavilion on its direct opposite. 76 Dieter Bartetzko said the German Pavilion exemplified the “architectural death cult” of National Socialism. See Fiss, “In Hitler’s Salon: The German Pavilion at the 1937 Paris Exposition Internationale,” 319.

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Fig. 5.8 Hand-drawn Plan of the Cemetery by Yang Yi-li (Source Zhu Hongyuan, Sun Li-jen shang jiang zhuanan zhuizong fangtan lu [Taiwan: Xuesheng shuju youxian gongsi, 2012], 237)

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Fig. 5.9 The Copper Eagle (Source Public Domain)

Pavilion and the African Pavilion to introduce the World Expo.77 The references also share the ideal of the relationship between the monument and the state ideology, though different in their context, aspiring to a kind of “developmentalist nationalism” with a desire for rapid development, hierarchy, and order to build a stronger nation. Another traceable connection between the New 1st Army Monument and European influences is found in the copper eagle on the main tower in Guangzhou. The eagle’s image is derived from the emblem of the New 1st Army, the Blue Eagle (Figs. 5.9 and 5.10). The copper eagle was made of melted bombshells from the war and designed by Zheng Ke. Regarded as one of the earliest Chinese artists who were influenced by the concepts of Bauhaus, Zheng studied sculpture in École nationale supérieure des beaux-arts de Paris in France between 1927 and 1934. In 1933, Zheng shifted his study focus from sculpture to design, with financial support from the 19th Route Army as a part of the army’s preparation for establishing a new university in China. Zheng, together with two well-known musicians/composers, Xian Xinghai (1905–1945) and Ma Si-cong (1912–1987), were the only three 77 “1937 Bali wanguo bolanhui,” Die Neue Baukunst (Xin Jianzhu), no. 4 (1937): 36.

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Fig. 5.10 New First Army’s Blue Eagle Emblem (Source Public Domain)

young talents in the teacher-training program. During Zheng’s study in France, the Bauhaus style had already had a strong appeal to him. He paid two visits to exhibitions that featured Bauhaus in Paris: first in 1933 and then in 1937 in the World Expo, where he studied the architectural style and techniques in a more systematic way. Upon his return to Guangzhou in 1934, he also started to teach at the Department of Architecture at Xiangqin University. Before the war, Zheng was already engaging with designing and making memorial artifacts of all kinds. He designed relief portraits of Sun Yat-sen, Liao Zhong-kai (1877–1925), and Chiang Kai-shek,78 a

78 Published in Liangyou magazine between 1930 and 1932. See Min Zhao, “Xueyuan wen mai: zhijing Zheng Ke xiansheng,” Tsinghua University, 2015, accessed September 24, 2019, at: https://www.tsinghua.edu.cn/publish/ad/8831/2015/201501211043578 26322630/20150121104357826322630_.html.

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memorial badge for the national burial ceremony of Hu Han-min (1879– 1936)79 and the Zhu Zhi-xin Statue in Guangzhou in 1936.80 The War disrupted Zhu’s plan of returning to Guangzhou after his visit to the World Expo in 1937 and he instead landed in Singapore, where his classmate Zhang Ru-qi (date unknown), who also studied in France, helped him find a job in a furniture factory as an interior designer. In the next year, Zheng moved back to Hong Kong, where he was commissioned by the South Seas Chinese Overseas War Relief Association to work on a monument showing the overseas’ support of the national construction. The monument tablet was a complicated agglomeration of many objects and motifs, with two human figures (naked man and woman) upholding modern transportation vehicles, tropical fruits and plants, buildings, sea waves, a junk boat, and on the top, a peace dove set off by the sun image of the KMT emblem.81 The casting of the relief was not realized due to the fall of Hong Kong in 1941, when Zheng was forced to leave Hong Kong for Liuzhou, Guangxi Province, where he continued to make relief for another war monument: the Monument to Retrocession of Southern Guangxi (Guangfu Guinan Jinianbei) in 1942. Using “illusionary representation,” the relief presents a working scene of five muscular male workers bustling with their individual tasks on the construction site (Fig. 5.11). Zheng’s eagle in Guangzhou was probably the last monument he created for the Sino-Japanese War. Notably, the head of the eagle highly resembled the German one not only in that it similarly gaze towards the West, but the shape of its head and the curvature of its mouth was also nearly identical to the German eagle. However, unlike the latter, which opened the wings horizontally or downwards, the New 1st Army’s emblematic symbol stretched its wings widely in an upward motion, forming a V shape. Meanwhile, with a body longer than the claws, the wings of the Nazi eagle looked longer and more stretched out while the Guangzhou eagle seemed to be less aggressive, resembling almost a pigeon. From an existing image, we see on the pedestal, the Guangzhou eagle’s two claws clench tightly around two or three arrows,

79 Published in Zhonghua Daily New Year Special in 1934. 80 “Guangzhou xin jianzhu zhi xinzhi tong xiang, wei ming diaoke jia zheng ke suozuo.

Huang Jian-hao she,” Beiyang huabao 30, no. 1466 (1936): 1. 81 “Zhanshi xin diaosu,” Liangyou, no. 154 (1940): 20.

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Fig. 5.11 The Monument to Retrocession of Southern Guangxi (1942) (Source Public Domain)

whose meaning is uncertain. Mounted on the southern side of the tower between the two front piers, the eagle becomes the only fully figurative element of the entire monument. In an article published in Hong Kong’s newspaper Sing Tao Daily on September 17, 1947, the eagle was described as a symbol of the nation’s status: The moment when the Guangzhou-Kowloon train approached Guangzhou Station, we looked from the train window. There seemed to be thousands of beams of ray shining from the distance. That was the New 1st Army Cemetery! Graceful and magnificent, standing there for eternity! The eagle on the monument, which is ready to soar in the sky, symbolizes our nation’s great progress…the designer of the monument is Mr. Zheng Ke.

If we compare the German Pavilion and the New 1st Army Cemetery’s main tower, the difference is also obvious. While the visual message of the German Pavilion predominated the new architectural constructions on the national level at that time, the Guangzhou counterpart was marginal to the other national monuments and could only be seen as a regional architectural experiment. The marginality, which of course resulted from the fact that the monument was not a state property,

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however, also afforded a kind of freedom of architectural expression. Both Guo and Zheng’s designs alluded to an overt Bauhaus connection and shared a relative freedom of realizing their ideas in making Chinese war monuments vis-a-vis the predominant visual language of public monuments since the 1911 Revolution. The overall layout of the Cemetery was an embodiment of how Guo and Zheng conceived the “new spirit” of Chinese architecture, which echoed the international modernism trend as well as their own contemplation of the local context. The entrance, the memorial pavilion, ponds and bridges, and the main tower of the cemetery combined symbolism and abstractism, an International style and Chinese elements. The monument can also be regarded as being a visual alternative to, if not rival of, the beaux-art style of Sun Yat-sen Memorial Hall and the 19th Route Army Cemetery in Guangdong in the 1930s and 1940s. It was in the relatively faraway South China, and not in the capital Nanjing or other central city like Shanghai and Beijing, that such diversity of modernism in monuments could be realized.

The Disappearance of the Cemetery The Extension of the Central Commemorative Axis After 1949: New Landmarks and Monuments Guangzhou was “liberated” by the Communist troop on October 14, 1949. Guangzhou’s position in the new China also changed in the new ideological agenda. Politically, with the disappearance of the KMT power, the importance of Guangzhou, the “Southern Capital,” was largely transformed. Although the CCP’s history narrative on modern China still recognized the significance of the 1911 Revolution led by Sun Yat-sen as the starting point of modern Chinese history of revolution, it was after all a “bourgeois revolution,” less progressive than the proletarian one. Guangzhou was also no longer important as the cradle of modern Chinese military education best represented by Republic of China Military Academy, better known as Whampoa Military Academy, which cultivated a group of key KMT military leaders and officers who contributed to the War of Resistance against Japan. Economically, the city with a long tradition of international trades, which were sustained by local and diasporic Chinese merchants and foreign businesspersons, and many other commercial and consumerist practices, had to face a fundamental focus shift toward manufacturing in the socialist era. Under the policy of party

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state-orchestrated planned economy, Guangzhou also followed, like many other cities in the young PRC, the “Five-Year Plans.”82 The focuses of the Plans were on infrastructural constructions, such as that of Worker’s New Villages and dormitories and the development of textile and food industry. After the Great Leap Forward, the city was also forced to take part in the nationwide wave of steel production, turning its industrial emphasis from light toward heavy industries. During this period, the city’s monument culture also underwent transformations. With the transition of the regime to the Communist Party, the New 1st Army Cemetery, like many other war monuments built by the Nationalist government, lost their legitimacy in a revised narrative of war memory. The rewriting of the city’s memory started with the changing of street names. In 1951, the major northwest road Zhonghua Road (Zhonghua lu (Chinese Road)) was changed to Jiefang lu (Liberation Road) in commemoration of Guangzhou’s liberation by the Communist Party. Between 1950 and 1953, two new landmarks were added to the central axis of the city established by the KMT government, which runs from the Monument to Sun Yat-sen to the Sun Yat-sen Memorial Hall. On the site of a long deserted football playground on Yuexiu Mountain, a sports stadium—Yuexiushan Stadium, which could accommodate more than ten thousand spectators—was the very first large-scale infrastructural project in the post-1949 Guangzhou.83 The immediate need for a huge stadium reflected the Communist regime’s eagerness in educating and engaging the mass in public space through collective cultural as well as political performances. A grand show for celebrating the liberation of Guangzhou and the 1950 New Year’s celebration was soon scheduled on the ground even before the stadium was built. Soon after its rapid completion (within 8 months) in October 1950, the First People’s Games in Guangzhou was held there. The other landmark was Haizhu Square (Haizhu Guangchang ), which was built at the 82 Briefly, the Five-Year Plans are a series of social and economic development initiatives issued since 1953 in the People’s Republic of China. The Party plays a leading role in establishing the foundations and principles of the goals and ways of implementing the initiatives. See details of Guangzhou’s urban changes under the first two rounds of “Fiveyear Plans” in Xia Zhou, Guangzhou cheng shi xing tai yan jin (Beijing: Zhongguo jian zhu gongye chuban she, 2005), 100–102. 83 An Pan, Hui-hua Guo, Ying Xu and Yong-sheng Sun, Yangcheng chun qiu: Guangzhou cheng shi li shi yan jiu shou ji (Beijing: Zhongguo jianzhu gongye chuban she, 2017), 36.

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southern end of Yuexiu District at the riverside of the Pearl River. The circus of the Square is located at the crossing between the south-north Weixin lu (Restoration Road), which was renamed to Qiyi lu (Uprising Road) in 1966, and the east-west Yide lu to (named after Yide Society located on the road in Ming and Qing Dynasty) Taikang Lu. As Weixin lu ran parallel to Jiefang lu, the Square actually extended the old central axis southwards. In addition to the two landmarks, the erection of three new monuments, all of which were made by Yin Ji-chang (1923–1998),84 on this extended axis further enhanced the continuity of the symbolic center of Guangzhou. In 1958, a copper-covered cement statue of Sun Yat-sen (comade by Yin with Zhan Xing-xian (1930–2001) and Liao Jia-fu (date unknown) was erected in front of the Sun Yat-sen Memorial Hall. The statue replaced its precedent, one that was made of copper sent by Umeya Sh¯okichi (1868–1934), a Japanese fund-provider of Sun Yat-sen’s revolutionary activities over a period of nearly 20 years, as a gift to Guangzhou in 1933. The original statue was moved to Sun Yat-sen University in 1956 in commemoration of Sun’s 90th birthday and the 32th anniversary of Sun Yat-sen University. The new statue largely retains the original design, with Sun’s left arm akimbo and the right arm supporting himself on a stick, allegedly a snapshot view of Sun when he was giving a speech at Sun Yat-sen University in 1924 (Fig. 5.12). On the pedestal of the statue, excerpts from Sun’s Outline of the National Government’s Plans for National Reconstruction (1924) are inscribed. Two more brand-new statues were built in 1959 on the occasion of the tenth anniversary of the establishment of the PRC. Again on the central axis, in the center of the circus of the Haizhu Square rose the Guangzhou Liberation Statue. The statue is in the form of a nameless male solider with a cloak covering his back, who is stepping on a stone with his left leg. In his left arm, the solider holds a bunch of flowers, probably given by the welcoming Guangzhou citizens. His right arm holds a long gun, and he supports his body on the gun’s stock. The pedestal looks like a tall

84 Yin Ji-chang (1923–1998) graduated from the Guangdong Provincial Academy of Fine Arts in 1943. Yin was an expert in sculpture. He taught in the Nanguo School of Art in the Republican period and later became vice president of the Guangzhou People’s Fine Arts Publishing House.

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Fig. 5.12 Statue of Sun Yat-sen in front of Sun Yat-sen Memorial Hall, Guangzhou (Source By Zhang Zhu-gang, “Sun Yat-sen Memorial Hall, Guangzhou,” CC BY-SA 3.0, at: https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index. php?curid=24716739)

single layer cake, on whose front side the date of Guangzhou’s liberation (October 14, 1949) and a relief of grain is mounted (Fig. 5.13). The statue shows an apparent influence from the Soviet statues of the same period, for example, the Soviet War Memorial, also known as “the Soviet Cenotaph,” in Berlin’s Treptower Park in 1949 (Fig. 5.14). The overall gesture is highly similar while the details are different: instead of the flower bouquet and the long gun, the Soviet Solider holds a child in his left arm and a long sword in his right hand. Unlike the Guangzhou “single-layer cake” pedestal, the Berlin statue is seated on a “double-layer cake.” In the same year, a statue of five sheep was erected in Yuexiu Park, east to the Yuexiushan Stadium. Guangzhou has been alternatively known as Yangcheng , or the city of sheep, in reference to a legend that backs in the Zhou Dynasty (around B.C. 887) when the town was suffering from natural disasters, the advent of five gods riding five sheep with grains in their mouths rescued and blessed the city with eternal harvests and luck. The five sheep thus become the auspicious symbol of Guangzhou. The

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Fig. 5.13 Soldier’s Statue on Haizu Square, original version (Source Public Domain)

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Fig. 5.14 Ehrenmal Treptower Park in Berlin (Source By tm-md, CC BY-SA 2.0)

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statue was co-designed by Yin and two other sculptors, Chen Ben-zong (1933–) and Kong Fan-wei (1929–), in 1956 when they received the assignment from the mayor of Guangzhou to make a monument that represented the city. It is a successful effort and a rare case in the history of public sculpture after 1949 in that it is not particularly overt in its political message. The three statues not only literally extended the commemorative line of the Sun Yat-sen worship. With the Five-Sheep Statue and the Liberation Statue, the line also took on a new symbolic extension: they embodied a new Guangzhou that was not a “southern capital” under the KMT rule, but a city recognizable because of its local history and the moment of its rebirth (i.e., the liberation) under the Communist leadership.85 The two statues redefined Guangzhou’s monument culture by combining its long existing myth and its immediate present. The Miserable Fate of the New 1st Army Cemetery In the meantime, the Cemetery Garden was unsurprisingly marginalized among Guangzhou’s numerous monuments. Drastic transformations of its individual architectural components literally erased the monument from the map of Guangzhou. In 1952, the road in front of the southern side of the main tower was broadened as a part of Guangyuan Road (Guangyuan lu), an east-west main road that stretched across three districts. The broadening of the road ultimately split the main tower from other parts of the cemetery. Moreover, the main tower, with its colossal size and extraordinary appearance, which apparently did not fit into the overall aesthetics and ideology of Socialist Guangzhou, was soon “erased.” However, the erasure was not realized by demolition, which proved to be too difficult, but by cordoning off the tower in a military zone, making it inaccessible to the public.86 During the Cultural Revolution, the bridges in the cemetery were destroyed and the ponds were 85 The original Guangzhou Liberation Statue was, however, destroyed by the Red Guards during the Cultural Revolution in 1969. In 1979, Pan He and Liang Ming-cheng redesigned the statue to its current form. The main elements of the original, namely, the flowers, the long gun and the gesture remained largely the same while the style of the new statue adopted a different style of realism. The new statue was remounted at the center of the Haizhu Square since 1980. See Pan, Guo and Xu Sun, Yangcheng chun qiu: Guangzhou cheng shi li shi yan jiu shou ji, 29. 86 The current division of the military camp that is stationed around the main tower is PLA no. 54069.

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filled and leveled up. The foundation stairs underneath the main tower were leveled out, too. The tablets on the eastern, western, and northern side of the main tower which were inscribed with the names of 17,000 fallen soldiers were smashed. The stele of the tower with Sun’s own handwriting was removed from the southern side of the tower and discarded at a far distance in the camp. The Memorial Pavilion and the guard rooms remained but suffered from damages to various extent. The copper eagle was taken down to make space for a basketball court, and was melted and sold as waste copper.87 The western part of the guard room was partially destroyed. The statues of soldiers on the inner side of entrance gate also disappeared. The damages are proofs of the loss of the cemetery’s symbolic meaning in face of the change of regime even when the war was fought for the entire Chinese nation. Intriguingly, at the beginning, the damages and the loss of meaning might be intended. The blasphemy could probably originate from the revulsion toward the KMT and anything that is related to its regime right after the Civil War. As the physicality of the monument was damaged and the entire cemetery garden was divided, the original commemorative space was then displaced in a historical context and physical environment that totally detached it from its original form and function. After several decades, the loss and damage may only be a result of forgetting, a blankness in memory of what it used to be. The end of the Cultural Revolution and the opening up of China in the late 1970s witnessed Guangzhou’s re-embracing of commercial practices at a rapid speed. In the early 1980s, the military zone that encircled the main monument tower began to rent its adjunct land for profits. Immediately adjacent to the front side of the tower facing south, a fivestorey dorm building was built in a short period of time. The building concealed the entire tower, making it completely invisible from outside of the military zone (Fig. 5.15). Most unbelievably, in order to “fully utilize the waste” of the four sturdy reinforced concrete columns of the main tower, walls and floors were added to the interstices between them to turn the tower into a five-storey public toilet.88 The disrespect to the monument shown in

87 Jie-feng Lu, “Xin yijun gongmu jiemi,” Zhongguo Yuanzhengjun, 2006, accessed September 24, 2019, at: http://www.yuanzhengjun.cn/ft/gonghua/gongmu.html. 88 See Cheng, “Kangzhan yingxiong mu lun cai chang ni chaiqian zao kangyi.”

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Fig. 5.15 Main Tower of the Cemetery (2015) (Source Photo by the author)

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the process of refunctioning still stuns the mind even when the lack of care of the monument in the renewed context is to be expected. The Memorial Pavilion, similarly not kept under proper maintenance, was now surrounded by the hectic and unhygienic wet markets (Fig. 5.16).89 Restoration: Possibilities and Impossibilities As the tension of cross-Strait relations began to ease in the 1980s, Sun Li-jen sent his former subordinate Pan De-hui (1920–?), who brought with him the original design of the cemetery, to discuss the possibility of restoring the monument with the Guangzhou Government.90 This first endeavor seemed to be unsuccessful. The death of Sun in 1990 revoked the memory of the cemetery in the veterans of the New 1st Army. The leading veteran Yang Yi-li and several others established “Association of Battle Companions of Anti-Japanese War in India-Burma under Chinese Expedition Force in India” in 1993.91 Since then the organization became the major force of the restoration and preservation of the cemetery relics. The association soon petitioned to the Municipal Government of Guangzhou and the Chinese People’s Political Consultative Conference (CPPCC) to tear down the dormitory building that blocked the view of the main tower and the toilets constructed in between the tower columns. In Guangzhou, The Revolutionary Committee of the Chinese Kuomintang Guangdong Committee (RCCKGC) also began to make requests to the Guangzhou Municipal Government, proposing to move the quasi-ruins of the cemetery structures elsewhere for the rebuilding of the Cemetery Garden.92 After rounds of negotiations and discussions with the government, remarkable progress was made in 1993. In return to the Association’s promise of paying 3 million TWD by three installments (the first 1 million was already paid) for the renovation project, the Government promised to demolish the dorm building and an

89 An exhibition room that was used to display the history of the New 1st Army still existed near the pavilion at that time. 90 Lu, “Lao cheng yinji: Xin yi jun gongmu yuanmao.” 91 See Tan and Tan, The Forgotten Times: Two Tan’s and a Female Spy, 83. 92 Ning-zhi Zhao, “Guanyu buke yidong wenwu yuanzhi he yidi baohu de sikao: yi

Guangzhou xin yijun yin mian zhenwang jiangshi gongmu baohu gongcheng wei li,” Jianzhu yu huanjing 1 (2014): 121.

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Fig. 5.16 Memorial Pavilion (2015) (Source Photo by the author)

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agreement was made that the military zone would also move elsewhere.93 The major achievement of the efforts from the association was that the cemetery was listed as one of the Historical and Cultural Site Protected at the Municipal Level (the 4th Batch) in August, 1993. However, not all the promises from the government were fulfilled. While the toilets were gone, not only the dorm still remained, it was also “upgraded” to a hotel, from some of whose windows one could see an eerie side view of an abandoned colossal monument. The bluestone stele with Sun Li-jen’s handwriting was found, but it could only be remounted on the back side (namely the northern side) of the main tower as the front side was still hidden behind the building. The early to mid-1990s witnessed the rise of Shahe Garment Wholesale Market around the entrance gates of the cemetery. The rapid development of the market drowned the two guard rooms in the busy flows of traders and goods. Totally oblivious to their original function and meaning, the two rooms were used in various ways. The room on the west side was used as a guard room for the market, and is now rented to underwear sellers as shop space. The eastern room is used as the reception room for a work unit. With Lianquan Road (Lianquan lu) running in between the two rooms and the damage done to the extension of the western room, the original symmetry of the gates was spoiled and it is difficult to associate the two visually as a holistic structure without any prior knowledge of their history. The chaos caused by loading and unloading of the goods around has further created a sharp contrast between the entrance’s tranquil past and its noisy present. Similar to many other monuments left by the KMT regime on the Mainland, the cemetery’s fate is always subject to the vicissitudes of the cross-Strait relations and the changing narrative of WWII and SinoJapanese War in the national history written by the CCP. For those monuments (including Sihang Warehouse), the fifth and integer anniversary of the Victory of the Sino-Japanese War has always been a significant timing of proposal or action to change the status quo of the monuments. In 2000, taking the opportunity of the 55th Anniversary of the Victory of the War, members from the CPPCC at both municipal and district level and the RCCKGC paid what was probably the first official visit to the main tower on August 17, two days after the date of Japan’s surrender. 93 Jia-wen Cheng, “Guangzhou xin yijun mu huo yuan di baocun,” United Daily News, February 10, 2014, A12.

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As the news report pointed out, the visit was significant for the meaning it had on “their work on Taiwan affairs, broadening overseas United Front and promoting grand cause of achieving national reunification.”94 Another driving force of changes to the condition of the relics of the cemetery comes from urban renewal projects (again similar to the case of Sihang Warehouse). In 2003, over Guangyuan Road, which was broadened for the second time in 1987, an expressway of the same name was open to vehicular traffic, marking a deeper division line between the main tower and the pavilion as well as the entrance gate. In a project of municipal construction launched in 2007, many temporary structures in the wet markets sprawling around the Memorial Pavilion were demolished, exposing the pavilion under the open air on the street side. Soon later, an indoor wet market was built on the site, fulling enclosing the pavilion inside the market architecture. In the same year, the hotel right in the front of the main tower was further extended to Kaigang Boutique Hotel (Kaigang jingpin jiudian) which stands to this day. At the current moment (2020), the three major remnant parts of the Cemetery were separated by two buildings (the boutique hotel and the indoor market building) and three roads (Guangyuan Road and Expressway, Lianquan Road, and the abandoned section of Guangzhou-Shenzhen Railway). As Lianquan Road goes from the south toward the northwest in a curve, the originally straight central axis of the passage leading to the main monument that ran in the southwest-northeast direction is no longer recognizable. Although the status quo of the cemetery continues to be dismal, debates on the possible plans of restoring and preserving the monument has not stopped since it appeared on the list of Municipal Cultural Heritage in 1993. There has been two major voices on how to rescue the cemetery from its current state of chaos and segmentation. The RCCKGC and some members of the CPPCC contend to move the remaining monuments from their original site to Changzhou Island in Whampoa District. The major argument is that the new site is located closely to several other monuments that are related to the history of the Republican China and the KMT—the Monument of Northern Expedition, the former site of Whampoa Military Academy, and the Eastern Expedition Historic Graveyard. The restoration of the cemetery would thus be added to the existing 94 Yu Peng and Yu-qing Liu, “Baohu he huifu ‘xin yijun yin mian kangri zhenwang jiangshi gongmu,’” Renmin zhengxie bao, August 19, 2000.

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monuments and make them an integral whole as a patriotism education base.95 In fact, in 2012, the Whampoa District and the Guangzhou Bureau for Culture and Radio and TV and News and Publishing carried out a survey on the three remaining entities of the cemetery. However, as the scale of the main tower was way too huge to be moved as a whole, it would have to be taken apart before it could be transported elsewhere. The Whampoa District finally found it is impossible to take up all the cost for the move and thus shelved the project to wait for further financial injection from the municipal level. Moreover, since all three monument parts are now surrounded by various work units, including the wet and garment market, the military zone, and the administrative body of the railway, the move would also involve extensive negotiations with various parties and departments. The financial and administrative burdens thwarted the district government from pushing the possibility forward though CPPCC member like Huang Yuan proposed that the moving should start in 2015 and be completed within three years for the celebration of the 75th anniversary of the victory of the war.96 On the other side, Lu Jie-feng insists on preserving the monument on its original site. She argues that the cemetery as a whole is an unmovable cultural relics protected by Cultural Relics Protection Law of the People’s Republic of China. According to the Article 18 of the law, “construction projects in such an area shall not deform the historical features of the protected historical and cultural site.”97 Thus, dividing the cemetery into different parts is not a prioritized choice if there can be other possibilities. The relocation inevitably entails further damage to the monument. Zhao Ning-zhi analyses the inappropriateness of relocating the main tower from the perspective of the strong symbolic meaning of its original site. Not only was the land chosen by Sun to be close to the Huanghuagang

95 Hua Yang, Jia Xu and Xi-hua Li, “Xin yijun gongmu yuanzhi baohu bu bian,” Nanfang Daily, April 29, 2015, GC05. 96 Yang, Xu and Li, “Xin yijun gongmu yuanzhi baohu bu bian,” and Zhao, “Guanyu buke yidong wenwu yuanzhi he yidi baohu de sikao: yi Guangzhou xin yijun yin mian zhenwang jiangshi gongmu baohu gongcheng wei li,” 121. 97 The Central People’s Government of the People’s Republic of China, “Cultural Relics Protection Law of the People’s Republic of China,” The Central People’s Government of the People’s Republic of China, 2005, accessed June 10, 2019, at: http://www.gov.cn/ banshi/2005-07/12/content_13749_2.htm.

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Martyrs and the 19th Route Army Soldiers, but the cemetery’s foundation work was also done by the Japanese POW as compensation for the blood shed by the fighting soldiers.98 Relocation would result in the loss in the site-specific meaning of Sun’s original intention. Meanwhile, the entire land of the new site allocated for the relocated Cemetery garden was only 9000 m2 , only 1.8 percent of the original. In a word, the authenticity and integrity of the garden would be largely imperiled if the relocation were to happen. The strongest reason against the relocation came from Yang Yi-li when he revealed in a forum on the issue of the Cemetery held by the Bureau for Culture and Radio and TV and News and Publishing in Guangzhou in 2013 that the four columns of the main tower are connected with a gigantic earthen pit tomb that contains the remains and ashes of the 17,000 soldiers sacrificed in the battles in India-Burma-Yunnan Theater. He also offered new information on the details of the collection, transportation, and how the remains and ashes of the fallen soldiers were wrapped and placed under the main tower.99 The relocation, thus, is impossible as it would cause damage to the tomb underneath. The Guangzhou authorities then firmly decided to permanently exclude the possibility of moving the cemetery from its original location. As the debate cooled down, the renovation project has stalled. The only progress was symbolic. In 2015, the year of the 70th anniversary of the war victory, the cemetery was upgraded to a Historical and Cultural Site Protected at Provincial Level in the 8th Batch. In 2016, Yang Yi-li, the major witness to the construction of the cemetery and the advocate of its restoration, passed away. With his death, the momentum of the restoration plan petered out and the future of the cemetery remains uncertain.

Conclusion: Walking Around a Monument that no Longer Exists The story of the New 1st Army Cemetery can be animated by an anecdote. There was a male Burmese elephant named A-Mei, which in

98 Zhao, “Guanyu buke yidong wenwu yuanzhi he yidi baohu de sikao: yi Guangzhou xin yijun yin mian zhenwang jiangshi gongmu baohu gongcheng wei li,” 121. 99 Yang, Xu and Li, “Xin yijun gongmu yuanzhi baohu bu bian.”

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Linwang and Sun Li-jen (1947) (Source Public Domain)

Burmese means “King of the Jungle.” Later in its life, A-Mei would be called the name of the same meaning in Chinese, Linwang (1917– 2003). A-Mei was among the forty elephants that were captivated by the Japanese troop in Burma to carry guns, provisions, and ammunition. After the Japanese surrender, A-Mei and six other elephants were taken over by the CEF and were transported via Burma Road to Kunming, then Guizhou and Guangxi. Two of the seven elephants were sent to Beijing as gifts to Tsinghua University and the zoos in Hunan, Shanghai, and Nanjing provided home to one elephant each. Sun Li-jen brought the last three, A-Mei among them, to Guangzhou in 1946. In Guangzhou, A-Mei helped with the construction of the New 1st Army Cemetery. It is said that at the opening ceremony of the Cemetery, A-Mei and the other two elephants whined, as if expressing their mourning for the dead soldiers.100 Soon later, one of the three elephants died after enduring the long journey from Burma. Sun was then relocated to Taiwan, bringing A-Mei and the other male elephant to Fengshan in Kaohsiung (Fig. 5.17). Unfortunately, the other elephant also died in 1951, leaving A-Mei as the only remaining living elephant of the lot from Burma. Three years later, A-Mei was moved to Taipei Municipal Zoo in Yuanshan. The 100 Bao-zhong Chen, et al., Lin wang zheng zhuan (Taipei shi: Taipei shi dongwuyuan zhi you xiehui, 1997).

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zoo renamed him “Linwang (second tone),” standing for “King of the Jungle” in Chinese, but it was mispronounced by a newspaper reporter as “Linwang (fourth tone),” meaning “prosperous forest.” Until his death in 2003 (at the age of 86), Linwang was the most famous animal star in Taiwan, conjuring up significant relationship between the public, animal, war memory, and an otherwise highly human-centric national narrative. Linwang’s life often invites comparison with that of Sun Li-jen, who not only likewise had to exile due to the war to Taiwan and spent the rest of his life here, but was also kept in house arrest since 1955 until his death in 1990 as a result of Sun’s involvement in an alleged spy case, much like Linwang’s confinement in the zoo. The difference between them, however, is that while “Grandpa Linwang” became a star animal and stayed in the memory of several generations of the Taiwan public, with the removal of Sun from his position in the KMT Army, he was no longer a famous historical figures that he used to be. The story of the CEF and the New 1st Army is likewise buried in the KMT’s narrative on the war. In 2001, Sun’s reputation was restored after a re-investigation into his case. In 2011, a museum dedicated to the memory of Sun was opened on the site of his house arrest, a Japanese-style house in Taichung. It is thus even less surprising that the New 1st Army Cemetery in Mainland has gone into public oblivion in the drastically altered historical and social context. Despite all the appeals, debates, proposals and visits, the cemetery remains invisible and inaccessible. To walk among the remnants or ruins of the cemetery in the wholesale garment market and the indoor wet market, turns out to be only tactical way of “reconstructing” the cemetery as theorized in Michel de Certeau’s The Practice of Everyday Life (1984). In one of the book’s chapters “Walking in the City,” de Certeau regards the urban users’ tactics of walking in the city in routes other than those designated by the highly structured and rational system as a way to “take advantage of ‘opportunities’ and…[the] lapses in visibility” and “reproduce opacities of history everywhere.”101 The invisibility of the cemetery is a result of the invalidation of the political power that brought it into being. In this case, the national war memory has to be subjugated to the selective memory under the cohesion of the Civil War memory.

101 Michel De Certeau, “Chapter VII Walking in the City,” in The Practice of Everyday Life (Berkeley: University of California, 1984), 94.

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Meanwhile, de Certeau describes the tactics as creating a new “speech act” (97) in resistance to the established urban systems. The aesthetical speech act of the cemetery also took a bold shift from the predominant visual language of national monuments set by the Sun Yatsen Mausoleum. It largely refused any allusion to formalistic majesty from earlier Chinese royal monumental architecture, replacing it with a modernist conciseness and restrained symbolism to express grief and respect to the national martyrs. Noticeably, this style was not continued in any other war monument in either Mainland China or Taiwan. While modernism was defined mainly by socialist realism of the Soviet in the post-1949 Mainland (despite the “big-roof” fad in the 1950s), the KMT government on Taiwan and Chiang Kai-shek himself were also eager to reinforce their shaky legitimacy by building visual artifacts that spoke with easier reference to their leadership in China, which can be shown in the discussions on the Martyrs’ Shrine in Chapter 4, thus prioritizing a conservative style over the “opaque” Bauhaus modernism and other styles. In fact, Taiwan’s postwar national monuments and monumental architectures adapted an even more regressive style than their counterparts in the Mainland. In Taiwan, the major style of national monuments was almost reduced to an imitation to the Northern Palace Style of Qing Dynasty in Beijing. The experiment and practice of the “Lingnan Modernism,” a term coined by Peng Chang-xin to describe the efforts of Guo Yuan-xi and other lecturers and students of Xiangqin University in carving out a new space for modernism and modern urban planning in the 1940s’ (southern) China, discontinued after the New 1st Army Cemetery. After the Civil War, Guo left Guangzhou for Hong Kong and stayed there for the rest of his life. In the British Colony, he did not have a second opportunity to build any other Chinese war monument. In the next chapter, my discussion will focus on a significant war monument in Chongqing, which was designed by another “member” of Lingnan Modernism and a student of Xiangqin University: Li Lun-jie.

Glossary A-Mei 阿妹 Baiyun shan 白雲山 Chen Ben-zong 陳本宗 Chen Shu-ren 陳樹人 chengshi gailiang 城市改良

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Dai Anlan 戴安瀾 diaolou 碉樓 dingtian lidi 頂天立地 Du Yu-ming 杜聿明 Guangfu ting 光復亭 Guangyuan lu 廣園路 Guangfu Guinan Jinianbei 光復桂南紀念碑 Guo Yuan-xi 過元熙 Haizhu Guangchang 海珠廣場 He Ying-qin 何應欽 Hu De-yuan 胡德元 Hu Han-min 胡漢民 Huanghua ting 黃花亭 Huanghuagang Qishier Lieshimu 黃花崗(七十二)烈士墓園 huayuan dushi 花園都市 Huo Yun-he 霍雲鶴 jianzhu shenmeihui 建築審美會 Jianguo fanglue 《建國方略》 jianzhu tuan zhanlanhui 建築圖案展覽會 Jianshe 《建設》 Jiefang lu 解放路 jigongfang 記功坊 Jingzhong Baolei 精忠堡壘 Jindai jianzhu yangshi 《近代建築樣式》 Kaigang jingpin jiudian 凱港精品酒店 Kong Fan-wei 孔繁偉 Ku Ying-fen 古應芬 Kuo Ting-liang 郭廷亮 Lan Xiao-long 蘭曉龍 Lashio 臘戍 Li Lun-jie 黎倫傑 Li Teng-hui 李登輝 Liao Jia-fu 廖加復 Lianquan lu 濂泉路 Liang Si-cheng 梁思成 Liao Yao-hsiang 廖耀湘 Liao Zhong-kai 廖仲愷 Lin Sen 林森 Linwang 林旺

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Linwang 林王 Lin Ke-ming 林克明 lishu 隸書 Liu Fang-wu 劉放吾 Liurong Si 六榕寺 longzhu 龍柱 Lü Yan-zhi 呂彥直 Ma Si-cong 馬思聰 mo chi 默池 pailou 牌樓 Pan De-hui 潘德輝 pingminhua 平民化 Qiyi lu 起義路 Shahe 沙河 shengli gongzhuan 省立工專 Shenme shi xiandai jianzhu 《什麼是現代建築》 Shiliugang 石榴崗 sifang chi 四方池 Sun Li-jen 孫立人 Sun Ke 孫科 Taikang lu 泰康路 Tongmenghui 同盟會 Umeya Sh¯ okichi 梅屋庄吉 Wanfaguiyi Dian 萬法歸一殿 Wang Jing-wei 汪精衞 Weixin lu 維新路 Wode tuanzhang wodetuan 《我的團長我的團》 Xiangqin daxue 勷勤大學 Xianlie lu 先烈路 Xian Xing-hai 冼星海 Xin Jianzhu 《新建築》 Xinshenghuo Yundong 新生活運動 Xunliu yanjiao 勳留炎徼 Yang Yi-li 楊一立 Yang Xi-zong 楊錫宗 Yangcheng 羊城 yi, yong, zhong, cheng 義, 勇, 忠, 誠 Yide lu 一德路 Yin Ji-chang 尹積昌

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yingzao 營造 yinghun changcun 英魂長存 Yuexiu shan 越秀山 Zhang Ru-qi 張汝器 Zhan Xing-xian 詹行憲 Zheng Zu-liang 鄭祖良 Zheng Ke 鄭可 Zhenhai Lou 鎮海樓 Zhongguo Yuanzhengjun 中國遠征軍 Zhonghua lu 中華路 Zhonglingta 忠靈塔 Zhu Zhi-xin 朱執信

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CHAPTER 6

Renaming Monument, Rewriting History: Chongqing’s War Victory Stele/Liberation Stele

Introduction: A Fake Original The Liberation Stele, or Jiefangbei, is a well-known landmark in the center of Chongqing, the center of Southwest China of more than 2300 years’ history. The name of the stele and the inscriptions on the stele in the handwriting/calligraphy of Liu Bo-chen (1896–1986), who served as the chairperson of the Southwestern Division of the Central People’s Government of the PRC in the 1950s, may leave one with the impression that the monument was built in commemoration of the “Liberation War (jiefang zhanzheng ).” In the context of modern Chinese history, “Liberation War” and “Liberation” have always been used by the Chinese Communist Party to refer to the Civil War between the CCP and the KMT between 1945 and 1949. Today, Jiefangbei is not only a war monument, but also the center of the city’s shopping and business district, surrounded now by numerous skyscrapers with huge LED screens, neon lights, and decorative lightings that illuminate the whole area (Fig. 6.1). It is a lesser known fact, however, that the monument’s original name was War Victory Stele and was actually built by the KMT government in 1946 to celebrate the victory of Sino-Japanese War in the city that served as the temporary capital of wartime China at that time. Even though the monument stands more or less in its original form today, the renaming of the monument almost erased the original intention of the monument from the public’s memory. It was not until March 5, 2013 that a plaque © The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Nature Singapore Pte Ltd. 2020 L. Pan, Image, Imagination and Imaginarium, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-981-15-9674-2_6

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Fig. 6.1 Jiefangbei Square Today (2015) (Source Photo by the author)

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with a brief history of the stele and its original name was mounted in the flower bed surrounding it. A fake original of the stele, meanwhile, can be found in Liangjiang International Movie City (Liangjiang guoji yingshicheng ) on the outskirts of Chongqing. The movie city was built originally for the shooting of a 2012 war film Back to 1942, directed by Feng Xiao-gang (1958–), one of the most famous commercial filmmakers in China. As the film was set in wartime Chongqing, old buildings, streets, shops, churches were rebuilt according to their appearance of the city at the time. Like many other movie cities in China, most famously in Hengdian, Zhejiang Province, a city made up of sets for the shooting of costume dramas and films, the Liangjiang Movie City was also built not only for the film, but also as a theme park that aims to give tourists who are curious about the Republican Chongqing an immersive experience. Sixty-six old buildings such as the Cathay Cinema and Xinhua Daily Building were built in the first round of the construction in 2012. In 2015, the second round of construction added more than 160 structures including six new streets, the Government building, the Soviet Embassy, Hope Brother’s & Co Watch Firm, expanding the sprawl of the entire city to around 100,000 square meters. A year after, a copy of the War Victory Stele in it original size was put in the northern end of the Movie City, and became the center of the Movie City/Park, just like its model in Chongqing city (Fig. 6.2). This chapter elaborates on the history of the Victory Stele and its urban context, aesthetical design and its unique way of inventing a multilayered monumentality. I start with a retrospect of urban planning projects in the Republican years and the formation of an urban commemorative space in the surrounding area of the monument in the overall mapping of the city. This formation of the commemorative center as well as the city center of Chongqing was closely related to the “Ten-year Planning on the Construction of the Second Capital,” a systematic urban planning project launched by the Nationalist Government in 1946. Next, I focus on the erection process of the monument’s predecessor the Spiritual Fortress and its relations with the New Life Movement (xinshenghuo yundong ) (1934– 1949). This temporary monument was built as a result of a short-term political campaign and wartime mass mobilization and was later burnt down and eventually replaced by the permanent structure of the War Victory Stele. The structure, design, and details of the stele’s construction will then be scrutinized in tandem with the discussion on its designer, Li Lun-jie, and his involvement with “Lingnan Modernism,” which exerted

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Fig. 6.2 Tourist Map of Liangjiang Movie City and the reproduced War Victory Stele (Source Public Domain)

an influence on the building of war monuments in Guangzhou’s New First Army Cemetery and Chongqing’s Victory Stele. The previous and this chapter of the book, therefore, look into the making of national war monuments in a local but global style—a visual deterritorialization that sets itself in sharp contrast with the national monument building in both prewar Mainland and postwar Taiwan. Finally, this chapter follows the monument’s transformation in its name from War Victory Stele to Liberation Stele, and the accompanying changes in its functions and appearance after 1949 to the present. The previous war memory the Stele evoked were covered up by a new national myth.

Chongqing and WWII in China In 1937, Japanese troops were rapidly pushing from the coastal areas toward inland China with a crushing force. After the retreat of the “eight hundred heroes” of the Sihang Warehouse Battle on November 1, the entire Chinese section of Shanghai fell into the hand of the Japanese on November 13, 11 days later. With the imminent loss of the Capital Nanjing, the Central Government soon decided to move the political

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center. Going westwards along the Yangtze River, the Government first settled in Wuhan, Hubei Province on November 17 and three days later, moved further to Chongqing. The declaration to move the Chinese capital to Chongqing was officially made on the same day.1 There are several major reasons for the KMT Government’s decision. First, a large part of the city is a peninsula lying between two magnificent rivers: the Yangtze River and Jialing River, while the rest of the city is a basin area surrounded by mountains—and thus the name “Mountain city.” The geographical features make the city a natural fortress, easy to defend against attacks from beyond the mountains. Secondly, lying in the upper region of the Yangtze River, which ran all the way through Shanghai into the East China Sea at the eastern brim of the Pacific Ocean, Chongqing was easily accessible by water, with the Chaotian Gate (Chaotianmen), the major pier of the city built in the Ming Dynasty, serving as the city’s connecting point with the rest of China and the world. New ship routes via Chongqing further proliferated, as the city became one of the treaty ports under Chefoo Convention (1876) signed between Qing China and Britain.2 Chongqing’s large-scale urbanization and industrialization started later than the coastal cities but the pace was fast. By the late 1930s, the city had begun to take shape—another favorable condition for a new site of the capital. In September 1940, Chongqing was formally assigned as “the provisional capital,” or peidu in Chinese. Meanwhile, Chongqing played a role in accommodating other Asian exile government under Japanese Imperialism. Earlier, the Provisional Government of the Republic of Korea was set up in Shanghai. After the city was taken by the Japanese, it moved to Qijiang, south of the Chongqing city at first and then to Chongqing at about the same time the city became the provisional capital of China. Becoming peidu accelerated the development of the city in various aspects. After the ROC officially declared war against Japan in 1941 four years into the fighting, Chongqing evolved to be the military headquarter of China and later of the Allied Force, as we saw in the previous chapter. 1 Zhonghua minguo guomin zhengfu, “Guomin zhengfu yizhu Chongqing xuanyan,” November 20, 1937. 2 The Chefoo Convention was one of the “unequal treaties” signed between the Qing China and the British Empire in the mid-to the end of the nineteenth century. The direct cause of the signing was a Sino-British diplomatic conflict over the murder of British official Augustus Raymond Margary in 1875.

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While the Japanese encountered obstacles in attacking Chongqing on the ground, air raids became the most efficient and devastative option for them to organize attacks on the Chinese troops, the government, and the city’s dwellers. Known as “Bombing of Chongqing,” the attacks waged by the joint force of the Imperial Japanese Army Air Service and Imperial Japanese Navy Air Service between 1938 and 1943 targeted mostly the non-military parts of the city, including its industrial facilities, residential areas, schools, hospitals and business areas and other densely populated civilian areas. The most intensive bombing took place in 1939, 1940, and 1941. In 1939 alone, 5072 Chinese were killed in 25 rounds of air raids, 3952 injured, and 7199 houses destroyed.3 In 1940, the “carpet bombing” lasted from May to October. The major targets were the commercial areas, factories, universities and even foreign embassies and news agencies.4 In 1941, “fatigue bombing” was applied on Chongqing. On June 5, as the ventilation system of a partially bombed tunnel bunker was blocked at its exit, the refugees who sought haven there were suffocated and trampled to death, causing a casualty of 1115 civilians.5 The incident, known as “Big Tunnel Massacre,” is now remembered and commemorated by the Chinese official narrative through a monument built in Jiaochangkou and a siren sounding ceremony on June 5 every year since 1998. According to research by Pan Xun, the total number of death stood at around 23,600 between 1938 and 1943.6 As Chongqing was probably the last front not only of the Chinese battlefield, but also the Asian battlefield for the Allied Force of the US and Britain, holding up the morale of Chongqing was crucial for the region’s war developments and even that of other places in China that 3 Guang-yan Yang and Xun Pan, “Kangzhan shiqi riji kongxi Chongqing he Chongqing

fan kongxi douzheng shulun,” Qingzhu kangzhan shengli wushi zhounian liangan xueshu yantao hui lunwen ji (shangce), 1996, 563. 4 Yang and Pan, “Kangzhan shiqi ri ji kongxi Chongqing he Chongqing fan kongxi douzheng shulun,” 564. 5 Yang and Pan, “Kangzhan shiqi ri ji kongxi Chongqing he Chongqing fan kongxi douzheng shulun,” 565. The number of deaths during the Incident remained controversial. Sources in 1941 from Chinese and Japanese authorities reported that the number ranged from 827 to 12000. See Xiao-yong Zeng, Qian-sheng Peng and Xiao-xun Wang, 1938–1943: Chongqing da hong zha (Wuhan Shi: Hubei renmin chuban she, 2005), 176. 6 Xun Pan, Kangri zhanzheng shiqi Chongqing dahongzha yanjiu (Beijing: Shang wu yin shu guan, 2013), 189: The number may vary according to the time range and areas that are taken into account in the statistics.

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were experiencing similar bombing. Chongqing’s close link with the US made it a city that was frequently mentioned in US war propaganda films and news reports, Chongqing and its bombing were mentioned 1161 times in LA Times , 865 times in New York Times , and 13 coverages on Chongqing and War in China were reported in Times between 1940 and 1945.7 British News reels also contained various titles on the bombing of Chongqing starting in 1939, for example, Bombing of Chungking ,8 Chongqing Bombed,9 After Five Years of War Chongqing Today,10 Chongqing Bombed Again-Fights on,11 and China-Chongqing Collects ,12 to name just a few. On May 25, 1944, US president Franklin Roosevelt sent a scroll with his own handwriting to the people of Chongqing, expressing his admiration for the “great courage which the men, women and children of the City of Chungking have displayed during the long period of siege and repeated attacks.”13 “They proved,” the message continues, “gloriously that terrorism cannot destroy the spirit of a people determined to be free. Their fidelity to the cause of freedom will inspire the hearts

7 Statistics from online databases of each source: “Showing Results for Chongking from 01/01/1940-12/31/1945,” New York Times, accessed January 15, 2020, at: https://www.nytimes.com/search?dropmab=true&endDate=19451231&query=chungk ing&sort=oldest&startDate=19400101, “Shoing Results for Bombing of Chungking from 1940–1945,” LA Times , accessed January 15, 2020, at: https://www.newspapers. com/search/#lnd=1&query=bombing+of+chungking&dr_year=1940-1945&t=4312, and “Showing Results for Bombing of Chungking,” Times, accessed January 15, 2020, at: https://time.com/search/?site=time&q=Bombing+of+chungking. 8 See British Moviestone, Boming of Chungking, 1939, accessed January 15, 2020, at: http://www.aparchive.com/metadata/youtube/8328cfc751d746f0be2a213baf9d37a9. 9 British Moviestone, Chongqing Bombed, 1940, accessed January 15, 2020, at: http:// www.aparchive.com/metadata/youtube/97ff9581023c49eb93093dfadb882516. 10 Reuters, After Five Years Of War Chongqing Today, 1942, accessed January 15, 2020, at: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bISqBHfiTjM. 11 Chongqing Bombed Again-Fights on, 1942, accessed January 15, 2020, at: https:// www.youtube.com/watch?v=34e0Ao_AnUg, National Archives and Records Administration—ARC 38928, LI 208-UN-23. 12 Reuters, China-Chongqing Collects, 1943, accessed January 15, 2020, at: https:// www.youtube.com/watch?v=Q4mR3cvSOIM. 13 “Letter from F. D. Roosevelt to Chiang Kai-shek,” May 25, 1944, Chongqing shi danganguan, file number: 053-0010-0016/8-0100-135-000. Chungking is the old spelling of Chongqing.

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of all future generations.”14 On June 16, US’s major fighting aircrafts used in WWII Boeing B-29 Superfortress flew directly from airbase near Chongqing to Japan to launch air raids, a record-breaking attack from the air with its longest flying distance in history.15 The dispatching of Superfortress in China also signaled a closer alliance between the US and China. The Roosevelt scroll was brought by Vice-President Henry A. Wallace in person to Chongqing on his trip that aimed to strengthen the US commercial and military co-operations against Japan with the Chiang Kai-shek Government on June 20. As Roosevelt addressed the citizens of Chongqing and claimed that they “have won a place in the heart of every American,” similar solidarity was made between Chongqing and London. On August 12, while the Japanese bombing continued, the Lord Mayor of London Frank Newson-Smith issued a letter to Chongqing’s Mayor He Guo-guang (1885–1969), who sent condolences on August 2 to him for London’s suffering of the German air raids, in grateful return.16 Lord Newson-Smith pointed out that at this moment, the people of Chongqing and those of London shared the resilient and brave spirit in face of terror. In this manner, Chongqing’s fame spread widely in the US and British wartime media, not only boosting the spirit of the people in Chongqing and in the West, but also raising China as well as Chiang Kai-shek Government’s reputation in the West.17 The text of the Roosevelt scroll later also became a part of the monumentality of the War Victory Stele.

The Formation of Commemorative Centre of Chongqing (1930s–1940s) Urban Planning in Chongqing in the 1930s Chongqing is not a city with a long modern urban planning history. The old walled city’s unique geographical position between two grand rivers, which shaped the urban area into a peninsula with the shape of a long 14 The text of the letter is now inscribed on a stone monument in Stilwell Museum in Chongqing. 15 Xun Pan and Yong Zhou, Kangzhan shiqi Chongqing dahongzha rizhi (Chongqing: Chongqing chuban she, 2011), 393. 16 Pan and Zhou, Kangzhan shiqi Chongqing dahongzha rizhi, 395. 17 See Yang and Pan, “Kangzhan shiqi ri ji kongxi Chongqing he Chongqing fan kongxi

douzheng shulun,” 577.

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triangle, and its mountainous surroundings made it extremely difficult to “plan” the city. The modern planning of Chongqing requires a lot of “disciplining” or “adapting to” the natural environment that dwarfs human townscapes and artefacts. According to a tourist’s guidebook named New Chungking published in 1939, due to the hilly townscape and meandering streets, automobile transportations had to be supplemented by sedans carried by human labor. The usual planning patterns of grid or radiance did not apply to Chongqing.18 Since 1927, the Nationalist Government had started to build new street networks and other infrastructures not only to catch up with the rapid development of the shipping industries and commerce but also to expand the urban area in all directions. By 1934, five sections of zigzagging east–west main streets were completed. The fourth and fifth section of the new construction, which connected the Chaotian Gate Pier at the lowest and busiest tip of the peninsula and Qixinggang in the West, became particularly prosperous. In 1937, Duyou Street (Duyou jie), where the Office of Inspectors on local government officials in ancient China was located, was extended and consisted of three sections: Minsheng Road (Minsheng lu), Minquan Road (Minquan lu), and Minzu Road (Minzu lu) (all named after Dr. Sun Yat-sen’s Three People’s Principles ). The long street was intersected by northwest–southeast running Zourong Road (Zourong lu) (named after an anti-Qing Government revolutionary martyr). At this intersection, a tilted grid block area began to take shape, continuing its role as the old town’s commercial center but on a larger scale. The intersection was turned into Duyoujie Square in 1941, which radiated from its rotunda toward four directions.19 Companies, financial departments, entertainment venues all concentrated around the Square in its new guise, which later became the very location of the Spiritual Fortress and later the War Victory Stele. Spiritual Fortress and National Spirit Mobilization Movement The erection of the Spiritual Fortress can be said to be a part of a specific mass mobilization movement initiated by the Chiang KMT government:

18 Si-hong Lu, Xin Chongqing (Shanghai: Zhonghua shu ju, 1939), 24. 19 See Yong Zhou, Quan Chen, and Lu-lu Zhang, Chongqing kangzhan shi: 1931–1945

(Chongqing: Chongqing chuban she, 2013), 344–346, 357.

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the National Spirit Mobilization Movement (Guomin jingshen dongyuan yundong ). Since 1934, Chiang Kai-shek Government as well as Chiang himself had started a series of nationwide socio-cultural campaigns, all of which intended to regenerate Chinese public awareness in acting as a “qualified” citizen for the construction of a strong new China. Between 1934 and 1949, most famously, Chiang Kai-shek Government inaugurated “New Life Movement (abb. as NLM).” In a speech delivered in a theater in Nanchang on February 19, 1934, Chiang claimed that the Movement aimed at reviving Chinese citizens’ moral awareness and, as the ultimate goal, achieving a national renaissance.20 The guidelines of the movement stipulated that the people should abide by rules that are largely derived from Confucian doctrines of “li, yi, lian, chi” (propriety, justice, honesty, and honor) in their everyday life, in public and private. Essentially, as Arif Dirlik claims, the movement consisted of “campaigns to mobilize the population to improve public and private hygienic and behavioural standards.”21 Soon after the launch of the movement the National Cultural Renaissance Movement was kicked off by the establishment of Chinese Cultural Construction Association in March, whose main purposes were elaborated in the association’s affiliated magazine Cultural Construction launched in October 1934. In a short piece named “Declaration on China-Based Cultural Construction (Zhongguo benwei de wenhua jianzhi xuanyan)” written by ten respectful university professors January 1935 issue of the magazine, the movement is described as a countermovement to the tradition-denying May Fourth Movement by advocating reviving Chinese traditional culture and rejecting the notion of complete westernization.22 As part of the NLM, the National Spirit Mobilization Movement (abb. as NSMM) was the third and the only large-scale campaign launched during the war. Embracing the similar purposes of educating the mass from a set of top-down guidelines that were expected to exert influence on individual behaviors, NSMM responded not only to the needs of wartime propaganda to mobilize and 20 Xiao-yi Qin, Xian zongtong jianggong sixiang yanlun zongji (Taipei shi: Zhongguo

guo min dang zhong yang wei yuan hui dang shi wei yuan hui: Jing xiao chu Zhong yang wen wu gong ying she, 1984), 69. 21 A. Dirlik, “The Ideological Foundations of the New Life Movement: A Study in Counterrevolution,” The Journal of Asian Studies 34, no. 4 (August 1975): 946. 22 Tie-jian Chen and Dao-xuan Huang, Jiang Jieshi: yige lixingzhe de jingshen shijie (Hong Kong: Hong Kong Open Page Publishing Company Limited, 2013), 241–247.

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unify the mass for the war of resistance, but also to invent new rhetoric of state-orchestrated nationalism under Chiang’s absolute leadership. As Dirlik insightfully concludes on the core ambivalence of the NLM, all these movements simultaneously had their “conservative” and “progressive” dimensions. They were, Dirlik claims, “indeed ‘conservative’ in its glorification of native values and its opposition to social revolution; but it was also very contemporary, both in its insistence on popular ‘participation’ in the political process and in the premium it placed on the transformation of values and institutions in accordance with changing historical circumstances.”23 As a national policy, the NSMM was officially inaugurated in March 1939 by Chiang in the opening ceremony of the Third Congress of the National Political Council, the highest temporary general consultation and political institution that lasted between 1938 and 1948, which consisted of representatives of the KMT, the CCP, other political parties, and nonaligned political groups. The reasons for Chiang’s initiative of the NSMM was manifold. Notably, the name of the movement was lifted directly from its counterpart in Japan—Kokumin Seishin S¯ od¯ oin Und¯ o , launched only two years earlier in 1937. Proposed by the Japanese Prime Minister Konoe Fumimaro (1891–1945), the Japanese NSMM was similarly a campaign that served the war rally and mobilization of both individual citizens and organizations in participating the war against China. Thus, first of all, Chiang’s NSMM can be seen as a “response” to the Japanese war rally and the enemy’s strategy of “seductive policy” to induce the Chinese to surrender, which worked, most significantly, with the second most powerful figure in the KMT, Wang Jing-wei (1883– 1944). Within one year since the war broke out, China was rapidly losing its territories after fateful setbacks in Shanghai, Nanjing, Guangzhou, and Wuhan in face of Japan’s fierce attacks. Realizing the huge discrepancy between the Chinese and the Japanese military forces and foreseeing further defeats on the Chinese side, Wang was persuaded by Japan’s seductive policy and fled Chongqing to Vietnam, where he dispatched to Chiang the famous telegram (yandian) rationalizing Japan’s invasion

23 Dirlik, “The Ideological Foundations of the New Life Movement: A Study in Counterrevolution,” 947.

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of China to Chiang Kai-shek.24 However, while the Japanese Government utilized the NSMM more for forceful extraction of donations and unpaid labors from the mass to fuel to its total war campaign, the Chinese NSMM focused on the spiritual morale.25 A spiritual mobilization movement for the mass was particularly urgent under such circumstances, as it might affect the morale of the Chinese in fighting the Japanese. Coming after the establishment of the National Political Council when Chiang detected that his power was being challenged, the movement was also a timely act on the part of Chiang, for it would not only bring his internal enemies together in the cause of resisting the Japanese, but it would also nurture new possibilities of restoring order in China.26 Therefore, a top-down party-oriented mass mobilization movement could provide the Chiang Government with an opportunity in maintaining its totalitarian governance across the different strata of society. The main stage of NSMM was in the new temporary political center, Chongqing. Chiang had long been interested in cultivating Chinese people’s spiritual power, as can be shown in his previous writings such as On the Spirit of Chinese Nation’s Foundation (1932), Explanations of Key Points of Servicemen’s Spiritual Education (1934), and Essentials of Spiritual Construction of Citizens (1936).27 Along with its focus on material life, civic spiritual construction was also an integral part of the NLM, and in turn NSMM. In Chiang’s speech, he emphasized that NSMM was not only a temporary “magic weapon” for the wartime mobilization, but was also an enduring panacea for the construction of the new Chinese spirit— a spirit, paradoxically, that was based on both Sun Yat-sen’s Three People’s Principles and the traditions of Chinese spirit.28 On March 11, 1939, the Supreme National Defence Council (Guofang zuigao weiyuanhui) formally established the People’s Spirit Mobilization 24 Wan-bo Li, “On the National Spirit Mobilization Movement during the Anti-Japanese War in Chongqing” (Master’s thesis, Southwest University, 2013), 7. 25 Co-editing Committee of modern history of three countries in East Asia, The Modern History of Three East Asian Countries (Hong Kong: Joint Publishing [Hong Kong] Company Limited, 2005), 125. 26 Li, On the National Spirit Mobilization Movement during the Anti-Japanese War in Chongqing, 7. 27 Li, On the National Spirit Mobilization Movement during the Anti-Japanese War in Chongqing, 9. 28 Chen and Huang, Jiang Jieshi: yi ge li xing zhe de jing shen shi jie, 250.

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Committee and put it under its supervision. The next day, Guidelines for National Spiritual Mobilization and Plan of Implementation of National Spiritual Mobilization were decreed.29 The major points of the guidelines were condensed to three slogans: (1) nation and state first; (2) military affairs and victory first; (3) concentration of will and power.30 The NSMM laid down discipline guidelines on lifestyle, work morale, military service, material supplies, and political loyalty. Besides, monthly rallies were to be held on the first day of each month in public and semi-public spaces such as factories, government institutions, schools, and ancestral halls.31 In Chongqing, propaganda on the NSMM in images and slogans began to spread in busy areas such as Duyou Street, Shangqing Temple (Shangqing Si), Lianglukou, Tongyuan Gate (Tongyuanmen), Jiaochangkou, Xiaoshizi, Chaotian Gate, Linjiang Gate (Linjiangmen), Haitangxi Railway Station, and Aeroplane Wharf (feiji matou).32 To reiterate the spirit of the NSMM, Chiang Kai-shek published several open letters in newspapers and magazines to readers in different parts of China. In these letters, the metaphor of “spiritual fortress” appeared, which bears a particularly important relation to the NSMM and later the erection of the Spiritual Fortress Monument. On August 11, a letter titled “A second letter to regional gentries and fellow-countrymen in educational communities” was printed in Sing Tao Weekly (Hong Kong), where Chiang claimed that a spiritual fortress was the newest weapon of strengthening the resistance to the Japanese invasion, especially under the threat of material deficiencies and of Chinese traitors.33 In another 29 Chen and Huang, Jiang Jieshi: yi ge li xing zhe de jing shen shi jie, 251. 30 In Chinese: (1) guojia, minzu zhishang; (2) junshi, shengli di yi; (3) yizhi, liliang

jizhong. 31 Military Intelligence Bureau, “Guomin jingshen zongdongyuan hui Zhongyang jigou zuzhi fagui an,” 1940, file number: A305050000C/0029/0111/5000, accessed January 15, 2020, at: https://art.archives.gov.tw/FilePublish.aspx?FileID=1285; also see Li, “On the National Spirit Mobilization Movement during the Anti-Japanese War in Chongqing,” 27–34, and Xiao-si Wang and Fei Li, “The Ritual Scene of Spiritual Mobilization: The National Monthly Meeting during the Period of Anti-Japanese War,” Wuhan University Journal: Arts & Humanity 70, no. 5 (2017): 79–89. 32 “Wu yuefen guomin jingshen zongdongyuan hui mishu chu gongzuo baogao,” June 1940, Guofang dangan, no file number. 33 Kai-shek Chiang, “Zai gao gedi shishen ji jiaoyu jie tongbao shu,” Sing Tao weekly (Hong Kong) 15 (1939): 1 (1939a).

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letter to the people in Shanghai published in the journal Zeitgeist on the occasion of the two years’ anniversary of August 13 Incident, or the beginning of the Battle of Shanghai, Chiang urged the building of a “‘spiritual fortress’ and an ‘economic fortress’ to allow us to fight against the Japanese at our best.”34 The same article in English appeared on the next day in North China Daily News .35 Thereafter, the metaphor was invoked in other media reports and articles during and even after the wartime in the mobilization of various social groups. Titles including “spiritual fortress” were common, such as “Reiterating Chiang Kai-shek’s Speech on Spiritual Fortress,”36 “Spiritual Fortress of Chinese nation,”37 “Erecting Spiritual Fortress,”38 “Increasingly Stronger Spiritual Fortress of Our Nation,”39 “Spiritual Fortress of Civil Servants,”40 “Reinforcing Our Party’s Spiritual Fortress,”41 “Constructing Spiritual Fortress—To the First Army Day Anniversary on July 7th .”42 The widespread use of the metaphor echoed with the naming of the first commemorative artefact that was built on Duyoujie Square, the new city center of Chongqing.

34 Kai-shek Chiang, “‘Bayisan’ er zhounian jinian ri gao Shanghai tongbao shu,” Shidai jingshen 1, no. 2 (1939): 145 (1939b). 35 “Gen. Chiang Issues Message to Shanghai,” North-China Daily News, August 14, 1939, 8. 36 See Shi Liu, “Reiterating Chiang Kai-shek’s Speech on Spiritual Fortress” (Jiaqiang women de jingshen baolei), Quanmin kangzhan, no. 66 (1939): 933. 37 Zhen-hua Zhu, “Spiritual Fortress of Chinese nation” (Zhonghua minzu de jingshen baolei), Guoji yuekan (Shanghai) 1, no. 2 (1939): 6–8. 38 Huo Hu, “Erecting Spiritual Fortress” (Jianli jingshen baolei), Zonghe banyuekan, no. 1 (1939): 4–5. 39 Yun Fo, “Increasingly Stronger Spiritual Fortress of Our Nation” (Riyi zengqiang de woguo jingshen baolei), Shengli, no. 102 (1940): 0. 40 Yi-cheng Ruan, “Spiritual Fortress of Civil Servants” (Gongwuyuan de jingshen baolei), Zhejiang sheng difang xingzheng ganbu xunliantuan tuankan 34 (1943): 3–5. 41 Wei-ying Wang and Jun-tao Xie, “Reinforcing Our Party’s Spiritual Fortress” (Gonggu bendang jingshen baolei), Sanmin zhuyi banyuekan 6, no. 10 (1945): 28–32. 42 Liu, “Constructing Spiritual Fortress—To the first Army Day Anniversary on July 7th” (Jianzhu jingshen baolei: sanshiqi nian qi yue qi ri shoujie lujun jie jinian), 1948, 3.

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The Erection of the Spiritual Fortress: Materialization of a Political Movement The NSMM’s influence began to wane after two years of its implementation due to the movement’s push for excessive formalities such as meetings and rallies, overemphasis on the people’s responsibilities and contributions to the nation, and a lack of genuine care for the people’s needs.43 Similar to the NLM, whose limited effects failed the government’s high expectations, the problem with the NSMMM is that there was a lack of public support. Interestingly, however, the NSMM continued to have a position in the public life in Chongqing largely because of the erection of the Spiritual Fortress Monument and the Square. In May 1941, the Chongqing Municipal Government made a proposal to the Secretary Office of the Association of NSMM in Chongqing to erect a permanent monument named “Spiritual Fortress.”44 In the letter, the government traced back to the second anniversary of the NSMM earlier that year on March 12, when a flag pedestal was placed in the center of Duyoujie Square. Inspired by the encouraging message that the view of the flag pedestal projected, it was proposed that a permanent architecture should be erected at the same spot and the Square should be renamed as “Spiritual Mobilization Square.” Although the proposal was made in May, the actual construction of the architecture was delayed by the incessant air bombings. The proposal was put on the table again in December 1941 as the Asia Pacific War broke out and China officially declared war with Japan and Germany. The timing was right, the government claimed, to build a monument to further energize the people in their resistance against the Japanese. The proposal was made, moreover, as a joint effort of the Government, the Association for the Promotion of the NLM, and the National Consolation Association. The monument was also designed to become the gathering spot for regular mass meetings and to serve as a signpost for encouraging slogans.

43 See Li, “On the National Spirit Mobilization Movement during the Anti-Japanese War in Chongqing,” and Chen and Huang, Jiang Jieshi: yi ge li xing zhe de jing shen shi jie, 251. 44 “Official Letter to Association of National Spiritual Mobilization,” 1941, Chongqing shi danganguan, file number: 0053-0020-00412-0000-001-000.

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The draft plan for the Spiritual Fortress shows a simple design of a cuboid stele with a two-layer decorative variation on both sides with no inscriptions (Fig. 6.3). The platform consisted of three layers of stairs. On the very bottom was a rectangular base, then a hexagon podium, and finally a squareshaped pedestal, all of which were made of cement covered with paint. The pedestal was made with the particular purpose of inscribing four slogans taken from the NLM. The fortress was also cast in cement while the interior was supported by wooden slats. The shape of the Fortress, narrow on the front side and wider on the side, resembled a cenotaph in its simplest form. A rectangular protrusion on the top of the cuboid stele was built, supporting a flagpole above.

Fig. 6.3 a, b Draft design for Spiritual Fortress (1941) (Source Chongqing Municipal Archive)

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The actual construction of the Spiritual Fortress soon started and was completed on December 30, 1941.45 The final version of the monument was slightly different from the draft. The most obvious design change was the top of the fortress, which was built into the shape of battlement, resembling those on the Great Wall (Fig. 6.4). Allegedly, a big porcelain jar, in which alcohol and cotton could be put for making bonfire during public gatherings and events that were held around the fortress, was placed in the space surrounded by the battlement.46 This design made the fortress look like a balefire stage in ancient China which was used to signal the coming of the enemies. In this case, however, the fire was for rousing the public and directing their attention—and ultimately their spirit—to a centralized artefact of nationalistic symbolism. In addition, the completed version of the fortress was decorated with more symbols and slogans of the NLM as well as the NSMM than the original design. The emblem of the NLM—a blue shield-shape badge with a compass in the middle and red borders around the badge—was mounted toward the top of the structure on the front side. A floral valance-like decoration was seen below the shield. Further down on each side were the flags of four Associations: the NSMM Association, Association for the Promotion of the New Life Movement, the National Consolation Association, and Anti-Invasion Campaign Association.47 Four Chinese characters “li, yi, lian, chi” (propriety, justice, honesty, and honor), the four core spirit of the NLM, were put on the four corners of the square fortress foundation. On the hexagon podium the six slogans of the NSMM were inscribed on each side.48 The entire fortress was painted black to prevent it from being spotted by the enemy planes during air raids.

45 You-ping Deng, Peidu suzong (Chongqing: Chongqing chuban she, 2005), 156. 46 Deng, Peidu suzong, 156, and Zhi-kun Wang and Xiao-geng Zhang, “Xianwei renzhi

de Kangzhan Shengli Jigongbei fudiao,” Hongyan chunqiu zazhi she, September 24, 2014. 47 Guofang zuigao weiyuanhui, “Guomin jingshen zongdongyuan hui sanshiyi du yi yuefen zhi jiu yuefen gongzuo zong baogao,” Guomin jingshen zongdongyuan zuzhi dagang guomin gongyue zongdongyuan gangling ji shou bing shehui bu jie ban, March 1939, in Zongguo guomindang wenhua chuanbo weiyuanhui dang shi guan, file number: fang 001/0016. 48 “Guomin jingshen zongdongyuan hui sanshiyi du yi yuefen zhi jiu yuefen gongzuo zong baogao.”

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Fig. 6.4 Spiritual Fortress (Source Public Domain)

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Commemorative Rituals Around Spiritual Fortress While the Spiritual Fortress can be seen as the materialization of the political campaigns and the biggest billboard for their core spirit, another important function of the structure was to animate the campaigns through public gathering surrounding it. Continuing with the procedure of memorial-weeks and memorial days of Sun Yat-sen program launched by the KMT after Sun’s death, the NSMM used monthly assemblies as a special form of ritual and gathering to mobilize the mass. The core procedure of the NSMM’s monthly assemblies included the reading of Anti-Enemy Conventions for the Nationals (Quanmin kangdi gongyue), an official document decreed by the National Political Council in April, 1939 and Outlines of the NSMM .49 Another important component was recitation ceremony, where individuals were enjoined to remember the entries of the Conventions and the content of the NSMM by heart.50 In the beginning, the monthly assemblies worked well as people’s involvement and participation increased in the gatherings. However, as political slogans and doctrines were repeated rigidly and dogmatically, their effects gradually weakened. In comparison, the NSMM anniversary gatherings held in Chongqing took more diverse and entertaining forms, which explained why even as the NSMM’s influence began to decline, these public commemorative rituals not only survived, but also expanded in scale and richness in content. There were three such major gatherings held in Chongqing’s Duyoujie Square between 1940 and 1942. The first one on March 12, 1940 consisted mainly of Chiang Kai-shek’s speech, singing performance in the open and a torch parade. The 1941 gathering was richer in content. Not only were there a flag-raising ceremony, a party-political institution and military services commemorative meeting and Yu You-ren’s speech, but entertainment for the mass such as soccer and basketball games with free access for the public, group gymnastics, singing, and dancing were also included. Apart from the recreational performances, the burning of censored books and newspapers, and smoking and opium implements, dissemination of propaganda flyers from airplanes could also be seen as

49 “Guomin jingshen zongdongyuan hui Zhongyang jigou zuzhi fagui an.” 50 Wang and Li, “The Ritual Scene of Spiritual Mobilization: The National Monthly

Meeting during the Period of Anti-Japanese War,” 84.

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a kind of propaganda performance.51 The visual standardization on the parade was achieved where the participants were clearly instructed in terms of their dress code, the color scheme and size of wooden boards, on which were painted the work units’ names in kaishu script (regular script in Chinese calligraphy).52 The completion of the Spiritual Fortress further affirmed the central position of the square area as a ritual space. Even before the March 12 gathering, two celebration gatherings—the New Year Gathering on January 2 and the 17th Annual Commemorative Ceremony of Sun Yat-sen’s death—also took place in the new square.53 The 1942 gathering was the grandest largely thanks to the completion of the Spiritual Fortress, which formed a public gathering space as a distinctive center. The whole-day ceremony opened at 9:00 in the morning. The heads of military, police, and party reviewed 800 representatives from various social groups, including the youth scouts, military police, women’s group, farmers, workers, and merchants. The groups were followed another 6000 representatives of party members, league members, national militia members, and regiment members (1500 each) walking by the Spiritual Fortress. Starting from 9:30, Chen Li-fu (1900–2001), Wu Tie-cheng (1888–1953), and Zhang Zhi-zhong (1890–1969) gave rallying speeches to rallying the mass.54 These routine procedures of public gatherings were short. Starting from 10:30, a series of performances were staged around the Fortress: group gymnastics, donation competitions, martial arts performances and ball games, the burning of gambling, smoking and opium implements and a tree-planting competition. The events lasted until 6:30 in the evening before another round of speech by leaders.55 At 6:30 p.m., a music concert was held at the Fortress, with 40,000

51 Li, “On the National Spirit Mobilization Movement during the Anti-Japanese War in Chongqing,” 35. 52 “Guomin jingshen zongdongyuan hui mishu chu xinhan,” 1941, Chongqing shi danganguan, file number: 00600001001870000027. 53 “Peidu gejie shengda qingzhu yuandan: jingshen baolei qian huansong weilao tuan,”

in Zhongyang Ribao (Central Daily), January 2, 1942, 3, and “Tongbao,” March 1942, Chongqing shi danganguan, file number: 02950001010590000134000. 54 Jin-gui Dong, “Jingshen dongyuan san zhounian jinian,” in Texie peidu (Chongqing: Qingnian tushu she, 1944), 12. 55 “Guomin jingshen zongdongyuan hui sanshiyi du yi yuefen zhi jiu yuefen gongzuo zong baogao.”

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participants singing the national anthem, the leader’s song, the song of the NSMM, and the song for “spiritual transformation” all the way until 10 p.m. Meanwhile, between 8 and 10 p.m., propaganda films were shown open air in the nearby Square of the NLM Service Office (Xinyun fuwusuo guangchang ) for the public. The films, which included a commemorative documentary of Dr. Sun, propaganda films of spiritual mobilization and newsreels on anti-Japanese campaigns, were produced by Central Film Group and China Motion Picture Studio.56 In addition to the screenings, a film production team was sent to shoot the performances, in particular the thousand-people group singing performance at 7 p.m.57 The performance, the screening, and the shooting formed a looping of the visual gaze between seeing and being seen. With the Spiritual Fortress as the center, the political campaign became a spectacle for the participants to see themselves and each other in various social roles. They are both spectators and producers of the spectacles, in which they immersed themselves without knowing where one identity ends and the other begins. The monument and the images played such a central role in this spectacle that it was during the renovation of the Fortress in September, it was planned that iron chains would be installed around the Fortress to create an open-air theater.58 However, even if the anniversary festivals were successful, the Spiritual Fortress per se was vulnerable because of its wooden inner structure. Under the onslaught of air raids and humid weather in Chongqing, there was the danger that as the wooden supporting parts began to rotten, the monument might fall. Thus, the Municipal Government planned to dismantle the existing structure and replace it with something stronger in 1943. Meanwhile, the Works Bureau (gongwuju) proposed the details of the design of the new fortress and announced an open call for its visual realization. The new design would keep to the previous number-centred symbolism while adding some other new ones. It was proposed that in

56 “Guomin jingshen zongdongyuan hui sanshiyi du yi yuefen zhi jiu yuefen gongzuo zong baogao.” 57 “Peidu minzhong relie xingfen zhong jinian jingshen zongdongyuan jieri,” Zhongyang Ribao (Central Daily), March 12, 1942, 2. 58 “Guomin jingshen zongdongyuan hui sanshiyi du yi yuefen zhi jiu yuefen gongzuo zong baogao.”

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addition to the column there should be five layers of stairs to represent the Five-power Constitution59 ; four big columns to symbolize the four dimensions of the NLM; three circles to stand for the Three People’s Principles and a globe to symbolize World Commonwealth. The monument would function as a cenotaph for the fallen soldiers, and therefore a national flag should be flown on top of the monument.60 The plan, however, was never realized. Possible reasons might include financial deficiency of the NSMM Association and the fear that the air raids might damage the new monument. In 1945, the Spiritual Fortress completed its historical task and was demolished. Only a flagpole remained on the original site with a piece of round-shaped lawn surrounded by a low fence. Newspapers and magazines, however, still called it the Spiritual Fortress—by then, one can say that the very spot where the monument once stood became a commemorative space itself, even though the monument was no longer there.61 Interestingly, in an essay named “On Chongqing’s Spiritual Fortress” published in a magazine Haichao (The Waves) in 1947, the author Bai Lang responds to the demolition of the monument by mourning its “uselessness.” Contrary to the official records or propaganda news reports which depict the public’s embrace of the national mobilization campaigns and their spirit of resistance to the Japanese, Bai criticizes the Chongqing people for immersing themselves in idle entertainment and material joy even during the wartime. Teahouses, clubs, and movie theaters were not only places that people loved to go for pleasures but were also hotbeds for crimes.62 His interjection that the Spiritual Fortress “virtually existed in name only” illustrates the persistent discrepancy between the utopian imagination with which a monument aspired to represent the real life and the real life itself.

59 As the core design of Sun Yat-sen’s Three People’s Principles, the five-power constitution consists of the executive, legislative, judicial, examination, and control/audit powers. 60 “Diandi,” Jianzhu 4 (1943): 44. 61 See photos in “Peidu ‘jingshen baolei’,” Yiwenhuabao 1, no. 3 (1946): 36, and

“Shancheng fengguang,” Xinxing 2 (1945): 12. 62 Bailang, “Ji Chongqing de jingshen baolei,” Haichao 12 (1947): 25–26, 30.

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The Birth of a Permeant War Monument for Chongqing Postwar Chongqing’s Ten-Year Planning After the War ended in 1945, the capital of the ROC returned to Nanjing on May 5 in the next year. While factories, institutions, and work forces began to retreat from the city, postwar Chongqing remained the second capital in perpetuity and an important regional city. In May 1946, a new urban plan, Draft of Ten-Year Planning on the Construction of the Second Capital (abb. as Draft ) came to being under the leadership of Zhang Du-lun (1892–1958), Mayor of Chongqing.63 The Draft was regarded as one of the earliest complete urban planning project designed entirely by Chinese and the most important planning project after the Greater Shanghai Plan and Capital Plan in Nanjing.64 The plan was a crystallization of postwar China’s efforts in modernizing cities in various aspects. American advisor Norman J. Gordon, who wrote the preface of the Draft, proposed that apart from infrastructural constructions, professional technicians were highly needed for long-term development of Chinese urban planning.65 On March 28, 1946, the Second Capital Construction Planning Board held the first board meeting to discuss the plans of rebuilding Chongqing. Together with the building of hospitals, wet markets, smoke and drug rehabilitation centers, street constructions, tunnels, sewages, pedestrian lanes, public toilets, and trolleybuses, the construction of the Victory Stele was also on the earliest agenda of the urban renewal project.66 The official announcement of the construction can be found in Shanghai newspaper Shen Bao on October 4, outlining the significance of building a monument for the war in Chongqing: Chongqing, the temporary capital of China during the anti-Japanese War, is not only an important city in Southwest China, but also the headquarters which led the 8-year bloody war against the aggressors, and we finally won. 63 De-lin Lai, Jiang Wu, and Su-bin Xu, Zhongguo jindai jianzhu shi, volume 5 (Beijing: Zhongguo jianzhu gongye chuban she, 2016), 311. 64 Lai, Wu, and Xu, Zhongguo jindai jianzhu shi, volume 5, 311. 65 Lai, Wu, and Xu, Zhongguo jindai jianzhu shi, volume 5, 312. 66 “Jianli Kangzhan Shengli Jinianbei jihua de tichu,” Chongqing lishi shang de jintian,

Chongqing shi dangan ju, accessed August 26, 2015, at: https://jda.cq.gov.cn/byrw/ bysj/cqlssdjt/33641.htm.

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The city has accomplished a great mission of history. The construction of a commemorative architecture—the War Victory Stele, is part of the Ten-Year Planning on the Construction of the Second Capital. A special preparation committee was setup for the building of the monument…The monument will be designed by Li Lun-jie…The total expenditure of the monument is [projecte to be] 183 million Yuan, which will be borne by public donation from ordinary citizens…the donation not only represents the goodwill of millions of Chinese people, but also a crystallization of the national victory of the war that was achieved by the collective efforts.67

The construction followed soon after. After the flagpole on the former site of the Spiritual Fortress was demolished in early October 1946, it was decided on the 20th that a new monument was to be built on the same spot. On the 31, Mayor Zhang Du-lun laid the foundation of the Victory Stele.68 Exactly two months later, the construction officially started. As the contract with the contractor of construction, Tianfu Building Company, shows, the estimated duration of the construction was 180 days and the estimated cost was around 183 million Yuan.69 Details of the War Victory Stele The design of the War Victory Stele is much sophisticated than that of the Spiritual Fortress and the symbolism of its components were also multilayered. The first change was that Duyoujie Square was renamed as Jigongbei Square (Victory Stele Square). The Square was circular in shape, measuring 37 meters in diameter. Inside this big circle was a smaller circle of 20 meter in diameter, in the middle of which the Stele 67 Fu Wang, “Chuancheng lishi qiushi cun zhen: ‘Chongqing shi jianzhu zhi’ suo shou ruogan jindai jianzhu shi shiliao xuanji,” in Zhongguo jianzhu ye nianjian, 1998, 571. A report in Xinmin Evening News published on October 18, 1946 also showed a different source of the funding for the construction. The government was preparing for the 60th birthday celebration for Chiang Kai-shek and planning to establish a committee for soliciting party funding of 250 million yuan, in which 150 million was reserved for the construction of the Stele and the remaining 100 million for the building of a hospital named after Chiang. In this sense, the Stele was also, to certain extent, a monument for Chiang himself. See “Yu shiye junguan babai ren qingyuan,” Xinmin Evening News, October 18, 1946. 68 “Yu shiye junguan babai ren qingyuan,” Xinmin Evening News, 319. 69 “Chongqing shi Kangzhan Shengli Jigongbei gongcheng guifanshu,”

Chongqing shi danganguan, file number: 0053-0019-02988-0000-049-000.

1946,

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stood. The blue stone pedestal of the Stele was 4 meters in diameter, 1.6 meter in height, with a round inner and an octagonal outer shape. Pointing toward each of the eight corners of the Stele’s pedestal, eight short cream-colored stone protective columns were placed around the inner circle. The pedestal was surrounded in four directions by flights of 8 steps, beside which eight spots was reserved for plants and flowers. On the eight sides of the pedestal, five kinds of texts were inscribed. They are the full text of the KMT Government’s announcement of Chongqing as the second capital, an inscription written by Zhang Qun (1889–1990), secretary general of the National Security Council and governor of Sichuan province, and by Wu Ding-chang (1884–1950), Minister of Industry. The name of the Stele was written by Mayor Zhang Du-lun, and was inscribed by Chongqing Municipal Senate. The stele was a 28-meter high reinforced concrete tower. The tower had windows with tracery and a door, both of which were made from high quality phoebe zhennan wood (zhennan mu). Facing the Chaotian Gate, the seven characters of the monument Kangzhan Shengli Jigongbei written by Zhang Du-lun was inscribed on the front side of the stele 5 cm in depth and painted with gold foil70 (Fig. 6.5). A 141-step spiral staircase, named as “Victory Staircase,” led one to the top of the tower. At every 21 steps’ interval, a platform was built as a resting stop for climbers. A War Victory Commemorative Corridor was setup at the end of the staircase, where oil paintings, murals, photographs, wooden sculptures, relief and commemorative stone tablets from other provinces and cities in China and social elites from around China. The scroll from Franklin Roosevelt was also placed with all the victory souvenirs. Coming out of the staircase on the top, one would find oneself on a round observatory. Wider than the body of the Stele, the observatory was 4.5 meter in diameter, with enough space to accommodate around 20 people. The plan was to setup a telescope and photography service on the highest point of the city. On the very top of the monument, there were a lightning rod, a compass, a wind vane, and an aero vane, all of which made of steel. Below the observatory and 23 meters above the ground were four square-shaped clock dials, separated by four stone reliefs with images of soldiers, workers, and farmers. The reliefs were square plates of 1.4 meter on each side and painted with 70 Gong Zhang, Zhi-xian Mou and Chongqing peidu shishu xi bian wei hui, Guomin zhengfu Chongqing peidu shi (Chongqing: xinan shifan daxue chuban she, 1993), 659.

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Fig. 6.5 a, b Draft design of War Victory Stele and after its completion (Source Chongqing Municipal Archive)

copper color to match the color of the pedestal.71 Three bells were hung under the dome of the stele, for summoning the citizens at the festivals and celebrations. One particular practical function of the monument is that it served as a clock tower. While the chime clock was brought in to China by Matteo Ricci in the Ming Dynasty in the sixteenth century, clockworks in Chinese public space didn’t appear until the late nineteenth century. The earliest chime clock seen in public space was in Shanghai in a Catholic church named La Cathedrale Saint-Francois Xavier in Dongjiadu.72 In Chongqing, public clocks also came with churches. For the Victory Stele, the clocks were designed with particular purposes. In October 1943, Zhongyang Ribao (Central Daily) published a news report titled “Obey 71 “Peidu kangzhan ji gong bei sheji wancheng,” Zheng xin xinwen (Chongqing), no. 504 (1946): 2. 72 See Li-yong Xue, “Yuyin bu jue da zimingzhong,” Xinmin wanbao, June 16, 2013.

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the order of time, cultivate new spirit, Spiritual Fortress rebuilt in the Second Capital, Setting up standard time clocks.”73 The news report showed that the government had erected a clock tower in Xiaoshizi Street, not far from the Stele Square. The building of a clock tower in the busy public space can be seen in the light of the “new spirit” required by political campaigns and wartime mass mobilizations. A qualified citizen should, as the function of the clock tower suggests, be punctual and organize his social life according to a fixed standard time. The clocks, together with other functional elements on the monument, render it more than a commemorative artefact, but a symbol of modern life and modern citizenry. The Victory Stele clock was designed to consist of four synchronized clocks, or four individual clocks controlled by a master clock. The face and hands of the clocks would be made from lightweight metal such as aluminium. Each clock face was to be identical and was square in shape with the sides measuring 140 cm in length. The four clocks could supposedly be seen within three kilometres’ distance and at 12 noon beautiful music would chime automatically while the time was announced.74 However, clocks of such high workmanship was difficult to obtain at that time. The purchase of the clocks from General Time Instruments Corporation in New York was not successful as the company claimed that they no longer manufactured outside spring-driven clockwork clocks as Chongqing requested and shifted their manufacturing toward electrically driven ones.75 By July, after many failed attempts at purchasing such clocks, the Stele Construction Committee wrote a letter to the Municipal Government, asking for the permission to adopt an alternative plan, that is, using four characters “gongli zhansheng ” (We shall overcome) to fill in the holes reserved for the clocks until suitable clocks could be installed. The request was soon approved. However, on October 14, shortly before the unveiling ceremony, the Committee learned that the

73 “Zunshou shijian zhixu, peiyang xin de jingshen, peidu chongjian jingshen baolei,

she biaozhun zhong che houche lan,” Zhongyang Ribao (Central Daily), October 21, 1943, 3. 74 “Jigongbei zhi jianzhu buzhi,” October 1947, Chongqing shi danganguan, file number: 0075-0001-00041-0200-405-001. 75 “Letter exchanges between P.B. Field and Louis Chang, son of Mayor Zhang Dulun,” n.d., Chongqing shi danganguan, file number: 0075-0001-00041-0100-170-000.

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biggest Cathedral in downtown Chongqing, the Cathedral of the Immaculate Conception (Zhenyuantang ), which was built in 1844 under the French Catholic Church, might possess a four-dial clock. Zhang Du-lun wrote a letter to the French Bishop who went by the Chinese name Shang Wei-shan (date unknown) in Chongqing parish since 1926, raising the possibility of borrowing the clock for installation on the monument.76 The Bishop soon replied, expressing his support of the proposal.77 The clock was duly installed, but contrary to the expectation that the clock would provide Chongqing citizens with standard time, unfortunately, the clock of the Victory Stele worked poorly after its installation. Due to the old mechanism, the clock was always running slow or even stopped until it was replaced by quartz clocks in the 1980s. In Chongqing dialect, a two-line saying about the clock can still be heard nowadays. The first line of the saying, “The clocks of Liberation Stele” is followed by the second line “it won’t work.”78 Interestingly, “it won’t work” means something positive, for the Chinese word bai in bubaile in Chongqing dialect is a double entendre, meaning both the oscillation of the clock pendulum and flattery or pompous hyperbole. The lighting design was another notable feature of the monument. Eight mercury lamps were setup to shine at the top of the Stele. On every floor of the interior of the monument, there was a mercury lamp. At the bottom of the tower, eight searchlights projected a gentle but luminous light onto the body of the monument, contouring the grandeur of the stele in a night view.79 Underneath the foundation, a basement was also designed for storage and accommodation for the guards of the monument. Most interestingly, a steel tube storing various objects such as the monument design drafts, newspapers, and magazines published at the

76 Shang’s French name is unknown. 77 “Jiefangbei de ‘simian zhong,’” Chongqing shi dangan ju, accessed August 26, 2015,

at: https://jda.cq.gov.cn/byrw/bysj/cqlssdjt/14312.htm. 78 In Chinese origin, it is 解放碑的鐘—不擺了. 79 Descriptions of the Victory Stele can be found in “Kangzhan Shengli Jigongbei

gongcheng heyue,” 1946, Chongqing shi danganguan, file number: 053-0019-029880000-049-000, “Chongqing shi Kangzhan Shengli Jigongbei gongcheng guifanshu,” “Ji gong bei zhi jianzhu buzhi,” Wang, “Chuancheng lishi qiushi cun zhen: ‘Chongqing shi jianzhu zhi’ suo shou ruogan jindai jianzhu shi shiliao xuanji,” 568–576.

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time of the monument’s foundation, literary works, stamps, banknotes, and photographs were buried under the foundation as a time capsule.80 The overall design of the Victory Stele was neat, contoured with concisely lines and painted with a simple color scheme of blue, white, and buttery yellow. Apart from the use of stones and reinforced concrete, extra fireproof and air raid defence paint was also applied on the exterior. The monument had several distinctive features that was not found in most of other Chinese monument. First, noticeably, unlike the Spiritual Fortress, the Victory Stele is not only a symbolic artefact, but also has a practical dimension. Neither was its design burdened with the numerical symbolism that speaks to the number of party-national doctrines and political slogans nor decorated with elements that articulate a specific imagination of Chineseness. Instead, the lightning rod, compass, wind, and aero vanes gave the monument its practical function as a scientific workspace. Second, the monument showed a particular interplay between the inside and the outside, the visible and the invisible. The view of the beautiful interior of the spiral staircase inside tried to impress the visitors as much as the exterior. The observatory rendered the monument as both an object of seeing and being seen in the way Roland Barthes describes the Eiffel Tower. And like a visit to the Eiffel Tower in Barthes, to visit the stele is to enter into contact not with a historical Sacred, as is the case for the majority of monuments, but rather with a new nature, that of human space: the Tower is not a trace, a souvenir, in short a culture; but rather an immediate consumption of a humanity made natural by that glance which transforms it into space.81

The hidden steel tube was also unprecedented in the temporality of war monument in China in that; it was not only intended for the future but also for the immediate present and how the immediate present will be remembered and presented in the future. Third, as a work of modern architecture, the monument responded to the need of air defence, echoing the monument designer Li Lun-jie’s urban planning 80 Wang, “Chuancheng lishi qiushi cun zhen: ‘Chongqing shi jianzhu zhi’ suo shou ruogan jindai jianzhu shi shiliao xuanji,” 571. 81 Roland. Barthes, The Eiffel Tower, and Other Mythologies (Berkeley: University of California, 1997), 8.

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concepts that were nurtured in the midst of modern warfare, which I elaborate on in the following session. The monument was built with extraheavy reinforcement of 20 tons and 950 barrels of concrete. According to Li, neither a bomb of 500 pounds that explodes within a 10-meter diameter of the monument nor a 16-inch flat trajectory gun’s attack would be able to destroy the monument. He expected that the monument would last for at least 100 years.82 The final cost of the stele stood at 217 million Yuan and the duration of construction was longer than expected. On October 10, 1947, after 10 months of construction work, the Stele was unveiled on the National Day of the ROC.83 A grand ceremony was staged around the new monument starting from 10:15 in the morning. Thousands of Chongqing citizens gathered in the square, blocking the traffic nearby. The festivities began with a flag-raising ceremony that was followed by a speech by Mayor Zhang Du-lun. He praised the courage and resistance Chongqing citizens showed in face of Japanese terrorism and reiterated the importance of the stele for commemorating the people’s feat on the one hand and the leaders who led the people on the other. “It will,” Zhang claimed, “forever symbolize the independence, freedom and equality in China to the world and the millions of Chongqing citizens with their efforts and patriotism in building a modern Chongqing.”84 He also applauded the practical functions of the monument: the compass on the top orientating the people, the clock setting the work-leisure schedule of the people and the bells sounding the danger of the possible rise of Japanese imperialism for a second time. In celebrating music, Mayor Zhang handed the key to the door of the monument to the chief police officer, showing that the police force was responsible for the administration of the Stele affairs. At 11:20, thirty military pigeons flew from the top of the monument in the deafening sound of firecrackers. The daughter of Zhu Shao-liang (1891– 1963), another high-ranked commander in the National Revolutionary

82 Zhang, Mou and Chongqing pei du shi shu xi bian wei hui, Guomin zhengfu Chongqing peidu shi, 657. 83 Zhang, Mou and Chongqing pei du shi shu xi bian wei hui, Guomin zhengfu Chongqing peidu shi, 657. 84 “Wan ren zheng kan jinianbei, qun ge feichu bianpao sheng Zhong jiancai, yongchuibuxiu xiangzheng Chongqing jianshe,” Xin Chongqing 1, no. 4 (1947): 30–31.

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Army, cut the ribbon. The ceremony ended after a group of VIPs entered the stele and climbed up to the observatory for a tour.85

Li Lun-Jie: From Guangzhou to Chongqing Li Lun-Jie in Xiangqin: Die Neue Baukunst, New Life Movement and War Given the unique characteristics of the Victory Stele in its form and function among other monuments of the same period in China, it is not a coincidence that the designer of the Victory Stele, Li Lun-jie (1912–2001), like Guo Yuan-xi, the designer of the New 1st Army Cemetery in Guangzhou, was another important advocate of functionalistic modernism starting in Xiangqin University in Guangzhou. Studying under Lin Ke-ming (1901–1999), Li, a Guangdong native, entered Xiangqin University in 1933 and was deeply influenced by the Architecture and Engineering Department’s function-oriented curriculum. In the year that Li entered Xiangqin, Lin published “What is Modern Architecture?” in the university’s magazine, marking the beginning of Xiangqin’s advocacy of modernist architecture, engineering, and urban planning in the 1930s Guangdong.86 As was mentioned in the previous chapter, Lin was not an enthusiast of the rules and laws of beaux-art that prevailed in Chinese architecture education at that time. Trained in France, Lin absorbed the most edge-cutting modernism in the 1920s Europe and returned to China to build up a brand-new architecture pedagogical trend that prioritizes efficiency, function, and conciseness. Li and his classmate/roommate Zheng Zu-liang (1914–1994) were two most active followers of Lin’s call, publishing several articles that introduced modernism in 1935. In the same year, Li and Zheng established a student research group “Architecture and Engineering Society” (jianzhu gongcheng xueshe) after Exhibition of Design Plans from Department of Architecture at Xiangqin University was held in March.87 In 1936,

85 “Wan ren zheng kan jinianbei, qun ge feichu bianpao sheng Zhong jiancai, yongchuibuxiu xiangzheng Chongqing jianshe,” 30–31. 86 Chang-xin Peng, Xiandaixing, difangxing: lingnan chengshi yu jianzhu de jindai zhuanxing (Shanghai Shi: Tongji daxue chuban she, 2012), 149. 87 Peng, Xiandaixing, difangxing: lingnan chengshi yu jianzhu de jindai zhuanxing,

319.

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Lin was commissioned to take up the design of Shiliugang Campus of Xiangqin University. Since July, as Lin’s favorite disciples, Li and Zheng were sent as interns to the construction site of Shiliugang Campus, where they obtained practical experience of design and construction under Lin’s supervision. In October 1936, seven Xiangqin architecture students including Li and Zheng were awarded 300 Yuan for their design proposal for Zhongshan County’s Prison. With this award money as their funding, Li and Zheng launched Die Neue Baukunst , or Xin Jianzhu, a magazine that advocated the architectural modernism in the teachings of Lin and other like-minded lecturers (including Guo Yuan-xi). Peng Chang-xin regarded the magazine as the most significant publication in modern Chinese architecture history as it not only introduced and echoed the modernist wave of the 1935 World Expo in Paris but also, in its own development in Guangdong and later in Chongqing, explored how the core ideas of the wave of modernism could be further implanted in Chinese cities.88 The major architects that were highlighted by the magazine, not surprisingly, included Le Corbusier (1887–1965)89 and Bruno Taut (1880–1938).90 In an article on the former, the author Zhao Ping-yuan, probably a penname of either Zheng or Li, traced European modernist architecture’s historical lineage with the “New Spirit” (Le Sprit Nouveau) of restoring the “original form” of things. Calling Le Corbusier a “purist” (chuncui zhuyi zhe), Zhao differentiated him from the Cubists, whose thoughts aim at the “beauty of form,” while Le Corbusier’s purism intends to find out the “beauty of use.”91 When introducing Taut, Zhao focused on the use of color and glass in his works.92 An analytical piece 88 Peng, Xiandaixing, difangxing: lingnan chengshi yu jianzhu de jindai zhuanxing,

244. 89 Jing-gong Long, “Xin shenghuo yu zhuzhai gailiang,” Die Neue Baukunst (Xin Jianzhu) 1 (1936): 3–6, Ping-yuan Zhao, “Chuncui zhuyi zhe Le Corbusier zhi jieshao (fu tu, zhaopian),” Die Neue Baukunst (Xin Jianzhu) 1 (1936): 17–20, Xin-ling Wie, “Dushi jihua yu weilai lixiang dushi fangan,” Die Neue Baukunst (Xin Jianzhu) 2 (1936): 1–10, and Jing-mu Liang, “Zhuzhai wenti zhi yanjiu,” Die Neue Baukunst (Xin Jianzhu) 2 (1936): 17–21. 90 Wie, “Dushi jihua yu weilai lixiang dushi fangan,” 1–10 and 17–21, and Ping-yuan Zhao, “Secai jianzhu jia Bruno Taut (fu tu),” Die Neue Baukunst (Xin Jianzhu) 3 (1937): 18–20 (1937a). 91 Zhao, “Chuncui zhuyi zhe Le Corbusier zhi jieshao (fu tu, zhaopian),” 17. 92 Zhao, “Secai jianzhu jia Bruno Taut (fu tu),” 18–20 (1937a).

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on Soviet Constructivist Architecture was also published in the magazine’s fourth issue (pages 8–12). In this article, the principles of new art were summarized as a form of exploration on (1) Cubism’s abstract and geometrical forms and their relations with reality; (2) the relation between the geometrical order of production life and a geometrical form of reality; (3) the new material “glass” as the central form of architecture; and (4) the relation between art and material.93 These concepts and spirits later became the guiding direction of Li’s practices. The call for inventing a kind of “New Architecture” in Die Neue Baukunst was not met by wide enthusiasm around China at that time. At a time when building up national identity was prioritized by the KMT Government and a nationwide war against Japanese invasion was at the doorstep, architecture spoke mainly to the needs of claiming visual legitimacy for the party state by revoking the glories of the Chinese tradition. Li and the Xiangqin students, however, did find an opportunity to fit their ideas in a national-level campaign: the NLM. As was discussed previously, Chiang Kai-shek launched the movement as a part of his ambitious political agenda of mass mobilization and consolidation of his own and the KMT’s ideology. Some of the campaign’s core slogans such as “Promptness,” “Precision,” “Harmoniousness,” “Cleanliness,” and “Discipline” were deemed similar to the major spirits of modernism that Xiangqin architecture students were promoting. These values were mentioned in an article “New Life and Improvement of Residential Houses” in the first issue of Die Neue Baukunst . An illustration that combines the emblem of the NLM and a Le Corbusier building was seen on top of the title on page three94 (Fig. 6.6). In this vein, Li and other Xianggang students voluntarily connected architectural modernism and the NLM. This connection could be both sincere and strategic. On the one hand, Xiangqin architects like Li and Zheng were searching for a discourse that could “translate” their wish to boost modernism’s influence in the Chinese context; on the other hand, to claim the New Architecture went along with New Life was an efficient and legitimate way of competing with the mainstream neo-classical “Chinese” architectural style. In the heightening possibilities of war starting

93 Ping-yuan Zhao, “Sulian xin jianzhu zhi pipan,” Die Neue Baukunst (Xin Jianzhu) 4 (1937): 1–5 (1937b). 94 Long, “Xin shenghuo yu zhuzhai gailiang,” 3–6.

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Fig. 6.6 The first page of Die Neue Baukunst (Xin Jianzhu), First Issue (1936) (Source Die Neue Baukunst (Xin Jianzhu) 1 (1936): 1)

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from 1937, their efforts in calling more attention to the underlying relation between architecture and society (vis-à-vis seeing architecture and monument only as a visual propaganda), nevertheless, were not widely resonated. Consequently, Li began to shift his focus onto building for an air defence city (fangkong dushi), in which he blended his ideas of modernism in urban planning and architecture. Thus, air defence city or architecture remained a major area of exploration of Die Neue Baukunst . After “Luftschutz Bauwesen,” the German term for air defence construction work, was first mentioned in the first issue of the magazine, at least six long essays were dedicated to the design principles and detailed technicalities of building air defence buildings in the first nines issues between 1936 and 1938.95 Zheng Zu-liang even published a book on construction technologies of air defence building (Bautechnischer Luftschutz or fangkong jianzhu) in 1938. Although Li’s early publications and translations focused on urban rebuilding and new urban forms that speak to modern standards, new forms of warfare had already exerted an enormous influence on his thoughts on urban planning. The first part of his long article “Urban Cleansing and Residential Policy” (Dushi zhi jinghua yu zhuzhai zhengce), which was published in the combined issue 5 and 6 of Die Neue Baukunst in 1937, introduced the recent trends and focuses of urban planning and architecture that were discussed in Congrès Internationaux d’Architecture Moderne (CIAM) between 1928 and 1935. Li emphasized on two issues: (1) urban cleansing in relation to the rise and handling of slum areas and (2) the design of residential area. Both of them, according to Li, are closely related to the urban conditions in Europe after WWI. Having weathered air bombings, the European cities were destroyed and were waiting to be rebuilt from the rubbles. Air bombed cities not only became the soil for temporary buildings built by the have-nots and refugees, but also left no place for the surviving soldiers who came back from the frontlines. In other words, postwar debris, ruins of historic architecture and

95 Yong-hao Shi and Ge-yuan Ren, “Research on Air Defence Architecture: Plans for

Air Defence Rooms for the People,” Die Neue Baukunst (Xin Jianzhu) 1 (1936): 7– 11, 2 (1936): 11–16, 3 (1937): 7–17, no. 4 (1937): 10–19, Zu-liang Zheng, “Gaoceng jianzhu lun,” Die Neue Baukunst (Xin Jianzhu) 5–6 (1937): 1–22, and Li-bai Huang, “Investigation to the Construction of Air Defence Architecture in Guangdong Province,” Die Neue Baukunst (Xin Jianzhu) 9 (1938): 5–7.

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scattered slum areas became the stage for urban planners and architects to apply their theories and thoughts to “cleanse” the disorder of the war as well as to provide haven for the home-coming fighters. His final notes on the debate between the two views on urban reconstruction, “the new replacing the old” solution versus the “the old remaining the old,” tried to find a middle way. Depending on the situation, according to Li, the old can be demolished and replaced with the new. On the other hand, the remnants of old buildings can also be refurbished by greens or, when proportion and color are taken into full consideration, it is also possible to blend the old and the new.96 His reference list, unsurprisingly, included Le Corbusier, and Japanese modernist architect Kataoka Yasushi’s (1876– 1946) writing on urban planning. More contemplations on air defence city from Li began to emerge after he moved to Chongqing in 1940, when the war in China already swept over the most important coastal cities. Li and Die Neue Baukunst in Chongqing The publication of Die Neue Baukunst was suspended in 1938 due to the escalating war and the fall of Guangzhou. In 1940, Li resigned from Zhongshan University where he taught and moved to Chongqing, where Zheng Zu-liang had already settled down. The next year Li and Zheng restarted the magazine and formed a studio named “New Architecture.” Meanwhile, they began to teach in Chongqing University’s Architecture Department. As many universities moved to Chongqing after the Japanese occupation of major Chinese cities, Chongqing became the center of Chinese architecture education, which was divided, however, between the Central University School (see Chapter 5) and Chongqing University’s “Lingnan School,” to which Li and Zheng belonged. Leading figures in Chongqing University included Chen Bo-qi (1903–1973), who studied in Berlin Technical University, Xia Shi-chang (1903–1996), a graduate of Karlsruhe and Tuebingen University in Germany, and Long Qing-zhong (1903–1996), who studied at the Tokyo Institute of Technology between 1925 and 1931. All of them were trained in an architectural educational system that prioritized technology and function over form, practical use over symbolism, economic building method over costly project of visual grandeur. As a result, in comparison to Central University’s training, all 96 Lun-jie Li, “Dushi zhi jinghua yu zhuzhai zhengce,” Die Neue Baukunst (Xin Jianzhu) 5–6 (1937): 1–22.

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of them advocated their own training in modernism as the educational guidelines to Chongqing University. The Lingnan School was nevertheless not only found it difficult to compete with the state-supported Central University, whose main focus was on American beaux-art education, but they were also marginalized and even criticized for the origin of their thoughts—Germany and Japan—the two imperialist powers that waged the world war.97 Under such circumstances, Die Neue Baukunst became a significant platform where Li and his colleagues could continue to promote modernist thoughts and practices. It was in Chongqing where Li’s theorization of Chinese New Architecture was formulated in a more historical manner than the articles he published in Guangzhou. In the first issue of the Chongqing Edition of the magazine in 1941, on the occasion of the 5th anniversary of its publication since 1936, Li wrote a long essay titled New Architecture Movement in China in the last Five Years (Wunianlai de zhongguo xinjianzhu yundong ).98 In the beginning, he claims that there were two major periods in the New Cultural Movement that began in 1919: the first stage can be called the “Experimental Period,” when Confucian traditions were vehemently attacked and questioned by the scientific spirit of “seeking truth from facts” (shishi qiushi) proposed by Hu Shih (1891–1962), one of the key figures in New Culture Movement and advocate of the use of vernacular language (baihuawen) in written Chinese. The beginning of the second period, which can be called the “Dialectical Revolutionary Period,” was marked by Guo Moruo’s (1892–1978) Studies on Ancient Chinese Society (Zhongguo gudai shehui yanjiu) published in 1930.99 The influence of both periods on Li and Die Neue Baukunst was huge. While the “Experimental Period” can be seen as a challenge to the forms of the Chinese architecture— those of royal palaces, temples, mausoleums, residences, and cities, the “Dialectical Revolutionary Period” proposes a paradigm of historical materialism, which regards modernity as an outcome of progression, improvement, and evolution to the better—a view that accords with Social

97 Lai, Wu, and Xu, Zhongguo jindai jianzhu shi, volume 5, 297. 98 Ning Li, “Wu nianlai de zhongguo xin jian zhu yundong,” Die Neue Baukunst (Xin

Jianzhu), Yu ban 1 (1941): 1–4 (1941a). 99 Mo-ruo Guo, Studies on Ancient Chinese Society (Zhongguo gudai shehui yanjiu) (Shanghai: Shanghai shu dian, 1989), Introduction.

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Darwinism that had prevailed in the Chinese intellectual world since the late nineteenth century. In this vein, Li further periodized the development of Chinese architecture into three major phases since the May Fourth Movement in 1919. In the first stage, the “Classic Eclectic Period,” Chinese architecture lagged far behind the standards of modern life in terms of structural technology and material. “According to the art theory in progressive materialism,” Li claimed, “if (architectural) form represents social ideology, Chinese architecture represents Chinese feudal culture of 4000 years, namely, the upper structure of the feudal society. The May Fourth Movement replaced Chinese architects’ nostalgia for Chinese classism, which was sponsored by the petite bourgeois class rising from WWI. The rise of the Classic Eclectic style is characterized by the architecture’s modern material and classic forms, among which old palace style was most popular among public architecture.”100 Li regarded Liang Si-cheng, Yingzao Xueshe (Society for the Study of Chinese Architecture) and its magazine Yingzao Congkan (Journal of Society for the Study of Chinese Architecture) as the representative of this period’s zeitgeist. Liang and his fellows endeavored to revive the glories of Chinese architectural heritage and ruins by grafting them with technology from the West. For Li, these efforts were the embodiment of the early May Fourth Spirit and a triumph of the bourgeois class. In the second phase, with the rapid development of treaty ports and cities with foreign concessions such as Shanghai, Tianjin, and Hankou, the colonial style predominated the architecture scene in China. While Western technology was widely embraced and implemented on the Chinese soil, the extent and depth of Chinese architects’ understanding of the theoretical bases of new architectural developments in the West was very limited. Consequently, around the time of the Japanese invasion to the Northeast China in 1931, Chinese architecture was caught up in a chaotic situation: blind nostalgia and unquestioning acceptance of Western techniques went hand in hand. Li saw two journals as the crystallization of the two major (regressive) forces that defined the period’s spirit at that time: Chinese Architecture (Zhongguo Jianzhu) published by Shanghai Architect Society (the West-leaning architects) and Journal of

100 Li, “Wu nianlai de zhongguo xin jianzhu yundong,” 1 (1941a).

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Architecture (Jianzhu Zazhi) published by architectural companies and vendors (the money-pursuing building business).101 Against the backdrop of these two periods, Li again quoted the principle of historical materialism and the Aufhebung in the dialectics of history in Hegelian sense to pave the way for the inevitable advent of the era of New Architecture. Li accounted for the limits of Chinese New Cultural Movement by pointing to the limits of bourgeoise class on the one hand and the weak power of the civic society on the other. By the 1920s, Chinese architecture was far behind the new waves of world architecture initiated by Austrian architect Otto Wagner (1864–1945), who advocated the principle of architecture based on the innate features of material and structure. Li summarized the two major schools of the New Architecture Movement: the first regards architecture as art in space; the second prioritizes function of architecture. The second school can be further divided into two sub-schools: one contends to use the structure of the architecture as its form and the other focuses on achieving the quantitative feeling of architecture through the emphasis on its function. Li then introduced German Formism, which takes architecture as purely instrumental to social life and culture, as well as the global practice of standardization of residential area under Le Corbusier’s influence. At this very point, Li put forward the emergence of New Architecture in China as a part of the world’s New Architecture movement. He reiterated the motto of New Architecture in China as the denial of both nostalgia for Chinese classism and the inclination toward total Westernization. The new wave, starting in Guangzhou in 1936 by the young generation of architects, of whom Li himself was a member, was marked by the birth of the very magazine Die Neue Baukunst in the same year. Li claimed that this new wave arrived at a good timing shortly before the war broke out in China. He saw the New Architecture in China as an important technological Enlightenment Movement that prepared China for new politics, new economy, and new society in the future.102 The article provides the reader with a series of justifications for Lingnan School’s practices at this specific historical moment in China. First of all, it bases its theoretical thesis on the predominant narrative of Enlightenment after the May Fourth Movement in China. Second, while it focuses

101 Li, “Wu nianlai de zhongguo xin jianzhu yundong,” 2–3 (1941a). 102 Li, “Wu nianlai de zhongguo xin jianzhu yundong,” 3 (1941a).

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its criticism on the conservative practices of Chinese architects who either delved only into Chinese traditions or blindly worshipped the colonial West, it tries to position the Chinese New Architecture Movement at an equal status with its Western counterpart—even though it was still a result of the Western influence.103 The possible reason for Li’s “confidence” in his opinions can be read as practicing a different strategy of forming a Chinese nationalist architectural discourse from that of Liang Si-cheng. While Liang and his followers tried to establish the subjectivity of Chinese architecture history by returning to its long historical traditions including techniques, forms, and structures, Li and Lingnan School took function, geometrical abstraction and pragmatism as the universal standard for all nations—a cosmopolitan modernity free from binaries between center and periphery, self and the other, East and West. Finally, the ongoing world war was another global condition that architects all over the world had to face. The devastation of urban areas by air raids, the large number of refugees and (current or future) returning soldiers, and the ruins of old architectural relics posed similar questions to architects everywhere. Interestingly, facing the damages done to the beaux-art project in Shanghai (the Greater Shanghai Plan), Nanjing (The Railway Department Building), and Guangzhou (Sun Yat-sen Memorial Hall) in the war, Li expressed no mourning. On the contrary, Li criticized these architectures as embodiment of “the works that have no close relations with modern life, and have not applied proper attitude in dealing with modern structure and material.”104 The war, for Li, might help the easier progression of the New Architecture Movement in China by removing the undesirable existing buildings. He ended his writing by calling for an even more vigorous movement in wartime Chongqing, as it was in the temporary capital that the magazine as well as the key spirit it promoted was revived.

103 Li mentioned Ecole De Beaux-art in France, DWB and Bauhaus in Germany and De Style in the Netherland as major influences on Chinese New Architecture Movement. See Li, “Wu nianlai de zhongguo xin jianzhu yundong,” 3 (1941a). 104 Li, “Wu nianlai de zhongguo xin jianzhu yundong,” 3–4 (1941a).

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Air Defence City In Chongqing, Li turned his focus of writing understandably toward air defence city not only because it continued the Lingnan School’s emphasis on new building technology, but also because the incessant bombing in Chongqing made the topic extraordinarily urgent. Li’s theorization on air defence does not start with detailed discussions on architecture, which were done in the previous editions of the Die Neue Baukunst in Guangzhou. Rather, he first published an essay on the relation between national power (guoli) and air defence, without going deeply into the details of architecture per se. Under the pen name Li Ning, Li wrote in a passionate tone about the nature of modern warfare. By quoting German military theorist and philosopher Carl von Clausewitz (1780–1831), Li explained in line of von Clausewitz’s famous claim that “War is the continuation of politics by other means” that modern war was abstract, absolute, and thus was involved with the entire nation and its citizens.105 In this vein, it is not possible to dissociate a nation’s power from military power (wuli). More accurately, only when national power was supported by a unified national spirit, namely, the solidarity between the military force and the efforts from every citizen, efficient organization and reserves, could a nation’s power become military power. In face of the abstract and effective attack from the air, especially on densely populated cities, air defence should thus be seen as important a part of national power as military equipment. Notably, this particular attention on defence echoes Clausewitz’s military philosophy that defence, which consists mainly of military and civilian force, and a total war that engages all population in the spirit of nationalism, can be decisive in determining the outcome of a war.106 Defence, in other words, is a form of democratization of military actions. Without directly citing him, Li was probably inspired by von Clausewitz’s writing and thus ended his essay by calling for closely connecting the limited life of the individual with the perpetual life of the nation. Li’s second essay “On Air Defence City” is more concretely related to architecture than the first. A key argument is on the density of the city and the height of the building. He contended that after WWI, modern 105 Ning Li, “Lun guoli yu guotu fangkong: minzu bixu renshi tamen shengcun douzheng de benzhi,” Die Neue Baukunst (Xin Jianzhu), yu ban 2 (1941): 1 (1941b). 106 Michael I. Handel, Clausewitz and Modern Strategy (Psychology Press, 1986), 71.

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warfare evolved from the horizontal to the vertical, largely because of the wide application of military aircrafts.107 The verticalization of military attacks take advantage of the bird’s eye view on city to wreak destruction from afar, making not only human targets but also cities abstract. It is, ironically, from the same vertical perspective that a city planning is conceived. City planning thus shares the same perspective as air raids, as well as of air defence. Li then introduced various theories on building air defence city in the West. Soviet urban planners argued that the width of a street should be wider than the height of the buildings on both of its sides to make community blocks less dense for better air flows, easier transportation of ambulances and fire engines, and better sunlight, thus for better preparation for chemical wars. Planners in Dresden, Germany contended that buildings shall be scattered around or outside the city center in satellite cities to avoid intensive devastation of the city. British Garden City shared the similar idea of dispersing center to urban peripheries. French sculptor Paul Vauthier (1871–1936) argued out of economic reasons that buildings should be made taller so as to save land occupancy. The vertical air defence building was divided into three main parts: a thick upper part serves as protective layer; an underground bunker can protect people from gas attack; and the middle floors be turned to safe zones. In his 1929 classic The City of Tomorrow and Its Planning , Le Corbusier expressed the same views as Vauthier. Based on these existing theories, Li conceived of a practical plan for Chongqing. He put forward his more detailed plans in his essay in Modern Air Defence “On Breaking down Big Cities” (Fenjie dadushi) in 1944, in which his absorption of all the theories he mentioned in “On Air Defence City” is plain to see. The three key components of his air defence city theory, namely, verticality of city building, dispersion of city center, and the building of linear city, would realize his intention of “breaking down” the city to minimize the damage air raids do on the city.108 It is unknown to what extent Li realized his theories in his practices in Chongqing. After the war, Li entered the Chongqing Construction and Planning Committee as an engineer, where he got the commission of

107 Ning Li, “Fangkong dushi lun,” Die Neue Baukunst (Xin Jianzhu), yu ban 2 (1941): 12–13. 108 Ning Li, “Da dushi fenjie lun (fu tu),” Xiandai fangkong 3, no. 2 (1944): 22, 33–36.

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designing the War Victory Stele. While air defence seemed to have gradually lost its urgency, Li’s interest in research on urban planning remained, in particular where his ideas resonate with those of Le Corbusier. Both pieces of his post-war writings in 1947, “On Land Consolidation and a Trial Planning on Streets in Chongqing’s Northern District” and “The Growth of New Cities,” show Le Corbusier’s continuous influence on him. “In times of peace,” Li claimed, “an urban planner is responsible for constructing a new environment to improve society.” For him, a city is built to “not only fight against dictatorship, but also fight for freedom, dream and conquering disease.”109 The above scrutiny of Li’s writings intends to contextualize the theoretical and historical background of the design of the Chongqing War Victory Stele. We see a direct translation of Li’s theories on new architecture, new urban planning, and air defence city in the design of the Victory Stele. First, the stele is, as was discussed previously, a unique monument not only with symbols but also with functions. The lightning rod and wind vane apparently speak to his ideals of air defence with vertical architecture. The observatory shares Li’s preference for a perspective from high above. In times of danger, the observatory could serve as a platform for gathering information about the city under attack. In times of peace, one may get a panoramic view of the Chongqing City the very same that the urban planner took when he/she perceived and designed the city. Second, by means of the time capsule, Li boldly transformed the temporality of war monument in China. While most of the war monuments serve to commemorate only the things of the past, the Chongqing Victory Stele is a memorial for the very present, which he wished the people in the future would admire. His excitement over and confidence in the present echoes his positioning of the New Architecture in the historical development of Chinese architecture. Meanwhile, under Li and Zheng’s editorial supervision, Die Neue Baukunst endeavored to expand the influence of a new trend in Chinese architecture, engineering, and urban planning that prioritizes pragmatic functions, economic use of funding, safety, people’s hygienic and orderly living. As the major voice of a relatively marginal school of architectural practices in wartime China, Die Neue Baukunst integrates the Lingnan School’s ideals with national agendas such as the NLM, the promotion of unified national spirit and wartime city defence 109 Ning Li, “Xin dushi de chengzhang,” Die Neue Baukunst (Xin Jianzhu) 1, no. 3 (1947): 63.

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projects. The writings of Li and others try to construct a competing discourse with those of the Chinese Classical Modernism and Colonial modernism and to gain legitimacy in this competition. As probably the two most significant monuments of “Lingnan modernism,” Guo’s New 1st Army Cemetery and Li’s War Victory Stele, however, were also the last two landmarks of its kind in China. The successive outbreak of the Civil War brought both architects on exile to Hong Kong and neither of them ever returned to the Mainland. Although Guo continued his career as architect in the British colony, Li never worked in architecture after 1949.110 In the new Communist China, the design of the War Victory Stele was not deemed as an achievement but an evidence of his work for the KMT government and thus a blemish in his life. In British Hong Kong, his local training, with which he was not able to obtain architect’s license, discontinued his architectural practices. With the forgetting of both monuments, the ambitious and passionate experiments of the New Architecture came to an abrupt end.

Renaming History: The “Birth” of the Liberation Stele Renaming the Monument Soon after the liberation of Chongqing in November, 1949 and the takeover of the City by the Southwest Military and Administrative Committee under Liu Bo-chen’s leadership, how to deal with a monument built by the KMT Government was put on the new government’s agenda. Unlike the fate of the New 1st Army Cemetery, however, the central position of the Victory Stele made it impossible to hide the colossal structure. It would also be too controversial to destroy it only four years after its erection while the memory of the previous war, which was fought by both Nationalist and Communist Party, was still fresh. A proposal to rename the stele was made in early 1950 by the First People’s Congress in Chongqing and in March 1950 the proposal was submitted by Chongqing Military Control Committee and the Municipal Government to the Southwest Military and Political Committee for approval. The new name of the monument was, however, not settled at 110 Xiao-ping Chen, “Kangzhan Shengli Jigongbei shejishi Li Lun-jie,” accessed November 26, 2019, at: http://mjlsh.usc.cuhk.edu.hk/Book.aspx?cid=4&tid=3103.

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that time. The Party First Secretary and new Mayor Chen Xi-lian (1915– 1999) proposed to change the name to either “Southwest Liberation Memorial Stele (Xi’nan Jiefang Jinianbei)” or “Chongqing Liberation Memorial Stele (Chongqing Jiefang Jinianbei).” While this name was still under consideration, other names of the Chongqing’s public spaces were successively changed: in June, the Municipal Police Office submitted to the Municipal Government A List of Bill of New Names of Streets and Lanes (Xinni jiexiang mingcheng yilanbiao), which eradicated the strong color of the KMT Governance in the city and replaced it with names that advocate Socialist ideals. The NLM Model District was renamed People’s Amusement Park, Guofu Road (Guofu lu) (Republican Government Road) to People’s Road, Zhongzheng Road (Zhongzheng lu) (named after Chiang Kai-shek) to Xinhua Road (Xinhua lu) (New China Road), Linsen Road (Linsen lu) (named after high-ranked official in the KMT) to Liberation Road, and Central Park to People’s Park. The official announcement of the renaming of the stele was made by the Municipal Government in July the same year. The final decision to change the name of the Victory Stele to the People’s Liberation Memorial Stele was also confirmed in the sixth meeting of Southwest Military and Administrative Committee in September 1950. The timing of the renaming of the Victory Stele was not arbitrary. It came shortly before the first anniversary of National Day Celebration on October 1. The surrounding area of the stele was then turned to a podium decorated with a huge head portrait of Mao, where both military and civilian leaders of Chongqing and the Southwest Military Zone reviewed the parade ceremony (Fig. 6.7). Liu Bo-chen not only witnessed the gathering of the masses of the new citizenry in the old city landmark, but also personally wrote the new name of the monument with his distinctive style of calligraphy, which was later engraved onto the central front of the monument facing Minzu Road, covering Chiang’s original inscription. In the Chinese context, the replacement of Chiang’s calligraphy with that of Liu’s was more than a change in the style of writing, but highly symbolic of the change of the power—as inscription of leader’s writings in public space has always been a strong way of exhibiting power on the realm of space and even the nature. From then on, the new Liberation Stele remained its position as the most important site for public gathering and political mobilization, but the memory it was originally designed to evoke has shifted from one kind of victory to another.

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Fig. 6.7 The First National Day Celebration at the Liberation Stele (1950) (Source Public Domain)

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Moreover, even after the inscription was altered, as the monument itself carries very limited number of symbolic icons that directly speak to the new regime, new icons were continuously added to further “decorate” it. In the very few images of the monument that are found in the archives, we see, for example, images of doves of peace were made into large decorative boards on the celebration day of the establishment of the People’s Liberation Army in 1950, which were first published in Chongqing Zhengbao, a government-run magazine (Fig. 6.8).

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Fig. 6.8 The Peace Dove at the Liberation Stele on August 1, the Army Day, 1950 (Source Chongqing Zhengbao, Special Memorial Issue for the First Anniversary of the Liberation of Chongqing, 1950)

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A Mao Zedong portrait was installed on the front side of the Stele’s base. At night, decorative lights were lit up, from the top to the bottom of the entire body of the monument. Another image found in the December 1952 issue of People’s Pictorial (Renmin Huabao), a major propaganda magazine targeting international audience, shows the Liberation Stele lavishly fashioned with the head portraits of both Mao and Stalin, floral patterns, red stars, peace dove emblems, other celebratory themes and the national flags of the PRC and the Soviet Union. People gathered around a stage built in front of the Stele; a banner hanging from the top of the observatory welcomed the 12 Soviet representatives of filmmakers and the Red Flag Song and Dance Ensemble formed a part of the events during the Sino-Soviet Friendship Month (Fig. 6.9). In 1958, a round flower bed was built around the stele and the podium was often used as a platform for parade inspections and cultural performances. In sum, the monument now served no more than a memorial to the Chinese modernity in the way Li Lun-jie had conceived of—a modern city stimulated by the modern war but with the intention of protecting itself from it. The monument’s functional elements were forgotten and its “archives,” both aboveground and underground, also disappeared from the public memory as new icons were heaped over them. Huge political banners were hung from the observatory down to the bottom of the monument. Ironically, however, as most of the architectural legacies from the Republican period was destroyed, damaged, or hidden, the renaming of the monument and the amnesia of its past life has helped it to weather the political turmoil that brought the city into chaos later, in particular, during the Cultural Revolution.

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Fig. 6.9 Welcoming Ceremony of Soviet Cultural Professionals at the Liberation Stele (1952) (Source China Pictorial, [December 1952]: 1)

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Conclusion: The Monument That Has Two Names The end of the Cultural Revolution and the reform and opening up of China that immediately followed brought new “functions” to the memorial. In an image from the early 1980s, we see a banner propagating “Family Planning Policy” (jihua shengyu zhengce) hanging on the memorial. The utilization of the memorial as a signboard illustrates the monument’s continuous loss of its original meaning. The “de-sublimation” took a step further after the 1989 student movement when Chinese society began to deepen capitalistic marketization at an unprecedented speed. A debate on the appropriateness of the outlook of the memorial was published in a Chongqing local newspaper in 1993. According to the report, seven of the eight corners of the monument were occupied by advertisements. The government spokesman explained that the income from the advertisement was to make up for the shortfall of the preservation costs. While some journalists claimed that the Liberation Stele was finally “liberated” and some government officials contended that economic contribution was the biggest political contribution, some other officials criticized the commercialization of the memorial, which should be kept in a clean and solemn condition at all times. One opponent proposed with irony that an advertisement be hung on the People’s Heroes Monument on Beijing’s Tiananmen Square to achieve a better effect. He even produced a photo album with photos from his trip to the US, pointing out that there was no advertisements on any of the US monuments.111 Meanwhile, with the alleviation of cross-strait tensions, the meaning and even the name of the monument was also under a new round of review. The newspaper report mentioned in the previous paragraph also stated that when tourists from Taiwan hoped to see the original look of the Spiritual Fortress when they came to Chongqing, they were disappointed by the socialist banners that were hanging on the memorial. The local authority later decided to remove the banners but still decorated the monument with flowers and balloons during festivals. In fact, in April 1991, the original name of the Stele made a partial comeback when it was listed as a Major Historical and Cultural Site Protected at the Provincial

111 “Jiefangbei pi shang guanggao, shancheng shi zhongshuofenyun,” China Business Times, March 11, 1993.

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Level of Sichuan Province. A bracket with the original name was added onto the current name. Another turning point of the change of symbolism and function of the monument emerged in 1997, when Chongqing became a municipality directly under the Central Government: a decision was made to renovate the Liberation Stele and renew the surrounding Square and turn it into a shopping center. The project was not only an important Imagineering Project of the city that was newly upgraded to the national administrative level but was also listed as one of the ten major “practical things” (shishi) Chongqing Government promised the people of the city to achieve in that year. The eight cylinders around the monument were cleaned, the iron fences were removed, maple colored granite was used to rebuild the podium, new lighting devices were mounted and a three-layer flower bed bands were set down as ornaments around the bottom of the monument with benches for people to sit.112 The stele was paradoxically re-emphasized as the city’s most symbolic image, created by all the glittering skyscrapers of shopping malls, hotels, and office buildings surrounding it but was simultaneously distanced from its relation with the war it originally commemorated. Since 2000, Chongqing became one of the centers of a new national policy of “Western Development” (xibu dakaifa), which aimed at modernizing and vitalizing the economic dynamics of the less developed western inland regions of China by bringing capital and resources from the eastern coastal areas. The Liberation Stele was further appropriated to become the iconic image of this rapid progression of the Western Development. In the same year, the status of the stele was re-approved as the Major Historical and Cultural Site Protected at the Municipal Level of Chongqing. Is it still possible or necessary to retrieve the original name of the memorial? As the beginning of the chapter shows, the possibility of this retrieval now seems only possible in the Film Studio on the outskirt of the city. As the KMT members in Taiwan requested to restore the original name of the monument,113 and the Chinese government also recognized the monument’s important role in the United Front policy, the most recent move toward this goal was the upgrading of the Stele to one of the

112 Deng, Peidu suzong, 159. 113 “Lishi jiyi zenfen guogong?: liangan gezi jinian Chongqing Jiefangbei, heshi huifu

Kangzhan Shengli Jigongbei,” United Daily News, May 7, 2015.

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National Historical and Cultural Site under protection in the 7th patch in 2013. In the same year, most importantly, the name of the monument was officially altered to War Victory cum People’s Liberation Stele and a copper plague was erected at the foot of monument to introduce its history before and after the war. Finally, the two names of the monument have come together as one.

Glossary baihuawen 白話文 bubaile 不擺了 Chaotianmen 朝天門 Chen Li-fu 陳立夫 Chen Bo-qi 陳伯齊 Chen Xi-lian 陳錫聯 Chongqing Zhengbao 《重慶政報》 Chongqing Jiefang Jinianbei 重慶解放紀念碑 chuncui zhuyi zhe 純粹主義者 Dongjiadu 董家渡 Dushi zhi jinghua yu zhuzhai zhengce 《都市之淨化與住宅政策》 Duyou jie 都郵街 fangkong dushi 防空都市 Fangkong jianzhu 《防空建筑》 feiji matou 飛機碼頭 Feng Xiao-gang 馮小剛 Fenjie dadushi 《分解大都市》 gongwuju 工務局 gongli zhansheng 公理戰勝 Guofang zuigao weiyuanhui 國防最高委員會 guoli 國力 guojia, minzu zhishang 國家民族至上 Guomin jingshen dongyuan yundong 國民精神動員運動 Guo Mo-ruo 郭沫若 Guofu lu 國府路 Haitangxi 海棠溪 He Guo-guang 賀國光 Hengdian 橫店 Hu Shih 胡適 jianzhu gongcheng xueshe 建築工程學會

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Jianzhu Zazhi 《建築雜誌》 Jiaochangkou 較場口 Jiefangbei 解放碑 jiefang zhanzheng 解放戰爭 Jigongbei 紀功碑 jihua shengyu zhengce 計劃生育政策 junshi, shengli di yi 軍事, 勝利第一 Kangzhan Shengli Jigongbei 抗戰勝利紀功碑 Kataoka Yasushi 片岡安 Konoe Fumimaro 近衞文麿 Kokumin Seishin S¯od¯oin Und¯o 国民精神総動員運動 li, yi, lian, chi 禮, 義, 廉, 恥 Li Lun-jie 黎倫傑 Liangjiang guoji yingshicheng 兩江國際影視城 Lianglukou 兩路口 Linjiangmen 臨江門 Lin Ke-ming 林克明 Linsen lu 林森路 Liu Bo-chen 劉伯承 Long Qing-zhong 龍慶忠 Minsheng lu 民生路 Minquan lu 民權路 Minzu lu 民族路 peidu 陪都 Qixinggang 七星崗 Quanmin kangdi gongyue 《全民抗敵公約》 Renmin Huabao 《人民畫報》 Shang Wei-shan 尚维善 Shangqing Si 上清寺 Shiliugang 石榴崗 shishi qiushi 實事求是 shishi 實事 Tianfu 天府 Tongyuanmen 通遠門 Wang Jing-wei 汪精衛 Wu Ding-chang 吳鼎昌 Wu Tie-cheng 吳鐵城 wuli 武力

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Wunianlai de zhongguo xinjianzhu yundong 《五年來的中國新建築運 動》 Xia Shi-chang 夏世昌 Xiaoshizi 小什字 xibu dakaifa 西部大開發 xinshenghuo yundong 新生活運動 Xinyun fuwusuo guangchang 新(生活)運(動)服務所廣場 Xinhua lu 新華路 Xinni jiexiang mingcheng yilanbiao 《新擬街巷名稱一覽表》 Xi’nan Jiefang Jinianbei 西南解放紀念碑 Xin Jianzhu 《新建築》 yandian 艷電 Yingzao Xueshe 營造學社 Yingzao Congkan 《營造叢刊》 yizhi, liliang jizhong 意志, 力量集中 Zhang Du-lun 張篤倫 Zhang Qun 張群 Zhang Zhi-zhong 張治中 Zhenyuantang 真原堂 Zheng Zu-liang 鄭祖良 zhennan mu 楨楠木 Zhongguo Jianzhu 《中國建築》 Zhongyang Ribao 《中央日報》 Zhongguo gudai shehui yanjiu 《中國古代社會研究》 Zhongguo benwei de wenhua jianzhi xuanyuan 《中國本位的文化建設 宣言》 Zhongzheng lu 中正路 Zhu Shao-liang 朱紹良 Zourong lu 鄒容路

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British Moviestone. Chongqing Bombed. 1940. Accessed January 15, 2020. At: http://www.aparchive.com/metadata/youtube/97ff9581023c49e b93093dfadb882516. Chen, Tie-jian, and Dao-xuan Huang. Jiang Jieshi: yige lixingzhe de jingshen shijie. Hong Kong: Hong Kong Open Page Publishing Company Limited, 2013. Chen, Xiao-ping. “Kangzhan Shengli Jigongbei shejishi Li Lun-jie.” Accessed November 26, 2019. At: http://mjlsh.usc.cuhk.edu.hk/Book.aspx?cid=4& tid=3103. Chiang, Kai-shek. “Zai gao gedi shishen ji jiaoyu jie tongbao shu.” Sing Tao Weekly (Hong Kong) 15 (1939): 1 (1939a). Chiang, Kai-shek. “‘Bayisan’ er zhounian jinian ri gao Shanghai tongbao shu.” Shidai jingshen 1, no. 2 (1939): 145–148 (1939b). Chongqing Bombed Again-Fights on. 1942. Accessed January 15, 2020. At: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=34e0Ao_AnUg. National Archives and Records Administration - ARC 38928, LI 208-UN-23. “Chongqing shi Kangzhan Shengli Jigongbei gongcheng guifanshu.” 1946. Chongqing shi danganguan. File number: 0053-0019-02988-0000-049-000. Co-editing Committee of modern history of three countries in East Asia. The Modern History of Three East Asian Countries. Hong Kong: Joint Publishing (Hong Kong) Company Limited, 2005. Deng, You-ping. Peidu suzong. Chongqing: Chongqing chuban she, 2005. “Diandi.” Jianzhu 4 (1943): 44–47. Dirlik, Arif. “The Ideological Foundations of the New Life Movement: A Study in Counterrevolution.” The Journal of Asian Studies 34, no. 4 (August 1975): 945–980. Dong, Jin-gui. “Jingshen dongyuan san zhounian jinian.” In Texie peidu. Chongqing: Qingnian tushu she, 1944. Fo, Yun. “Increasingly Stronger Spiritual Fortress of Our Nation” (Riyi zengqiang de woguo jingshen baolei) Shengli, no. 102 (1940): 0. “Gen. Chiang Issues Message to Shanghai.” North-China Daily News, August 14, 1939, 8. Guo, Mo-ruo. Studies on Ancient Chinese Society (Zhongguo gudai shehui yanjiu). Shanghai: Shanghai shu dian, 1989. Guofang zuigao weiyuanhui. “Guomin jingshen zongdongyuan hui sanshiyi du yi yuefen zhi jiu yuefen gongzuo zong baogao.” Guomin jingshen zongdongyuan zuzhi dagang guomin gongyue zongdongyuan gangling ji shou bing shehui bu jie ban, March, 1939. In Zongguo guomindang wenhua chuanbo weiyuanhui dang shi guan. File number: fang 001/0016. “Guomin jingshen zongdongyuan hui Zhongyang jigou zuzhi fagui an.” 1940. Military Intelligence Bureau. File number: A305050000C/0029/0111/5000. Accessed January 15, 2020. At: https:// art.archives.gov.tw/FilePublish.aspx?FileID=1285.

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“Guomin jingshen zongdongyuan hui mishu chu xinhan.” 1941. Chongqing shi danganguan. File number: 00600001001870000027. Handel, Michael I. Clausewitz and Modern Strategy. Psychology Press, 1986. Hu, Huo. “Erecting Spiritual Fortress” (Jianli jingshen baolei). Zonghe banyuekan, no. 1 (1939): 4-5. Huang, Li-bai. “Investigation to the Construction of Air Defence Architecture in Guangdong Province.” Die Neue Baukunst (Xin Jianzhu) 9 (1938): 5–7. “Jianli Kangzhan Shengli Jinianbei jihua de tichu.” In Chongqing lishi shang de jintian. Chongqing shi dangan ju. Accessed August 26, 2015. At: https:// jda.cq.gov.cn/byrw/bysj/cqlssdjt/33641.htm. “Jiefangbei de ‘simian zhong.’” Chongqing shi dangan ju. Accessed August 26, 2015. At: https://jda.cq.gov.cn/byrw/bysj/cqlssdjt/14312.htm. “Jiefangbei pi shang guanggao, shancheng shi zhongshuofenyun.” China Business Times, March 11, 1993. “Jigongbei zhi jianzhu buzhi.” October 1947. Chongqing shi danganguan. File number: 0075-0001-00041-0200-405-001. “Kangzhan Shengli Jigongbei gongcheng heyue.” 1946. Chongqing shi danganguan. File number: 053-0019-02988-0000-049-000. Lai, De-lin, Jiang Wu, and Su-bin Xu. Zhongguo jindai jianzhu shi, volume 5. Beijing: Zhongguo jianzhu gongye chuban she, 2016. “Letter exchanges between P.B. Field and Louis Chang, son of Mayor Zhang Du-lun.” N.d. Chongqing shi danganguan. File Number: 0075-0001-00041-0100-170-000. “Letter from F. D. Roosevelt to Chiang Kai-shek.” May 25, 1944. Chongqing shi danganguan. File number: 053-0010-0016/8-0100-135-000. Li, Lun-jie. “Dushi zhi jinghua yu zhuzhai zhengce.” Die Neue Baukunst (Xin Jianzhu) 5–6 (1937): 1–22. Li, Ning. “Da dushi fenjie lun (fu tu).” Xiandai fangkong 3, no. 2 (1944): 22, 33–36. Li, Ning. “Fangkong dushi lun.” Die Neue Baukunst (Xin Jianzhu), yu ban 2 (1941): 12–13. Li, Ning. “Wu nianlai de zhongguo xin jianzhu yundong.” Die Neue Baukunst (Xin Jianzhu), Yu ban 1 (1941): 1–4 (1941a). Li, Ning. “Lun guoli yu guotu fangkong: minzu bixu renshi tamen shengcun douzheng de benzhi.” Die Neue Baukunst (Xin Jianzhu), yu ban 2 (1941): 1 (1941b). Li, Ning. “Xin dushi de chengzhang.” Die Neue Baukunst (Xin Jianzhu) 1, no. 3 (1947): 61–63. Li, Wan-bo. “On the National Spirit Mobilization Movement during the AntiJapanese War in Chongqing.” Master Thesis, Southwest University, 2013. Liang, Jing-mu. “Zhuzhai wenti zhi yanjiu.” Die Neue Baukunst (Xin Jianzhu) 2 (1936): 17–21.

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“Lishi jiyi zenfen guogong?: liangan gezi jinian Chongqing Jiefangbei, heshi huifu Kangzhan Shengli Jigongbei.” United Daily News, May 7, 2015. Liu, ◯◯. “Constructing Spiritual Fortress—To the First Army Day Anniversary on July 7th” (Jianzhu jingshen baolei: sanshiqi nian qi yue qi ri shoujie lujun jie jinian) 1948, 3. Liu, Shi. “Reiterating Chiang Kai-shek’s Speech on Spiritual Fortress” (Jiaqiang women de jingshen baolei) Quanmin kangzhan, no. 66 (1939): 933. Long, Jing-gong. “Xin shenghuo yu zhuzhai gailiang.” Die Neue Baukunst (Xin Jianzhu) 1 (1936): 3–6. Lu, Si-hong. Xin Chongqing. Shanghai: Zhonghua shu ju, 1939. “Official Letter to Association of National Spiritual Mobilization.” 1941. Chongqing shi danganguan. File number: 0053-0020-00412-0000-001-000. Pan, Xun. Kangri zhanzheng shiqi Chongqing dahongzha yanjiu. Beijing: Shang wu yin shu guan, 2013. Pan, Xun, and Yong Zhou. Kangzhan shiqi Chongqing dahongzha rizhi. Chongqing: Chongqing chuban she, 2011. “Peidu gejie shengda qingzhu yuandan: jingshen baolei qian huansong weilao tuan.” In Zhongyang Ribao (Central Daily), January 2, 1942, 3. “Peidu ‘jingshen baolei’.” Yiwenhuabao 1, no. 3 (1946): 36. “Peidu kangzhan ji gong bei sheji wancheng.” Zheng xin xinwen (Chongqing), no. 504 (1946): 2. “Peidu minzhong relie xingfen zhong jinian jingshen zongdongyuan jieri.” Zhongyang Ribao (Central Daily), March 12, 1942, 2. Peng, Chang-xin. Xiandaixing, difangxing: lingnan chengshi yu jianzhu de jindai zhuanxing. Shanghai Shi: Tongji daxue chuban she, 2012. Qin, Xiao-yi. Xian zongtong jianggong sixiang yanlun zongji. Taipei shi: Zhongguo guo min dang zhong yang wei yuan hui dang shi wei yuan hui: Jing xiao chu Zhong yang wen wu gong ying she, 1984. Reuters. After Five Years of War Chongqing Today. 1942. Accessed January 15, 2020. At: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bISqBHfiTjM. Reuters. China-Chongqing Collects. 1943. Accessed January 15, 2020. At: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Q4mR3cvSOIM. Ruan, Yi-cheng. “Spiritual Fortress of Civil Servants” (Gongwuyuan de jingshen baolei). Zhejiang sheng difang xingzheng ganbu xunliantuan tuankan 34 (1943): 3–5. “Shancheng fengguang.” Xinxing 2 (1945): 12. Shi, Yong-hao, and Ge-yuan Ren. Research on Air Defence Architecture: Plans for Air Defence Rooms for the People, 1 (1936): 7–11, 2 (1936): 11–16, 3 (1937): 7–17, no. 4 (1937): 10–19. “Showing Results for Bombing of Chungking.” Times. Accessed January 15, 2020. At: https://time.com/search/?site=time&q=Bombing+of+chungking.

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“Showing Results for Bombing of Chungking from 1940–1945.” LA Times. Accessed January 15, 2020. At: https://www.newspapers.com/search/#lnd= 1&query=bombing+of+chungking&dr_year=1940-1945&t=4312. “Showing Results for Chungking from 01/01/1940–12/31/1945.” New York Times. Accessed January 15, 2020. At: https://www.nytimes.com/search? dropmab=true&endDate=19451231&query=chungking&sort=oldest&startD ate=19400101. “Tongbao.” March 1942. Chongqing shi danganguan. File number: 02950001010590000134000. “Wan ren zheng kan jinianbei, qun ge feichu bianpao sheng Zhong jiancai, yongchuibuxiu xiangzheng Chongqing jianshe.” Xin Chongqing 1, no. 4 (1947): 30–31. Wang, Fu. “Chuancheng lishi qiushi cun zhen: ‘Chongqing shi jianzhu zhi’ suo shou ruogan jindai jianzhu shi shiliao xuanji.” In Zhongguo jianzhu ye nianjian, 568–576, 1998. Wang, Xiao-si, and Fei Li. “The Ritual Scene of Spiritual Mobilization: The National Monthly Meeting during the Period of Anti-Japanese War.” Wuhan University Journal: Arts & Humanity 70, no. 5 (2017): 79–89. Wang, Wei-ying, and Jun-tao Xie. “Reinforcing Our Party’s Spiritual Fortress” (Gonggu bendang jingshen baolei). Sanmin zhuyi banyuekan 6, no. 10 (1945): 28–32. Wang, Zhi-kun, and Xiao-geng Zhang. “Xianwei renzhi de Kangzhan Shengli Jigongbei fudiao.” Hongyan chunqiu zazhi she, September 24, 2014. Wie, Xin-ling. “Dushi jihua yu weilai lixiang dushi fangan.” Die Neue Baukunst (Xin Jianzhu) 2 (1936): 1–10. “Wu yuefen guomin jingshen zongdongyuan hui mishu chu gongzuo baogao.” June 1940. Guofang dangan. No file numbers. Xue, Li-yong. “Yuyin bu jue da zimingzhong.” Xinmin wanbao, June 16, 2013. Yang, Guang-yan, and Xun Pan. “Kangzhan shiqi riji kongxi Chongqing he Chongqing fan kongxi douzheng shulun.” Qingzhu kangzhan shengli wushi zhounian liangan xueshu yantao hui lunwen ji (shangce), 560–579, 1996. “Yu shiye junguan babai ren qingyuan.” Xinmin Evening News, October 18, 1946. Zeng, Xiao-yong, Qian-sheng Peng, and Xiao-xun Wang. 1938–1943: Chongqing da hong zha. Wuhan Shi: Hubei renmin chuban she, 2005. Zhang, Gong, Zhi-xian Mou, and Chongqing peidu shishu xi bian wei hui. Guomin zhengfu Chongqing peidu shi. Chongqing: xinan shifan daxue chuban she, 1993. Zhao, Ping-yuan. “Chuncui zhuyi zhe Le Corbusier zhi jieshao (fu tu, zhaopian).” Die Neue Baukunst (Xin Jianzhu) 1 (1936): 17–20. Zhao, Ping-yuan. “Secai jianzhu jia Bruno Taut (fu tu).” Die Neue Baukunst (Xin Jianzhu) 3 (1937): 18–20 (1937a).

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Zhao, Ping-yuan. “Sulian xin jianzhu zhi pipan.” Die Neue Baukunst (Xin Jianzhu) 4 (1937): 1–5 (1937b). Zheng, Zu-liang. “Gaoceng jianzhu lun.” Die Neue Baukunst (Xin Jianzhu) 5–6 (1937): 1–22. Zhonghua minguo guomin zhengfu. “Guomin zhengfu yizhu Chongqing xuanyan.” November 20, 1937. Zhou, Yong, Quan Chen, and Lu-lu Zhang. Chongqing kangzhan shi: 1931–1945. Chongqing: Chongqing chuban she, 2013. Zhu, Zhen-hua. “Spiritual Fortress of Chinese Nation” (Zhonghua minzu de jingshen baolei). Guoji yuekan (Shanghai) 1, no. 2 (1939): 6–8. “Zunshou shijian zhixu, peiyang xin de jingshen, peidu chongjian jingshen baolei, she biaozhun zhong che houche lan.” Zhongyang Ribao (Central Daily), October 21, 1943, 3.

CHAPTER 7

Conclusion

Visuality Against Visuality---The Right to Look in East Asia and WWII Monuments in Greater China So far, I have scrutinized the five commemorative artefacts through their aesthetical and spatial configurations in two senses. First, the monument is regarded both as physical architecture and a visual object whose representations are circulated in various media. In the case of Sihang Warehouse, images of the structure in film, paintings, and photographs interplay with its past and current physical form, be it seen as a national icon or war ruins. Hong Kong’s Cenotaph, designed by British architect Edwin Lutyens, blends classical revival and Roman and Greek forms and reveals how the UK established its visual network of imperial symbolism in its colonies in the early twentieth century. In Taipei, the design of the Martyr’s Shrine adopted a “transported” architectural style, which served a highly strong visual message to the public about the Nationalist-led government’s political will and power in Taiwan. It also aimed to exorcize the Japanese colonial ghosts—the Taiwan Shinto Shrine and its haunting memories in film, paintings, textbooks, travel guidebooks, photographs, maps, and other forms of everyday culture. The study on the Cemetery in Guangzhou focuses on how its layout tries to speak to an emerging abstract modernism in competition with the beaux-art style and colonial architectural modernism in Chinese monuments at that time. In this © The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Nature Singapore Pte Ltd. 2020 L. Pan, Image, Imagination and Imaginarium, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-981-15-9674-2_7

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connection, the Victory Stele has to be examined in comparison with its air raid destroyed precedent the “Spiritual Fortress” in their design. While the Spiritual Fortress resembles a smoke signal in the military tradition of ancient China, the main component of the new monument was a fourfaced clock, a weathervane and four reliefs, which apparently alluded to the aesthetics and functionalism of European modernism. Second, the monument is viewed as a public space where not only rituals, civic activities, political campaigns and rallies and other public events take place but also an open space for civic use. This book especially underscores how the material existence and the meaning of the monumental space have transformed in relation to its neighboring environment. In these transformations, while all monuments in question were planned to have an enduring significance and a linear visual power to its spectator, the intended nature and function of the monuments, however, may not continue unchanged or are not necessarily maintained. Conjuring up interesting links between transnational architectural modernism and modern warfare, Sihang Warehouse played an important role in the battle thanks to its location and structure. In Hong Kong, the postwar Statue Square has lost its prewar function as a space that showed off the colonial power and shifted gradually under the continued but mutated colonial rule toward a neutralized civic space for public leisure. The Cenotaph, as the only remaining monument from the prewar Statue Square, has thus become marginalized and forgotten. In Taipei, the Martyr’s Shrine has also experienced a rewriting of meaning through its spatial reconfiguration. The demolition of the Japanese Shinto shrine and the erection of the Martyrs’ Shrine aimed clearly at iconizing the Yuanshan area in the KMT’s definition of Chineseness. While the choice of location of Guangzhou’s New First Army Cemetery by Sun Li-jen brought to light an episode of the monumentation of Guangzhou as the “Southern Capital” in the Republican Period, its disappearance and its dismemberment after the Civil War not only revealed the violent process of forgetting, but also of urban transformation. Li Lun-jie’s dream of building an “air defense city” was not fully realized in Chongqing, but the War Victory Stele can still be seen as a monument of his major architectural thoughts. With the celebration and mobilization rituals that were held around the square both during and after the war, the Victory Stele stands as a landmark that constructed an “imagined community” in the war-weathered public space in Chongqing.

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In his The Right to Look: A Counterhistory of Visuality, Nicholas Mirzoeff defines “visuality” as follows: In 1840, visuality was named as such in English by the historian Thomas Carlyle (1795–1881) to refer to what he called the tradition of heroic leadership, which visualizes history to sustain autocratic authority. Carlyle attempted to conjure the Hero as a mystical figure, a “living light fountain that it is good and pleasant to be near…” Authority is thus visibly able to set things in motion, and that is then felt to be right: it is aesthetic. Visuality supplemented the violence of authority and its separations, forming a complex that came to seem natural by virtue of its investment in “history.” …Visualizing is the production of visuality, meaning the making of the processes of “history” perceptible to authority. Visuality sought to present authority as self-evident, that “division of the sensible whereby domination imposes the sensible evidence of its legitimacy.” Despite its name, this process is not composed simply of visual perceptions in the physical sense but is formed by a set of relations combining information, imagination, and insight into a rendition of physical and psychic space.1

In this sense, visuality is similar to what Ranciere calls “the police,” a term he uses to describe an order that stabilizes, regulates, and naturalizes our senses.2 In Mirzoeff’s formulation, visuality is modeled on three principles: classifying (naming and nominating visual existence), separating (drawing boundaries between social groups, classes, nation, and other collective shaping force that would transform itself into political subjects), and aestheticizing (in Fanon’s term, as quoted in Mirzoff, “an ‘aesthetic of respect for the status quo,’ the aesthetics of the proper, of duty, of what is felt to be right and hence pleasing, ultimately even beautiful.”).3 In this “complex of visuality,” we may say that monuments are typical objects of visuality, which are aestheticized artefacts that are built by the authority for the authority. They create a normality in the everyday space, claiming an exclusive right to decide who is to look. Mirzoeff’s theorization of visuality intends to tease a way out of it: the counter-visuality that is realized by the autonomy of the right to look. This autonomy 1 Nicholas Mirzoeff, The Right to Look: A Counterhistory of Visuality (Durham: Duke University Press, 2011), 3. 2 Jacques Rancière, Dissensus: On Politics and Aesthetics, translated by Steven Corcoran (London and New York: Continuum, 2010). 3 Mirzoeff, The Right to Look: A Counterhistory of Visuality, 4.

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refuses to be segregated, and spontaneously invents new forms. It is … a claim of the right to the real as the key to a democratic politics. That politics is not messianic or to come, but has a persistent genealogy that is explored in this book, from the opposition to slavery of all kinds to anticolonial, anti-imperial, and anti-fascist politics. Claiming the right to look has come to mean moving past such spontaneous oppositional undoing toward an autonomy based on one of its first principles: the right to existence.4

According to Mirzoeff, however, the right to look as an alternative to visuality as authority is not a right to be produced. Rather, it has always been there, embedded in the visuality per se. Thus, “[v]isuality is not the visible… (and it is both) a medium for the transmission and dissemination of authority, and a means for the mediation of those subject to that authority.”5 Echoing again Ranciere’s claim that aesthetics is at its core politics, “the system of a priori forms determining what presents itself to sense experience,”6 Mirzoeff’s visuality is “always already opposed and in struggle.” Or, “visuality is not war by other means, it is war.”7 In fact, the five cases discussed in this book are not the best examples of what Mirzoeff conceives as counter-visuality. Rather, the book shows more about competitions between various versions of visuality. We see that the visuality of the five monuments were renamed, reshaped, denied, marginalized, and hidden by a new visuality of the authority—a (new) colonizer, a new regime, or a shifted policy. Similar to the suspension of decolonization in the region I mentioned in the introduction, the same crisis of the construction of visuality today was also discussed in Mirzoeff as a legacy of the Cold War politics: The emergence of the Cold War division between the United States and the Soviet Union almost immediately forced metropolitan and decolonial politics into a pattern whereby being anticolonial implied communist

4 Mirzoeff, The Right to Look: A Counterhistory of Visuality, 4. 5 Mirzoeff, The Right to Look: A Counterhistory of Visuality, xiiv, xv. 6 Jacques Rancière, The Politics of Aesthetics: The Distribution of the Sensible (London

and New York: Continuum, 2004), 13. 7 Mirzoeff, The Right to Look: A Counterhistory of Visuality, 6.

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sympathies and supporting colonial domination was a part of being proWestern. This classification became separation in almost the same moment, at once aestheticized as “freedom.”8

There are, of course, moments of emergence of counter-visuality, as can be seen in Kamei Fumio’s pensive shots of the ruins of Sihang Warehouse in his film, or in Guo Yuan-xi and Li Lun-jie’s challenges to the two prevailing visualities of Chinese national monuments in China. However, in general, the war in the visuality in these cases did not happen only between the self and the other, but also between the internal selves. The “Asianness” in the war of visuality are complexly layered: it is a contestation between visualities, visuality, and counter-visuality within the alleged visuality. In these monuments, visualities of nationalisms, anti-colonialism, colonialism, imperialism and anti-imperialism, paradoxically, merge with each other.

Counter-Visuality in Contemporary Art: Four Cases from Japan and Taiwan It is probably in the contemporary art projects that this counter-visuality in the monuments can be more easily located and sensed. In this final section, I discuss how the contemporary artworks of Japanese and Taiwanese artists who deal with the relics of Shinto shrines and Martyrs’ Shrine in Taiwan can offer us an alternative view toward the conceptually (not just physically) ruined monuments. Unlike the official representations of these shrines that were built in the colonial and postwar periods, contemporary artists adopt various strategies to “reconstruct” the existing visual images and even the physical existence of monuments. These strategies disturb the memory tracks that the commemorative spaces originally attempt to etch into the public consciousness. To explore this topic further, I select four art projects relevant to the memory-remaking of shrines in Taiwan. In 2005, on the original site of the Kio-A-Thau Shinto Shrine in Kaohsiung, Japanese artist Okamoto Mitsuhiro (1968–) physically reconstructed a Japanese stone lantern ch¯ ozuya (a place for cleaning one’s hands and mouth with water before entering the shrine space) and a

8 Mirzoeff, The Right to Look: A Counterhistory of Visuality, 18–19.

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stone stele bearing the name of the shrine. Another Japanese artist Shitamichi Motoyuki (1978–) launched the long-term project Torii in 2006 where he photographed existing and non-existing relics of toriis of Shinto shrines and their surroundings in the former colonies of Japan, including Taiwan, Manchuria, Korea, Saipan, Tenian, and Russia. Although this project did not focus exclusively on Taiwan, 16 out of the 30 sites Shitamichi photographed up to 2012 are located across Taiwan. This number indicated that Taiwan remains with the largest number of visible legacies of Shinto shrines in the region up to this day. The artist also included diary entries of his trip in Taiwan in the Torii catalogue, and these entries well illustrate the close relationship between Taiwan with his journey of understanding overseas toriis . The project Torii (2006–2012) “rediscovers” the unnamed and often transformed remnants of these past war monuments after the disappearance of their main bodies. On Taiwan’s side, photographer Tsao Liang-pin (1977–) started the photographic project “Becoming/Taiwanese” (Xiangxiangzhisuo) in 2016, which focused on two sets of images of Shinto shrines and martyrs’ shrines, many of which have been transformed from the former, in Taiwan. The first set included black-and-white archival images or images from private sources taken during the Japanese colonial period and in the early postwar years, while the second set included photos of the same spots that were captured in the first set of photos taken now. Through these images, Tsao shared his opinions on the present-day martyrs’ shrinse and those people who once set foot in this area. Chen Fei-hao (1985–) uses various media to reconnect the images of Shinto and commemorative shrines. Chen has conducted four projects on the history of Shinto shrines in Taiwan and their current topological environments since 2015. By using various media including photography, archival documents, computer graphics, videos, and drawings, Chen blended the images and memories of shrines from the past with those of the present. Unlike the chronological and linear historical materials etched on these monuments, these art projects evoke moments in time and space as interstices in both the artistic consciousness and photographic unconsciousness. Through the visuality and counter-visuality they created, these projects allow us to see these monuments beyond official historical records, ask new questions about the relationship between grand national monuments and the daily lives of people, and introduce new tensions between iconic images and banal, random, or even blasphemous ones.

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Despite the difference in their own approaches, each of these four art projects reframes the relationship between the physical legacies of the Shinto shrines, which are “negative” and “dark” legacies of colonialism in the national history of Taiwan or the ROC, and their remnants in contemporary Taiwan. This reframing process can be a physical reconstruction (Okamoto), a visual re-representation of the present (Shitamichi, Chen, and Tsao), or a mnemonic device that blurs the boundary between the past and the present (Chen and Tsao). If in reality the postwar efforts by the Nationalist regime in transforming or abolishing the physical and visual existence of these monuments have labeled these shrines as antithetical to the Chinese commemorative shrines as “positive” monuments, then the binarism begin to shatter in all the projects. They highlight these Shinto shrines by bringing them to public attention. In fact, the rise of Taiwanese studies on these monuments has triggered comprehensive research and public enthusiasm in recognizing and learning about Taiwan’s own history—specifically the Japanese colonial period as its details were previously suppressed in education, publications, and public media between the 1950s and the 1980s—after the lifting of the martial law and the gradual democratization of the Taiwanese society since the 1990s.9 As a result, studies on Taiwan’s Japanese past can be seen as a core area of Taiwan’s history. To evoke memories of the Japaneseness in Taiwan has turned into a necessary form of resistance to its silenced past as a taboo in the party state historical view.10 Long before the impact of these artworks on the reading of colonial architectural relics were felt, especially on heritage preservation campaigns, the attitude toward the remnants of the Japanese period had fundamentally changed from demolition, transformation, and forgetting to preservation, restoration, and re-remembering. A most revealing example of this shift could be seen in the Taoyuan Martyrs’ Shrine, which was built in Taiwan in 1938 in the rare Tang Dynasty wooden architectural style (Fig. 7.1).

9 Paradoxically, the officially encouraged nationalistic sentiment against Japan was accompanied by the Taiwanese people’s everyday encounter with Japanese films, pirated music cassettes and VHS, and expensive Japanese electronic home appliances. Tain-dow Lee, Japanese Popular Culture in Taiwan and Asia (Taipei shi: Yuanliu chuban shiye gufen youxian gongsi, 2002), 24. 10 Jun Shozawa and Chu-mei Lin, Zhan hou Taiwan de Riben jiyi: chong fan zaixian zhan hou de shikong (Taipei shi: Yun chen wenhua shiye gufen youxian gongsi, 2017), 64–65.

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Fig. 7.1 Taoyuan Martyrs’ Shrine (Source By Si ren meng, “Taoyuan Martyrs’ Shrine,” CC BY-SA 4.0, at: https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php? curid=63713303)

Even after this shrine was turned into the Taoyuan Martyrs’ Shrine in 1950, its original form was retained. After years of neglect in the postwar period, the condition of the shrine deteriorated and in 1985, the local government considered to demolish the original structure and rebuild a local martyrs’ shrine in Chinese revival classical style with reinforced cement in its place. This news sparked heated public debates on the future destiny of commemorative shrines: should it be demolished or preserved? The local government eventually decided on the latter and renovate it in its original form.11 Among those Jinjas that were eventually turned into martyrs’ shrines, the Taoyuan Martyrs’ Shrine remains the only structure in Taiwan that nearly retains all of the original spatial layout of the Taoyuan Jinja. This shrine was later listed as a level three ancient monument in 1994 by the enforcement rules of the Cultural Heritage Preservation Act (Wenhua zichan baocunfa).

11 See “Taoyuan zhonglieci ji shenshe wenhua yuanqu jianjie,” the official website of Taoyuan Martyrs’ Shrine, accessed December 20, 2018, at: https://confucius.tycg.gov. tw/home.jsp?id=182&parentpath=0,103,181.

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Under such circumstances, how is the tension between the original and current conditions of Japanese Shinto shrines, whether they were transformed into commemorative shrines or restored in whole or in parts, presented and represented in the abovementioned four art projects? These projects highlight the complex links between individual memory, official history, ways of imagining the nation, realpolitik, artistic interpretations, and intervention in reality. In Shitamichi’s works, only the relics of toriis can be seen (Fig. 7.2). Long deprived of their original meaning, the physical existence of these symbolic borders, in many cases, takes on a new meaning of meaninglessness most of the time. These toriis were photographed standing alone in the middle of a forest, a mountain, or a ramshackle residential area. In some cases, they have transformed in ways that are beyond recognition and realization of their previous lives. Some of these toriis are still being used as gates not for Shinto shrines but for cathedrals, Buddhist temples, parks, and elementary schools. One of the most interesting cases that Shitamichi was excited to see are the remnants of a torii that are laid down on a round grass area and are used as benches for senior citizens.

Fig. 7.2 Image from Torii by Shitamichi Motoyuki (Source Courtesy of the artist)

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The once-sacred line that used to divide the human and divine worlds in the past is appropriated into the secular of the present (Fig. 7.3). Tsao juxtaposed pairs of images of Shinto shrines, both the old and contemporary images of the commemorative shrines that replaced them. In his project, the shrine spaces become the background of human activities. Some old photos shot in front of the toriis of these shrines include group pictures as can be seen in official archival documents. One of these photos shows a group of school children who neatly stood with their teachers on the stairs leading toward a torii. Meanwhile, in some photos, the toriis in front of commemorative shrines, including their transformed versions, provided young women with a nice backdrop for taking pictures. These women are no longer standing rigidly upright as in old portrait pictures but either sit or stand in a comfortable position. One photo shows a wedding ceremony of presumably a Taiwanese couple. For unknown reasons, the bride, groom, friends, relatives, and the kannushi (priest at the Shinto shrine) are all looking at different directions (Fig. 7.4).

Fig. 7.3 Image from Torii by Shitamichi Motoyuki (Source Courtesy of the artist)

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Fig. 7.4 Photographer: Li Huo-zeng c. 1940 (Source Courtesy of Sunnygate Phototime and Chien Yung-pin)

In another image, the photographer interestingly captured a moment when all shrine visitors were bowing at the inner side of the torii to the main hall with their backsides facing the camera (Fig. 7.5). One woman in the photo can be seen from her back, leaning on the pillar of the shrine and looking down at the torii at the downhill (Fig. 7.6).

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Fig. 7.5 Author unknown (Source Courtesy of Yang Yeh)

Fig. 7.6 Author unknown (Source Courtesy of Yang Yeh)

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These images carve out an alternative space for defining the Taiwan Shrine from the perspective of Taiwan’s residents. Correspondingly, in Tsao’s present-day observations, even though the martyrs’ shrines are still serving its designated function, it is actually being used as a space for tourism as a shooting venue for cosplayers, or as a park-like space for old people to spend their leisure time (Fig. 7.7). Both shrines in Tsao’s photographs, like those taken by Shitamichi, are ripped off from their sacredness even when they are not abandoned. Instead, these structures became “invisible” in the sense that they deviate from their intended functions and are instead actively performing other functions that are reinvented by the people. In other words, they have become “monuments without quality.” The photos presented in the exhibition were installed in backlighted boxes hanging from ceilings as if they were floating in the air. Compared with those of Tsao, Chen’s works take a more restorative method of interlacing the past of Shinto shrines and the Martyrs’ Shrine with their present. In his projects “KenKou Shrine” and “Sanctuary of the Nation: Japanese Shrines in Taiwan,” Chen used video installations and computer graphics on acrylic to merge the archival materials of Shinto

Fig. 7.7 Taoyuan Martyrs’ Shine. Image from Becoming/ Taiwanese by Tsao Liang-pin (Source Courtesy of the artist)

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shrines with various images that he produced. In the former, a video installation showing the ripples of water in the pond located in front of the Kenkou Shrine (Kenkou Jinja), which is the only remaining component from the shrine’s original architecture, is layered with the original design drawings and sacrifice list of the shrine (Fig. 7.8).12 In the latter, the current images of six new architecture s that were all transformed from Japanese shrines and temples across Taiwan,13 including Taipei Grand Hotel, the Kaohsiung Martyrs’ Shrine, the National Revolutionary Martyrs’ Shrine, the National Taiwan Arts Education Center, Koxinga Shrine, and the Shizilin Commercial Building, are digitally edited and partially distorted before they are piled onto acrylic on which the original design sketches of Shinto shrines are carved.14 Both of these projects attempt to re-enmesh the master plans of the Japanese shrine space into the present in order to visualize their haunting existence around the topo of their afterlife. In the project “Terushima Clock Shop and Visiting Path to Taiwan Grand Shrine,” Chen recorded a video of a running Taipei metro as it passes by the Yuanshan Area via the Chokushi Kaid¯ o route. The camera invites the viewer to recreate the now invisible and irretrievable path toward the disappeared Taiwan Shrine that has been replaced by the Grand Hotel. Instead of showing visual indicators of the past as in the previous two projects, this work demands more imagination from the audience in conjuring a memory that they do not possess. In his more recent project “Reconstruction of Taipei Inari Shrine Archive,” Chen presented video interviews with scholars, descendants of Taiwan-born Japanese, and clergies from Tokyo’s Inari Shinto Shrine (its origins shares some similarities with that of the Taipei Inari Shrine) as well as archival images of the shrine and new images made by the artist himself. Collecting additional historical information from various parties significantly contributes to the rational dimension of this “reconstruction” project. Compared with the previous projects, it also alludes not only to

12 See Chen Fei-hao, “KenKou Shrine,” 2016, accessed December 20, 2018, at:

https://cfeihao.weebly.com/kenkou-shrine.html. 13 These include the Taiwan Shrine, Takao Shrine, Gokoku Shrine, Kenkou Shrine, Kaizan Shrine, and Higashihonganshi. 14 See Chen Fei-hao, “Reconstruction of Taipei Inari Shrine Archive,” 2017, accessed December 20, 2018, at: https://cfeihao.weebly.com/reconstruction-of-taipei-inari-shrinearchives.html.

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Fig. 7.8 Image from KenKou Shrine by Chen Fei-hao (Source Courtesy of the artist)

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the visual punctum of the shrine relics but also their concrete presentation and representation in the living memory and the ongoing writing of history. Of the four aforementioned projects, only the reconstruction project of Okamoto actually changes the real structure of the shrine. Famous for his red-line tramping and thus often highly controversial artworks, Okamoto’s rebuilding of the now-vanished shrine relics was the earliest and also the most contentious attempt among the four. His work was severely attacked by those who regarded the reconstruction as an homage to Japanese imperialism and carrying the same message as the Yasukuni Shrine, for which he even received death threats.15 Although reconstructing a Taiwanese Shinto shrine has been accepted under specific conditions as a way of understanding Taiwan’s history through facing its colonial history (e.g., in the case of the reconstruction of the Taoyuan Martyrs’ Shrine), when this act of reconstruction was done by a Japanese, society showed a lower level of tolerance for such kind of “performance.” The artist’s own explanation on his work, however, shows a different intention. Okamoto claims that the work is not to glorify or affirm Japanese imperialism in Taiwan, stating the relics of the World War II must symbolize Japan-Taiwan relations rather than keep watching fading memories, even the negative side of Taiwanese history. I hope that Ciaotou shrine’s relics from Japanese rule days exist as public arts and historic sites will give viewers various point of views by the vivid description of the history about the area.16

It is highly debatable whether the reconstructed monuments serve as witnesses to the “true history” or reminders of the imperial glory. While Okamoto’s restoration was eventually accepted by the local government only as an “artwork,” ten years later in 2015, the “real” restoration of the former Kusukusu Jinja in Kaohsiung fundamentally changed society’s perception on this Shinto shrine’s position in Taiwan’s war history. 15 Mitsuhiro Okamoto, Okamoto Mitsuhiro 69 Artworks (Tokyo: M. I. P/Man International Press, 2016), 8. 16 See Mitsuhiro Okamoto, “Reproduce Project in the Shrine Precinct (Taiwan),” 2010, accessed December 21, 2018, at: http://okamotomitsuhiro.com/page/taiwan/Kei dai%20reappearance/keidai.htm?fbclid=IwAR0Ry-caa75r7WQxUuDWCRt2mu9JCjFMa SIvTqcAx9YoaFpgzvaCi16ENvE. The quoted passage above is in English as it appears on the website.

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Kusukusu Jinja was restored following the proposal of Sato Kenichi, a Shinto shrine clergy and a member of the Friends of Lee Teng-hui Association in Japan, as a gesture in recognition of the support given by Taiwan to Japan after the Great Earthquake on March 11, 2011.17 Even though Kusukusu Jinja mainly served to commemorate the Taiwanese Japanese soldiers who fought in the war, the reestablishment of this shrine was still criticized as “re-Japanization” (sai-k¯ ominka) and an action of affirming the Japanese invasion of Taiwan.18 These art projects by both Taiwanese and Japanese artists all speak to contemporary, affective, and non-institutional alternatives for narrating and interpreting the monuments, their physical remnants, their images, and most importantly, the ways of remembering/forgetting these structures. These monuments bring “negative memories” to the foreground, thereby introducing problems to the previously fixed subjectivity of memories and their narratives. Unlike studies that aim to search for historical details and facts, these artworks resort to imagination and sensorium of their viewers. As suggested by the Chinese name of Tsao’s project “Xiangxiangzhisuo” (i.e., imaginarium) or lieu de memoire, both Japanese and Chinese shrines were initially constructed as sites that generate memories and invoke the imagination of the nation and the empire by building an “imagined community.” However, after several rounds of covering, remaking, rediscovering, and re-remaking these monuments, the reality of the imaginarium may have been based on another kind of imagination: not only of how these monuments used to look or function but also of how they come to constitute the identity of ordinary citizens in both the past and present. Through various visual and audial reconstructions of Shinto shrines and martyrs’ shrines, these artists introduce new possibilities of imagining communities in the cleavages between colonialism and nationalism, sovereignty and the everyday, collective and individual, and self and other.

17 The Friends of Lee Teng-hui Association in Japan was established in 2002 to serve two major purposes, namely, to support the Taiwan independence campaign and to help Taiwanese citizens establish a national identity. See their official website. “Honkai nit suite,” Friends of Lee Teng-hui Association in Japan, accessed December 22, 2018, at: http://www.ritouki.jp/index.php/about/. 18 Yasukatsu Matsushima and Cai-mei Lin, “Zoufang Taiwan zai huang min huaxianchang (shang) zhengfu zhudao shenshe chongjian, zhengdang hua Riben qin tai zuixing,” Yuanwang zazhi, no. 338 (November 1, 2016): 43–44.

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Glossary Chen Fei-hao 陳飛豪 ch¯ozuya 手水舍 Chokushi Kaid¯o 勅使街道 kannushi 神主 Kenkou Jinja 建功神社 Kio-A-Thau 橋仔頭 Kusukusu Jinja 高士神社 Okamoto Mitsuhiro 岡本光博 sai-k¯ominka 再皇民化 Sato Kenichi 佐藤健一 Shitamichi Motoyuki 下道基行 Terushima 照島 Tsao Liang-pin 曹良賓 Wenhua zichan baocunfa 文化資產保存法 Xiangxiangzhisuo 《想像之所》

References Chen, Fei-hao. “KenKou Shrine.” 2016. Accessed December 20, 2018. At: https://cfeihao.weebly.com/kenkou-shrine.html. Chen, Fei-hao. “Reconstruction of Taipei Inari Shrine Archive.” 2017. Accessed December 20, 2018. At: https://cfeihao.weebly.com/reconstruction-of-tai pei-inari-shrine-archives.html. Friends of Lee Tong Hui Association in Japan. “Honkai nit suite.” Accessed December 22, 2018. At: http://www.ritouki.jp/index.php/about/. Lee, Tain-dow. Japanese Popular Culture in Taiwan and Asia. Taipei shi: Yuanliu chuban shiye gufen youxian gongsi, 2002. Matsushima, Yasukatsu and Cai-mei Lin. “Zoufang Taiwan zai huang min huaxianchang (shang) zhengfu zhudao shenshe chongjian, zhengdang hua Riben qin tai zuixing.” Yuanwang zazhi, no. 338 (November 1, 2016): 43–44. Mirzoeff, Nicholas. The Right to Look: A Counterhistory of Visuality. Durham: Duke University Press, 2011. Okamoto, Mitsuhiro. Okamoto Mitsuhiro 69 Artworks. Tokyo: M. I. P/Man International Press, 2016. Okamoto, Mitsuhiro. “Reproduce Project in the Shrine Precinct (Taiwan).” 2010. Accessed December 21, 2018. At: http://okamotomitsuhiro.com/ page/taiwan/Keidai%20reappearance/keidai.htm?fbclid=IwAR0Ry-caa75r 7WQxUuDWCRt2mu9JCjFMaSIvTqcAx9YoaFpgzvaCi16ENvE.

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Rancière, Jacques. Dissensus: On Politics and Aesthetics. Translated by Steven Corcoran. London and New York: Continuum, 2010. Rancière, Jacques. The Politics of Aesthetics: The Distribution of the Sensible. London and New York: Continuum, 2004. Shozawa, Jun and Chu-mei Lin. Zhan hou Taiwan de Riben jiyi: chong fan zaixian zhan hou de shikong. Taipei shi: Yun chen wenhua shiye gufen youxian gongsi, 2017. The Official Website of Taoyuan Martyrs’ Shrine. “Taoyuan zhonglieci ji shenshe wenhua yuanqu jianjie.” Accessed December 20, 2018. At: https://confucius. tycg.gov.tw/home.jsp?id=182&parentpath=0,103,181.

Index

0–9 11th Route Army, 264 19th Route Army Songhu AntiJapanese War Martyrs’ Memorial, 253 19th Route Army Songhu AntiJapanese War Martyrs’ Memorial Park, 248, 264 88th Division of the KMT army, 44 1911 Xinhai Revolution, 159 1923 Annual Report of the Director of Public Works, 110 1937 World Expo, 279, 280, 285, 286 1966 and 1967 riots, 102, 138 1984 Joint Declaration between China and Britain, 147 A Aboriginal Atayal ritual, 19 A Century of Progress, 273 A.de O. Sales, 139, 142 Aeroplane Wharf (feiji matou), 327 African Pavilion, 284

After Five Years Of War Chongqing Today (1942), 321 a general spirit tablet for honoring the martyrs as a whole (guomin lieshi zhi lingwei), 227 A Grand Pictorial History of the Sino-Japanese War and Founding of the Nation (Kangzhan jianguo dahuashi), 61 air defence city (fangkong dushi), 349, 350, 355–357 Air Hostess (1959), 199, 205 A List of Bill of New Names of Streets and Lanes (Xinni jiexiang mingcheng yilanbiao), 359 Allied Force of the Britain, 24, 246, 320 Allied Force of the US, 19, 24, 320 Alvar Aalto’s Finnish Pavilion, 284 Amaterasu, 171, 190 A-Mei (Linwang), 302, 303 A.M.J Wright, 144 ancient China, 10, 63, 323, 331, 376 Ancient Greek hieron space, 264

© The Editor(s) (if applicable) and The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Nature Singapore Pte Ltd. 2020 L. Pan, Image, Imagination and Imaginarium, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-981-15-9674-2

395

396

INDEX

Anti-colonial sentiments, 138 Anti-Enemy Conventions for the Nationals (Quanmin kangdi gongyue), 333 anti-establishment movements, 138 anti-iconic image, 84 Anti-Japan, 15 anti-Japanese Han martyrs, 228 anti-Japanese heroes, 228 Anti-Japanese War, 3, 16, 23, 66, 69, 198, 207, 337 anti-Japanese War memorial, 39 anti-Qing Government revolutionary martyr, 323 Arch de Triumph, 278 architectural Chineseness, 224 architectural death cult, 282 Architecture and Engineering Society (Jianzhu gongcheng xueshe), 345 Armed Forces Day, 229 Armistice Day, 96, 97, 106, 111, 118 Art Deco, 131 art-deco-ish design, 278 Asianness, 379 Asian Peoples’ Anti-Communist League, 213 Asia Pacific War, 18, 329 Asia Weekly, 147, 148 Association for the Promotion of the New Life Movement, 331 Association of Battle Companions of Anti-Japanese War in India-Burma under Chinese Expedition Force in India, 297 Atkinson & Dallas, Ltd., 42 Aufhebung, 353

B Back to 1942 (2012), 317 Baiyun Mountain, 253, 262 Bakumatsu, 192

Bank of China headquarter, 131 Basian Mountain, 186 Basilica style, 43 Battle of Britain Day, 137 Battle of Northern Burma, 248 Battle of Pingxing Pass, 162 Battle of Shanghai, 19, 35, 36, 46–48, 55, 162, 249, 328 Battle of Wuhan, 66 Battle of Yenangyaung, 246, 247, 250 Battles in the India-Burma-China theater, 25 Bauhaus modernism, 14, 281, 305 beaux-art, 13, 214, 262, 271, 277, 288, 345, 351, 354, 375 Becoming/Taiwanese (Xiangxiangzhisuo), 380, 387 Beijing Railway Station, 221 beisihang (North Four Banks), 36 Beiyang Government, 261 Bhumibol Adulyadej, 204 Big Tunnel Massacre, 320 Bishop, P., 142 Board of Political Training of the Military Affairs Commission of the Chinese National Revolutionary Army, 67 Bombing of Chongqing, 320, 321 Bombing of Chungking (1939), 321 Botanical Gardens, 112, 119, 123 Botanic Garden, 110, 180 bourgeois revolution, 288 Brigitte Lin Ching-hsia, 68 British Burma forces, 246 British colonial, 3, 102, 115, 117, 250 British Empire, 13, 20, 42, 93, 98, 100, 104, 106, 112, 114, 119, 122, 144, 146, 319 British Garden City, 356

INDEX

British Hong Kong Government, 21, 117, 122, 128, 138 British Nationality (Hong Kong) Selection scheme, 147 British Parliament, 148 British Remembrance Day, 21 British Union Jack, 118 Buddhist rituals, 126 bunka eiga (documentary films), 71, 76 Burma, 5, 18, 27, 231, 232, 245–248, 250, 256, 303 Burmese pagoda, 248

C Cape Eluanbi, 186 Capital Nanjing, 162, 288, 318 Capital Plan, 274, 337 Carlyle, Thomas, 377 carpet bombing, 320 Cathay Cinema, 317 Cathay Organization, 199 Cathedral of the Immaculate Conception (Zhen yuan tong ), 342 Cemetery of the First Division Martyrs to the northeast, 253 Cemetery of Yenan Camp, 248 Cenotaph (Heping jinianbei), 4 Central Film Group, 335 Central Market, 37 Central Waterfront, 138 Century Golden Dragon, 202 Changan, 10 Chang Shih-ying, 193 Chaotian Gate (Chaotian men), 319, 327 Chapei (Zhabei), 35, 44, 48–51, 61, 69, 71 characteristic of the artist (texing/gexing ), 65

397

Chater, Catchick Paul, 103, 108 Chater Road, 132, 140 Chefoo Convention, 319 Chen Ben-zong, 294 Chen Bo’er, 67 Chen Bo-qi, 350 Chen Chih-wu, 205 Chen Fei-hao, 380, 388, 389 Chengde, 274 Chen Kuan-sing, 17 Chen Li-fu, 334 Chen Shu-ren, 261 Chen Wei-ying, 169 Chen Xi-lian, 359 Chiang Ching-kuo, 205, 249 Chiang Kai-shek, 13, 15, 162, 164, 165, 191, 192, 196, 205, 207–209, 213, 214, 220, 226, 228, 246, 254, 256, 260, 285, 305, 321, 322, 324, 326–328, 333, 338, 347, 359 Chiang Kai-shek Memorial Hall, 198 Chiang Kai-shek Memorial Park, 198 Chiang Wei-shui, 181 Chicago Fair, 276 China Art University (zhonghua yishu daxue), 64 China-Burma-India theater, 249 China-Chongqing Collects (1943), 321 China Dream, 40 China Flour Factory, 69 China Motion Picture Studio, 335 China Movie Studio, 68 China Times, 206 Chinese architectural history (Shina kenchikushi), 218 Chinese architectural modernism, 19 Chinese Architecture (Zhongguo jianzhu), 216, 274–276, 352–354, 357

398

INDEX

Chinese Army in India-Burma Campaign: Active Participation by The New 1st Army, 253 Chinese art history, 6, 10 Chinese beaux-arts, 263 Chinese Civil War, 19, 117, 249 Chinese Classical Retro Style, 13, 19 Chinese Cultural Construction Association, 324 Chinese Cultural Renaissance (CCR), 209–211, 213 Chinese Expedition Force (CEF), 5, 18, 24, 25, 245–247, 249–251, 303, 304 Chinese imperial style, 272 Chinese Labor Corps, 107 Chinese modernism, 220, 221, 223, 272, 278 Chinese modern war monuments, 11 Chinese Nationalist Army, 35, 245 Chinese Nationalist Government, 115, 190 Chinese Nationalist Party (Kuomintang or KMT), 159 Chineseness, 17, 201, 209, 218, 220, 221, 266, 277, 343, 376 Chinese New Fifth and Sixth Army, 246 Chinese pailou, 173, 278 Chinese Pavilion, 273–276 Chinese People’s Political Consultative Conference (CPPCC), 297, 299–301 Chinese revival style, 219–222, 270 Chinese Revolution, 6, 262 Chinese ritualistic architecture, 6 Chinese royal architecture, 225 Chinese style, 57, 171, 208, 211, 216, 220, 223, 276 Chinese theater, 5 Chinese war commemoration, 20

Chinese War Memorial, 101, 112, 114, 119, 120, 123–125, 147, 160 Chinese war monuments, 13, 26, 191, 288, 305 Chinese War of Resistance Against Japan, 4, 162 Chokushi Kaid¯ o , 177, 185, 197, 388 Chongqing/Chungking, 4, 12–14, 18, 19, 26, 27, 163, 194, 214, 305, 315, 317–323, 325–329, 333, 335–337, 339–342, 344– 346, 350, 351, 354–359, 362, 365, 366, 376 Chongqing Bombed (1940), 321 Chongqing Bombed Again-Fights on (1942), 321 Chongqing Municipal Government, 329 Chuangdao (Guide), 50, 61 Ch¯ ukond¯ o , 170, 183 Chung Nam Kwong Wing Motion Pictures Company, 68 Chung-Shan Building, 207, 212, 213 Chungyeung Festival, 21, 102, 148, 149 ci/cis , 160–162 Cihu, 198 City Hall, 21, 101, 129, 131, 132, 138, 143, 144, 147, 149 civilianization (pingminhua), 277 Classic Eclectic Period, 352 Classism, 13, 131, 272, 352, 353 Cold War, 14, 16, 19, 127, 165, 195, 198, 206, 207, 378 collective memories, 7, 227, 232 Colonial buildings, 109, 172 colonial Cricket Club, 136 Colonial modernism, 19, 358 Colonial Office, 109, 115 colonial renaissance style, 110

INDEX

Colonial Secretary of Hong Kong, 115 colonial space-making, 143 colony’s Central Square, 21 Commander of the Most Excellent Order of the British Empire (CBE), 250 commemoration of Queen’s Golden Jubilee, 103 commemorative architecture, 265, 338 Commissioner for Hong Kong Office of the Kwangtung and Kwangsi, 123 Committee for Architectural Aesthetics (Jianzhu shenmeihui), 269 Commonwealth countries and regions, 95, 106 Commonwealth Memorial Day, 101, 118 Commonwealth War Graves Commission, 112 Communist Chinese Government, 2 complex of visuality, 377 concise modernist, 221 Congrès Internationaux d’Architecture Moderne (CIAM), 349 Considerations on the Construction and Design of World Fair Pavilions, 275 Construction (Jianshe), 268 contemporary China, 7, 40, 84, 248 contemporary Chinese war commemorative space, 79 Continental Bank Warehouse, 44 copy (linmo), 59 Cornell University, 263 counter-monument, 6, 82 counter-visuality, 378, 379 Cricket Club, 104, 136 Crown Park, 182 Cultural Construction, 324

399

Cultural Heritage Preservation Act (Wenhua zichan baocunfa), 382 Cultural Relics Protection Law of the People’s Republic of China, 251, 301 Cultural Renaissance Movement, 210, 220 D Dai, Anlan, 247 Dazhi, 159, 181 de–Cold War, 17 de Certeau, Michel, 304, 305 Declaration on China-Based Cultural Construction (Zhongguo benwei de wenhua jianzhi xuanyuan), 324 Declared Monument of Hong Kong, 147 decolonization, 15–17, 117, 146, 378 defend the provisional constitution of the ROC (hufa), 228 Defense of Sihang Warehouse (sihang cangku baowei zhan), 35 Defense Treaty between the United States of America and the Republic of China, 208 deimperialization, 16, 17 de-Japanization, 230 Deliberations on Architecture in New China, 276 Democratic Progressive Party (DPP), 15, 16, 205, 230, 231 democratic transparency, 281, 282 democratization, 15, 115, 116, 146, 205, 230, 355, 381 Deng Nan-guang, 181 depoliticization, 102, 128 Deputy Secretary for Education and Manpower, 148 de-Sinicization, 15 de-sublimation, 365

400

INDEX

developmentalist nationalism, 284 dialectical moment, 80 Dialectical Revolutionary Period, 351 diaolou, 265 Die Neue Baukunst (Xin jian zhu), 27, 271, 272, 282, 284, 346, 347, 349–351, 353, 355–357 dimensions of quality (zhigan), 64 dimensions of quantity (lianggan), 64 dingtian lidi (indomitable spirit stands upright), 257 documentation (shelu), 65 Dongjiadu, 340 Dongmen Street, 183 Doric memorial, 266 Downing Street, 97 Draft of Ten-Year Planning on the Construction of the Second Capital (abb. as Draft ), 337 dragon column (longzhu), 263 Du Ao, 48 Dutch colonization, 195 Duyoujie Square, 323, 328, 329, 333, 338 Duyou Street (Duyou jie), 323 Du Yu-ming, 246, 247, 249

E East Asia, 15, 17, 22, 37, 44, 172, 173, 274, 326 eastern expedition (dongzheng ), 228 Eastern Expedition Historic Graveyard, 300 East River Column Guerrilla (ERCG), 149, 151 Ebenezer Howard’s Garden City, 268 École nationale supérieure des beaux-arts de Paris, 284 economic fortress, 328 Edinburgh Place, 131 Eiffel Tower, 343

Eight Hundred Heroes (Babai zhuangshi), 1, 2, 18, 36, 318 Eight Hundred Heroes Sihang Warehouse Memorial Site for Resistance against Japanese, 38 Emei Hall (now Kunlun Hall), 204 Emperor’s Birthday, 113 Empire Day, 109, 113 encircling operations against the communists (jiaoni), 228 English Renaissance style, 42 Essentials of Spiritual Construction of Citizens (1936), 326 Ethnic Cultural Palace, 221 Étienne-Louis Boullée’s, 94 European architecture, 218 European style, 143 Europe-centered, 4 Executive Committee of the Peace Celebration, 112 Executive Yuan (Xing zheng yuan), 207–209 Exhibition of Architectural Drawings (Jianzhu tuan zhanlanhui), 271 Experimental Period, 351 Explanations of Key Points of Servicemen’s Spiritual Education (1934), 326 F fall of Nanking (Nanking Massacre), 162 Fall of Singapore, 113 Family Planning Policy (jihua shengyu zhengce), 365 fatigue bombing, 320 Fergusson, James, 219 feudal nostalgia (fengjian xiangchou), 206 First National Congress of this ROC government, 260 First People’s Games, 289

INDEX

first Sino-Japanese War, 168, 176, 228 Fitch, Alan, 132, 134, 143 five hundred heroes, 196 Five-Sheep Statue, 294 five-storey public toilet, 295 Five-Year Plans, 289 Fletcher, Banister, 219 Forbidden City, 14, 198, 201, 208, 211, 218, 224 Fortress of the Loyal Spirit (Jingzhong baolei), 248 fortune (fu), prosperity (lu), and longevity (shou), 225 four moral standards, 254 French-American style, 264 French beaux-arts style, 215 French catafalque, 97 French Catholic Church, 342 French Renaissance style, 43 French-US beaux-art, 272 Fuxing Bridge, 199

G Gambetta, Léon, 100 Gambetta monument, 100 Garden City, 134, 268 Garden of Remembrance, 143, 144, 146 Gazette of Taiwan Prefecture, 186 General Time Instruments Corporation, 341 German Bauhaus style, 272 German eagle, 286 German Formism, 353 German Pavilion’s tower, 282 Goddess of Peace Statue for the Fallen from the Commonwealth, 13 godown, 44 Godown for Bank of China, 44 Gokoku Jinja (Gokoku Shrine), 189 Golden Dragon Banquet Hall, 200

401

Golden Dragon Fountain, 201 Golden Temple, 274–276 Gongji (public ritual), 216 gongli zhansheng , 341 Gordon, Norman J., 337 Gothic style, 110 Governor of Hong Kong, 109 Grace Chang, 199, 200 Graham, Alexander, 116 Grand Hotel (yuanshan dafandian), 22, 165, 196, 198, 200–202, 204–207, 211, 220, 222, 225, 388 Grantham, Alexander, 143 Graveyard of the National Heroes (guoshang muyuan), 163, 231 Great China area, 9 Greater Shanghai Plan, 83, 274, 337, 354 Greater Taipei Plan, 168 Great Feats Left in the Southern Frontiers (Xunliu yajiao), 256 Great Proletarian Cultural Revolution, 209 Great Rejuvenation of the Chinese Nation, 40 Gropius, Walter, 222 Guangdong Provincial Military Commander’s Office, 261 Guangfu (Restoration) Pavilion, 279 Guangyuan Road (Guangyuan Lu), 294, 300 Guangzhou Bureau for Culture and Radio and TV and News and Publishing, 301 Guangzhou Cemetery Garden, 294, 295, 297, 302 Guangzhou eagle, 286 Guangzhou First Park (later the Central Park), 263 Guangzhou Liberation Statue, 290, 294

402

INDEX

Guangzhou Municipal Council, 269 Guangzhou Provincial Institute of Technology (Shengli gongzhuan), 270 Guangzhou’s Sun Yat-sen Library, 251 Guangzhou’s urban planning, 257, 266, 269 Guan Hu, 85 Guidelines for National Spiritual Mobilization and Plan of Implementation of National Spiritual Mobilization, 327 Guofu Road (Guofu lu) (Republican Government Road), 359 Guo Mo-ruo, 351 Guo Yuan-xi, 14, 18, 252, 273, 305, 345, 346, 379

H Haichao (The Waves ), 336 Haitangxi Railway Station, 327 Haizhu Square (Haizhu guangchang ), 289, 290, 294 Hall of Prayer for Good Harvests, 213 Hall of Supreme Harmony, 208 Hanaoka Ichir¯ o, 228 Han Chinese Buddhist temple, 275 hanjian, 58, 71 Han Pao-teh, 220 Happy Valley horse race track, 109 Hashiguchi Bunz¯o, 182 He Guo-guang, 322 Hengdian, 317 Hengyang, 163 Her Majesty, 103, 131 H.E. the Governor, 108, 120, 135, 136 He Ying-qin, 207, 252 Historical and Cultural Site Protected at the Municipal Level, 299, 366

Historic Site of Jiantan (Jiantan shengji), 202 H.J. Tebbutt, 144 HMS Tamar, 120, 121 Home Affairs Bureau, 169, 208 Hong Kong & Shanghai Bank War Memorial, 104 Hong Kong Association for Democracy and People’s Livelihood, 148 Hong Kong Botanic Garden, 133 Hong Kong Buddhist Association, 126 Hong Kong Cenotaph, 21, 94, 100–102, 108–112, 118 Hong Kong Club, 104, 109, 121, 123, 131, 137 Hong Kong colonial government, 102, 109, 117, 122, 123, 146 Hong Kong Defense Force, 122 Hong Kong Ex-Servicemen’s Association (HKESA), 150 Hong Kong Phoenix TV, 250 Hong Kong Reparation Association, 127 Hong Kong’s colonial architectural heritage, 21 Hong Kong Shrine, 113 Hong Kong Special Administrative Region (HKSAR), 105, 130, 148–150 Hong Kong’s postwar history, 102 Hong Kong’s war monument, 102 Hongkong Telegraph, 129 Hong Kong Voluntary Defense Corps (H. K. V. D. C.), 122 Hong Kong Volunteers Corps, 122 Hong Kong Zoological, 112, 119, 123 HON.H.W. Bird, 110 Hotsumi, Ozaki, 170 Howard, Ebenezer, 134, 268

INDEX

HSBC Bank, 103, 104 Hsiu Tse-lan, 211, 214 Hua’an Film Company, 71 Huang, Chieh, 209 Huangdi Neijing, 229 Huang Di (Yellow Emperor), 227 Huanghuagang Cemetery, 253 Huanghuagang Revolutionary Martyrs’ Monuments (Huanghuagang qishier lieshimu), 251, 252 Huanghuagang Uprising, 229 Huang Pao-yu, 211, 214 Huang Po-yu, 222 huaren, 4 Hu De-yuan, 270 Huguo Rinzai Buddhist Temple, 182 Hu Han-min, 260, 286 Hukawng Valley, 248 Huo Yun-he, 271 Hu Shih, 351 Hyde Park, 95, 99 Hyland, Lyon, 54, 56

I Ichigaya, 192 illusionary representation, 286 imagined community, 128, 376, 391 Imagineering Project, 366 Imperial Japanese Army Academy (Rikugun shikan gakkou), 192 Imperial Japanese Army Air Service, 320 Imperial Japanese Navy Air Service, 320 Imperial Residence, 184 Imperial Shrine (kanpeisha), 174 Imperial War Graves Commission, 123, 124 India-Burma-Yunnan Theater, 302 Inner city, 168, 183, 221

403

Iron Bridge, 175, 181 Isamu-kun, 189 Ise Grand Shrine (Ise Jingu), 171, 172, 174 Ise style, 204 Ishii Tatsui, 184 It¯ o, Ch¯ uta, 218 J Jackson, Thomas, 103, 114 Japanese colony, 3, 4, 168 Japanese Consul, 127 Japanese Government, 114, 127, 326 Japanese Imperial Army, 78 Japanese Imperial Army’s invasion of Taiwan, 173 Japanese occupation, 5, 21, 59, 69, 84, 101, 113, 114, 118, 127, 228, 350 Japanese Prince Hirohito, 177 Japanese war propaganda, 41, 72 Japanese war propaganda films (senki eiga), 69 Japanized western classicism style, 180 Jardine, Matheson & Co., 108 Jehol, 274 Jialing River, 319 Jiantan Buddhist Temple, 183 Jiantan Park, 204 Jiantan Temple, 180, 185, 187 Jiaochangkou, 320, 327 Jiexiao Shrine (Jiexiao si), 183 Jigongbei Square (Victory Stele Square), 338 Jing’an District, 44 Jingxing Architect Studio, 220 Jochen Gerz’s Monument Against Fascism, 82 Jockey Club, 110 Johnstone, J., 108 Journal of Architecture (Jianzhuzazhi), 353

404

INDEX

J.R. Pearson Metal Craftsman, 106 June Fourth crackdown, 147 justice (yi), courage (yong ), loyalty (zhong ) and sincerity (cheng ), 254

Koxinga (Zheng Cheng-gong), 195 Kung Ling-chun, 204 Kunstblatt , 282 Kurakichi Funakoshi, 182 Ku Ying-fen, 270

K Kachin Hills, 247 Kaigang Boutique Hotel (Kaigang Jingpin Jiudian), 300 Kaiping County, 265 Kaiser Wilhelm Memorial Church, 77 Kamei, Fumio, 69, 71, 72, 74–76, 82, 379 Kanori, In¯ o, 170 Kan Tai-sai, 228 Kaohsiung, 198, 205, 220, 303, 379, 390 Karatani, Kojin, 188 Kataoka, Yasushi, 350 Katsura Imperial Villa, 171 Keelung River, 168, 175, 177, 189 Kenkou Jinja, 173, 180, 188, 211 kenotaphion, 93 Kessler, George, 182 Ke Tie, 228 Kimigayo, 184 King George VI, 100, 250 Kio-A-Thau Shinto Shrine, 379 Kishi, Nobusuke, 207 KMT Central Review Committee Meeting, 207 Kodama Gentar¯ o, 182 Kokumin Seishin S¯ od¯ oin Und¯ o , 325 Komainus , 176 Kong, Fan-wei, 294 Konoe, Fumimaro, 325 Korea Peninsula, 195 Kowloon Tong and New Territories Development Co., 134 Kowloon Tong Garden City Plan, 134

L La Cathedrale Saint-Francois Xavier, 340 Lang, Bai, 336 Lan Xiao-long, 250 Lashio, 248 László Hudec, 42 late Qing Dynasty, 159, 262 LA Times , 321 Le Corbusier, 94, 275, 346, 347, 350, 353, 356, 357 Leo, Ching, 15, 173 les lieux de memoire (realms of memory), 8 Liang Dynasty, 161 Liangjiang International Movie City (Liangjiang guoji yingshicheng ), 317 Lianglukou, 327 Liang Si-cheng, 14, 218, 220, 224, 260, 352, 354 Liang Si-yong, 224 Liang You-ming, 57, 58 Lianquan Road (Lianquan Lu), 299, 300 Liao Jia-fu, 290 Liao Yao-hsiang, 247 Liao Zhong-kai, 285 Liberation Day, 118, 144 Liberation Day Ceremony, 102, 118, 119, 123, 129 Liberation Stele (Jiefangbei), 4, 12, 15, 26, 315, 318, 359, 363–367 Liberation War (jiefang zhanzhen), 315

INDEX

lieu de memoire, 42, 84 life sketch (xiesheng ), 59, 60, 62 Li Lun-jie, 14, 18, 26, 27, 271, 305, 317, 338, 343, 345, 358, 363, 376, 379 Lim, S.H., 137 Lincoln Memorial Hall, 215 Linggu Temple (linggu si), 161 Lingnan Modernism, 26, 305, 317, 358 Linjiang Gate (Linjiang men), 327 Lin Ke-ming, 270, 345 Lin Ke-ping, 199, 200 Lin, Sen, 264 Lin Shao-mao, 228 Linwang, 304 Lisonda Limited, 138 Li Teng-hui, 249 Liu Bo-chen, 26, 315, 358, 359 Liu Haisu Art Museum, 57, 60 Liuzhou, 286 li, yi, lian, chi (propriety, justice, honesty and honor), 324, 331 Lobo, R.H., 141 London Department of Works and Public Buildings, 110 London’s Whitehall Cenotaph, 20 Lone Island period, 59, 60 Longhua Temple, 69 Long Qing-zhong, 350 Loo Soo, 68 Lotz, Wilhelm, 281 Luftschutz Bauwesen, 349 Lu Jie-feng, 251, 254, 301 Lutyens, Edwin, 20, 94–98, 107, 109, 111, 144, 375 Lu Xun, 64 Lü Yan-zhi, 214, 260, 261, 263

M Macapagal, Diosdado, 207

405

MacArthur, Douglas, 195 MacDougall, David, 115 MacLehose, Murray, 127 Maeda, Kanji, 64 mainlanders (waishengren), 230 Manchuria, 4, 275, 380 Manchurian Pavilion, 274 Man-ka, 168 Mao Zedong, 363 Marco Polo Bridge Incident, 4, 66, 113 Martial law, 22, 25, 196, 202 Martial Temple, 221 Ma Si-cong, 284 Matougang Mountain, 253 Mausoleum of the Yellow Emperor, 229 Maya Lin’s Vietnam Veterans Memorial, 82 May Fourth Movement, 324, 352, 353 May, Francis Henry, 103 Ma You-jiong, 78, 79 Meiji Bridge, 175, 177, 180, 181, 189, 200 Meiji Restoration, 170, 192, 193 Mei-ling, Soong, 165, 195 Meishujie, 59, 60, 66 Memorial Cemetery for the Seventytwo Huanghuagang Martyrs to the west, 253 Memorial gardens, 131, 132, 143, 145–147, 149 memorial (jigongfang ), 263 Memorial Shrine, 129, 148, 149 memorial tablets (lingwei), 18 Memorial to the Loyal Spirits (Zhonglingta), 248 Mies van De Rohe style, 222 milieu de memoire, 250 Military Cemetery, 17, 232 Miller, Ian Jared, 183

406

INDEX

Ministry of Foreign Affairs of the Republic of China, 123 minor cosmopolitanism, 272 Minquan Road (Minquan lu), 323 Minsheng Road (Minsheng lu), 323 Minxin Film Company, 69 Minzu Road (Minzu lu), 323, 359 Miyanoshita Station, 185 Mizuno, Jun, 182 Modern Air Defence, 356 modern architecture, 43, 79, 80, 214, 216, 218, 219, 271, 272, 276, 277, 343 modern Chinese art history, 57 modern Chinese monuments, 11 modern visuality in China, 66 Mogaung Valley, 248 Mona Rudao, 228 Mond, Alfred, 97, 98 Monumentality in Early Chinese Art and Architecture, 10 monument (Jinianbei), 11 Monument of Northern Expedition, 300 Monument to Retrocession of Southern Guangxi (Guangfu guinan jinianbei), 286, 287 Motoyuki, Shitamichi, 380, 383, 384 Mountain city, 319 Municipal Cultural Heritage, 300 Municipal Government of Guangzhou, 297 Municipal Museum of Guangzhou, 262 Murphy, Henry K., 260, 269, 274 Murray barracks, 131 Musha Uprising Incident, 228 My Chief and My Regiment (Wode tuanzhang wodetuan) (2009), 250 Myitkyina, 248

N Nagazawa Torao, 53 Nanjing Road, 42, 69 Nanyue Martyrs’ Shrine (Nanyue zhonglieci), 163 National Center for Spiritual Research and Exercise (Kokumin seishin kensh¯ ujo), 187, 188 National Central University (NCU), 214, 215 National Committee of the People’s Political Consultative Conference, 149 National Concert Hall, 198 National Consolation Association, 329, 331 National Cultural Renaissance Movement, 324 National Day, 3, 148, 344 National Dr. Sun Yat-sen Memorial Hall (1965), 207 national façade of Taiwan, 202 Nationalist Army, 1, 18 Nationalist Chinese Airforce, 19 Nationalist-Communist Civil War, 14 Nationalist Government, 3, 245, 289, 317, 323 nationalistic Chinese modernism, 277 Nationalist Officer, 2 Nationalist Party, 12, 16, 23, 25, 39, 40, 150, 163, 194, 249 National Palace Museum, 211, 212 National Political Council, 326, 333 national recovery, 228 National Revolutionary Army, 345 National Revolutionary Army War Memorial Cemetery (Guomin gemingjun zhengwang jiongshi gongmu), 161 National Revolutionary Martyrs’ Shrine (Zhonglieci), 2, 4, 22, 188, 388

INDEX

National Shrine (kokuheisha), 174 National Spirit Mobilization Movement, 324 National Spiritual Mobilization Movement (Guomin jingshen dongyuan yundong ) (abbrev. NSMM), 324 National Spiritual Mobilization Movement (Kokumin seishin s¯ od¯ oin), 26, 187 national spring and autumn commemorative rituals (chunji and qiuji), 164 National Theatre, 198 N.B.M. Whitley, 141 neo-Baroque, 172 neo-Gothic, 110 neo-realism, 64–66 New 1st Army Cemetery, 14, 15, 24, 245, 247, 251, 253, 273, 278, 279, 282, 287, 289, 302–305, 345, 358 New 1st Cemetery, 248 New 22nd Division, 247 New 38th Division, 247 New Architecture, 27, 220, 270–272, 276–278, 345, 350, 353, 354, 357, 358, 388 New Architecture Movement in China in the last Five Years (Wunianlai de zhongguo xinjianzhu yundong ), 351 New Army Number One, 5 New Army Number One India-Burma Corps Memorial Military Cemetery (New 1st Army Cemetery (Xin yi jun yin mian zhenwang jiangshi gongmu), 4 New Chinese Architecture and its Task, 277 New Chongqing , 27 New Chungking , 323

407

New Cultural Movement, 63, 351, 353 New Lese Bridge (today’s North Tibet Road Bridge), 44 New Life Movement (Xinshenghuo yundong ), 254, 272, 317, 324 New Life Pictorial (Xinsheng huabao), 47 new modernist monuments, 131 new Queen’s Pier, 131 Newson-Smith, Frank, 322 New Spirit (Le Sprit Nouveau), 346 newsreel of Fox News, 69, 70 Newton, Isaac, 94 New York Times , 321 Night in the City of Tainan, 200 Nine-Dragon Wall, 201 Ni Yi-de, 64, 65 NLM Service Office (Xinyun fuwusuo guangchang ), 335 non-British Hong Kong residents, 115 non-decorative style, 282 Nora, Pierre, 8, 42 North and South Railway Stations, 69 North China Daily News , 328 Northern Expedition (beifa), 159 Northern Palace Style, 14, 205, 305 North Tibet Road, 44 North Zhongshan Road, 197, 199

O object-centrism, 79 October 28, The twenty-sixth Year of Republic Era (minguo ershiliunian shiyue 28ri), 60 Okamoto, Mitsuhiro, 379, 390 old Star Ferry Pier, 21 Olmsted, Frederick Law, 182 On Air Defence City, 355, 356 On Breaking down Big Cities (Fenjie dadushi), 356

408

INDEX

On Several Characteristics of Chinese Architecture (Lun zhongguo jianzhu zhi jige tezheng ) (1936), 218 On the Spirit of Chinese Nation’s Foundation (1932), 326 On Urban Planning, 268 open monumentality, 216 Opium Wars, 13, 44, 47, 77 Oriental Pictorial (Dongfang hua kan), 61 Outline of the National Government’s Plans for National Reconstruction, 290 Outlines of the NSMM , 333 Ouyang, Pu, 48

P Pacific War theater, 4 Pailau (triumphal arch), 112, 123 Pall Mall Gazette, 99 Pan, De-hui, 297 Papua New Guinea, 18, 231 Parisan World Expo German Pavilion, 279 Patterns of Modern Architecture (Jindai jianzhu yangshi), 271 pavilion (huanghua ting ), 263 Pavilion-memorials, 279 Peace Celebration, 108 Pearl Harbour, 246 Pearl Harbour Incident, 5 Peng Chang-xin, 27, 261, 272, 305, 346 People’s Hero, 147 People’s Heroes Monument, 365 People’s Pictorial (Renmin huabao), 363 People’s Republic of China (PRC), 3, 15, 16, 22, 39, 79, 148–150, 221, 249, 289, 290, 363

People’s Spirit Mobilization Committee, 327 Photo Book in Commemoration of the 30th Anniversary of Taiwan Shrine’s Enshrinement , 176 photography (zhaoxiang ), 65 Plans for National Reconstruction (Jianguo fanglue), 277 Poland, 4 Portland stone, 97 Portuguese colonies, 266 post-Cold War, 9, 14, 16 post-Mao China, 6 postwar British Hong Kong’s commemorative rituals, 118 postwar British Hong Kong government, 119 post-war reconstruction, 143 P.O.W., 122 Praya Reclamation Scheme, 103 Praying Ritual (kigansai), 184 Presidential Hall, 261 Presidential Office Building, 199 Prime Minister Lloyd George, 97 Prince Kitashirakawa Yoshihisa, 173, 183 Provisional Government of the Republic of Korea, 319 public art, 10, 390 public artefacts, 10 Public Monuments Committee, 114, 117 public space, 5, 6, 9, 11, 12, 94, 97, 135, 137, 140–142, 146, 165, 167, 173, 182, 185, 204, 216, 259, 289, 340, 341, 359, 376 Public Works Department, 109, 129 Pudong, 69 purist (chuncui zhuyi zhe), 346 Q Qian, Long, 274

INDEX

Qing Chinese Palace style, 13 Qing Dynasty architectural style, 2 Qing-Dynasty-Palace-style architecture, 198 Qing Structural Regulations (Qingshi yingzhao zeli) (1934), 14, 218, 224 Qixinggang, 323 quasi-Chinese Northern Palace, 204 quasi-Chinese structure style, 123 quasi-colony Manchuria, 274 quasi-Western style, 266 Queen Anne, 172 R Raphael Tuck & Sons, 106 realism (xieshi), 62 reconceptualization of public space, 129 Rediffusion, 121 reflective nostalgia, 81 regional and national war, 5 Reklameturm, 282 remaining war site (senseki), 72 re-mediation, 66 Remembrance Sunday, 94, 99–101, 112, 118, 120, 122, 126, 129, 150 re-memorization, 66 Reorganized National Government of the Republic of China (The Wang Jing-wei Puppet Government), 36 re-present (zaixian), 76 Republican Chinese Government, 13 Republican monuments, 24, 252 Republican period, 27, 290, 363, 376 Republic of China Military Academy (Huangpu Military Academy), 288 Republic of China (ROC), 2, 3, 6, 16, 50, 83, 159, 160, 162, 164, 165,

409

191, 194, 195, 200, 204–208, 213, 214, 216, 218, 259–261, 264, 273, 319, 337, 344, 381 resistance movement, 148 Resistance Pictorial , 50 Resistance War against Japan, 245 restorative nostalgia, 80, 81 returning and welcoming souls (yingling ), 232 revival-style nostalgia, 210 revolutionary Soviet realism, 66 Ricci, Matteo, 340 Ringo no Uta, 201 Rinzai School of Japanese Zen Buddhism, 183 ritual (li), 10 ritual spaces, 22, 108, 110, 112, 132, 141, 161, 163, 261, 334 RN, 120 Roman Baroque style, 270 Roman Classical style, 264 Roosevelt, Franklin, 321, 322, 339 Rotonda Hall, 213 Royal British Legion (Hong Kong and China Branch), 150 Royal Hong Kong Regiment, 143 royal-ness, 225 ruinenlust, 80 ruinophilia, 80 ruins of the Dome at the Hiroshima Peace Memorial, 78 ruins of the infamous Unit 731 Exhibition Hall, 78 Rules for Martyrs’ Shrine (zhonglieci banfa), 163

S Saluting Battery, 121 Samuel Wright & Co., 106 sand¯ o, 176, 177, 180, 189 Satsuma Rebellion, 193

410

INDEX

Saunders, J.A.H., 136 Schivelbusch, Wolfgang, 187 Scottish architecture, 13 Second Capital Construction Planning Board, 337 second-generation City Hall, 131 Second Praya Reclamation Scheme, 108 Second Production Unit of Toho Studios, 71 Second Sino-Japanese War, 4, 19, 187 Secretary Office of the Association of NSMM, 329 Secretary of State, 109 seeking truth from facts (shishiqiushi), 351 Shahe River, 253 shajitsu (realism), 64 Shanghai Architect Society (the West-leaning architects), 352 Shanghai Art College, 59, 62 Shanghai Bailian Group Company Limited, 38 Shanghai Front Pictorial: Sino– Japanese Incident 1937 , 53, 54 Shanghai Municipal Committee for Preservation of Cultural Relics, 37 Shanghai Municipal Government, 37 Shanghai’s famous neo-classicist style Custom House, 71 Shanghai Sihang Warehouse, 4 Shanghai Sihang Warehouse Battle Memorial, 35 Shanghai Sihang Warehouse Memorial Museum (Sihang cangku jinianguan), 4 Shanghai’s International Settlement, 35 Shanghai Social Affairs Bureau (shanghai shi shehui ju), 37

Shangqing Temple (Shangqing si), 327 Shang Wei-shan, 342 Shan’xi Province, 229 Shao Yuan-chong, 229 shasei, 63 Shen Bao, 337 Shi-chang, Xia, 350 Shih, Hsu, 200 Shih, Wei-chuan, 206 Shilin, 198 Shinmei-zukuri style, 176 Shinto shrines, 22, 165, 166, 170– 173, 176, 177, 187, 189–191, 200, 202, 204, 207, 221, 226, 375, 380, 381, 383, 384, 387, 388, 390, 391 Shiyun Company, 38 sh¯ okonsha, 164, 192 Showa Square (Showa-Hiroba), 114 Showroom of the Heroic Deeds of the ‘Eight Hundred Heroes, 38 Signal Hill, Kowloon, 121 silence (mochi), 263 Sing Pao War Pictorial (Xin bao zhan qing hua kan), 61 Sing Tao Daily, 287 Sing Tao Man Pao, 132 Sing Tao Weekly (Hong Kong), 327 Sinic revival style, 211 Sino-British Friendship, 123 Sino-British War, 77 Sino-Japanese war art, 57 Sino-Japanese War Victory Day (SJWVD), 37, 148 Socialist Guangzhou, 294 Society for the Study of Chinese Architecture (Zhongguo yingzhao xueshe), 218, 220 Song of Apple, 201 Songshan Airport, 199 So Sau-chong, 139

INDEX

South China Morning Post , 108, 126, 127, 134–138, 142, 150 Southern Capital, 288, 294, 376 South Gate of Hong Kong Botanic Gardens, 110 South Seas Chinese Overseas War Relief Association, 286 Southward Expansion to Taiwan (nanjin Taiwan), 180, 200 Southwest China, 27, 245, 315, 337 Southwestern Division of the Central People’s Government of the PRC, 26, 315 Southwest Liberation Memorial Stele (Xinan jiefang jinianbei)/Chongqing Liberation Memorial Stele (Chongqing jiefang jinianbei), 359 Sovereignty, 3, 10, 15, 147, 150, 230, 391 Soviet Constructivist Architecture, 347 Soviet Stalinist, 221 Soviet War Memorial (Soviet Cenotaph), 291 Special Edition in Memory of the Sihang Lone Battalion, 44 Speer, Albert, 279, 282 Spiritual Fortress, 12, 26, 27, 317, 323, 327–336, 338, 341, 343, 365, 376 Spiritual Mobilization Square, 329 square pond (sifangchi), 263 Standing Committee of the Political Bureau (Zhongcheunghui), 209 State Council of the PRC, 3 statue of Queen Victoria, 114 Statue Square, 21, 22, 101, 103–106, 108, 114, 117, 126, 128–133, 135–143, 146, 376 Stele Construction Committee, 341 Stilwell, Joseph, 246

411

St. John’s Cathedral, 101, 108, 110, 112, 119 Stokes, W.J., 110, 111 Straus, Erwin, 187 Stuart, J.L., 116 Stubbs, Edward, 109 Studies on Ancient Chinese Society (Zhongguo gudai shehui yanjiu), 351 Suchow Creek, 44, 48 Suhewan, 40, 83 Sun, Ke, 268–270 Sun, Li-jen, 18, 24, 25, 247, 249, 252, 273, 297, 299, 303, 304, 376 Sun Moon Lake, 186 Sun Yat-sen Mausoleum, 214–217, 219, 229, 252, 253, 259, 260, 274, 278, 305 Sun Yat-sen Memorial (1931), 218, 260 Sun Yat-sen Memorial Hall (1929), 218, 222, 223, 248, 251–253, 259–263, 269, 288–291, 354 Sun Yat-sen Monument, 248, 261 Sun Yat-sen-oriented commemorative architectures, 266 Sun Yat-sen University, 290 suppression of nationwide communist rebellions (kanluan), 228 Supreme Court, 104, 125, 131 Supreme National Defence Council (Guofang zuigao weiyuanhui), 326 Szeto, Wai, 132 T Taichung, 186, 249, 304 Taihoku Air Raid, 19 Taikang Lu, 290 Tai Kung Po, 140, 141, 148 Taipei Municipal Zoo, 303

412

INDEX

Taipei Public Hall, 180 Taipei Radio, 205 Taipei Railway Station/Tataocheng Station Tamsui River, 177, 185 Taipei Urban Improvement Plan, 170 Taisho Emperor, 183 Taiwan Broadcasting Association (Taiwan hosokyokai) (JFAK), 180 Taiwan Fine Art Expo (Taiwan bijutsutenrankai or Taiten for short), 177 Taiwan Governor-General House, 189 Taiwan Jih¯ o , 170 Taiwan Jingu, 165, 190, 196 Taiwan Jinja, 175, 176, 180 Taiwan Museum, 180 Taiwan Nichinichi Shinp¯ o , 182, 186 Taiwan Patriotic Women Newspaper (Taiwan Aikokufujin Shimpo), 184 Taiwan’s Chinese modernism, 221 Taiwan’s Hakka architecture, 221 Taiwan’s Minnan architecture, 221 Taiwan Strait, 3, 18, 23, 230, 232 Taiyuan, 196 Takamori, Saig¯ o, 193 Tamkang University, 205 Tamsui, 168, 186 Taoyuan Jinja, 382 Taroko Valley, 186 Taut, Bruno, 171, 346 Temple of Confucius, 221 Temple of Heaven, 213, 224 Temple of the Six Banyan Trees, 261 Tengchong, 163 Ten-year Planning on the Construction of the Second Capital, 317, 338 Territorial Map of Imperial Shrine Taiwan Shrine, 174, 175 Thankful Ritual (kanshasai), 184

The China Film Production Factory (zhongguo dianying zhipianchang ), 67 The China Mail , 141 The Chinese Expedition Force (Zhongguo yuanzhengjun), 250 The City of Tomorrow and Its Planning , 356 The Culture of China and USSR (Zhong su wenhua), 48, 61 The Far East Architect and Builder, 132, 133 The Four Books , 210 The Glorious Dead, 95, 110, 146 the government of Cochinchina, 100 The Great Constructions (Shida jianzhu) project, 221 The Great Hall of the People, 221 the great rejuvenation of the Chinese nation (zhonghua minzu weidafuxing ), 3 The Hong Kong Police Force Band, 150 The Hong Kong Volunteer Defense Corps, 143 The Huanghuagang 72 Martyrs’ Tomb, 262 The Marine Engineers’ Guild of China, 111 The Military Museum of the Chinese People’s Revolution, 221 The Nature of the Beasts: Empire and Exhibition at the Tokyo Imperial Zoo, 183 the old fours, 221 The Politics of Aesthetics , 8 The Practice of Everyday Life, 304 the provisional capital (peidu), 319 The Railway Department Building, 354

INDEX

The Railway Journey: The Industrialization of Time and Space in the 19th Century, 187 The Revolutionary Committee of the Chinese Kuomintang Guangdong Committee (RCCKGC), 297, 299, 300 The Sihang Warehouse defended painstakingly by the Eight Hundred Lone Battalion (Babai gujun ku shou zhi sihang cangku), 60 The Star, 127, 140 The statue of Queen Victoria, 103, 114 The Taiwan Song (Taiwan xiaodiao), 200 The Three People’s Principles (Sanmin zhuyi), 326 The Young Companion (Liangyou), 47, 48 Third Congress of the National Political Council, 325 Third Reich, 281 Third Republic, 100 three deities (Kaitaku Sanjin), 173 Tiananmen Square, 6, 365 Tianfu Building Company, 338 Tibetan, 275 Tibet Road, 42 Tiger Standard, 125, 126 Times , 321 Todd, R.R., 118, 123 Tokyo’s Ueno Zoo, 183 Tomb for the Seventy-Two Martyrs, 263 Tongmenghui (Chinese United League), 262 Tongyuan Gate (Tongyuan men), 327 torii, 173, 176, 177, 180, 189, 190, 200, 207, 230, 380, 383–385 Torii, Ry¯ uz¯ o, 170

413

totalitarianism, 6 Trafalgar Square, 97, 111 Treaty of Shimonoseki, 168 Trench, David, 135 Treptower Park, 291, 293 Ts’o Seen-wan, 100 turbulent Warlord Era, 259 Twatutia, 168 U Umeya Sh¯ okichi, 290 undoing colonialism, 117 United Front Policy, 2, 366 upper-class Chinese, 104 Urban Cleansing and Residential Policy (Dushi zhi jinghua yu zhuzhai zhengce), 349 urban improvement (chengshi gailiang ), 268 Urban Improvement Plan, 168 urban oasis, 133 Urban Planning for the Western Zone of Chapei District, 83 Urban Services Department, 137, 141, 142 US-British Alliance, 249 US Military Assistance Advisory Group, 197 US President Eisenhower, 202, 207 US Rest and Relaxation (R&R) Center, 197 V Vauthier, Paul, 356 vernacular language (baihuawen), 351 Victoria Harbor, 108 Victoria Park, 114, 127, 133, 135 Victory Day Parade, 3 Victory Monument for the Japanese Imperial Navy, 202 Victory Staircase, 339

414

INDEX

Vincent, Bendix, 274 Virginia Military Institute, 247 visual deterritorialization, 318 visual dissensus of the war monuments, 9 visual ethnography, 9 Volunteer Memorial Gates, 143–145 Volunteer Ordinance, 122 von Clausewitz, Carl, 355 W Wagner, Otto, 353 Wah Kiu Yat Po, 132 Wallace, Henry A., 322 Wanchai, 127 Wanfaguiyi Hall, 274 Wang Da-hung, 222 Wang, Jing-wei, 193, 260, 266, 325 Wang Kai, 48 war commemorative artefacts, 8, 19, 22, 102 war commemorative ritual, 112, 146 war commemorative structure, 129 War Memorial Committee, 108, 112 war monuments, 1, 3–5, 9, 11–15, 17, 18, 22, 41, 81, 83, 94, 95, 97, 98, 101, 102, 128, 142, 163, 255, 257, 273, 289, 305, 315, 318, 343, 357, 380 War of Resistance against Japan (kangzhan), 24, 39 war remembrance culture, 8, 78 war ruin memorials, 77 War Supplement of China Pictorial (Zhanshi huabao Zhonghua tuhua zazhi haowai), 48 War Victory Commemorative Corridor, 339 War Victory Stele (Kangzhan shengli jigongbei), 4 Wen Zhao-tong, 60, 62, 65 Western architectural style, 104

western commemorative culture, 6 Western Development (xibu dakaifa), 366 Westernization of monuments, 266 Westernized style, 265 Western yingzao, 276 Westheim, Paul, 281, 282 Westminster Abbey, 93, 97, 99 Whampoa District, 300, 301 Whampoa Military Academy, 300 What is Modern Architecture? (Shenme shi xiandai jianzhu), 271, 345 W.H. Goss Falcon Pottery, 106 Works Bureau (Gongwuju), 335 World Cultural Heritage, 265 World Expo, 284, 285, 346 World League for Freedom and Democracy, 213 Wright, Frank Lloyd, 94, 275 Wu Ding-chang, 339 Wuhan, 319, 325 Wu Tie-cheng, 334 WWII Boeing B-29 Superfortress, 322 WWII commemorative space, 21 WWII memorial square, 21, 101 WWII monument, 11, 14, 17, 24, 40, 128, 245 X X Force, 247, 248 Xiangqing University (Xiangqin daxue), 270 Xiangqin University’s Shiliugang Campus, 271 Xianlie Road (Xianlie lu), 248, 262, 264, 265 Xian Xing-hai, 284 Xiaoshizi, 327, 341 Xia Zhu-jiu, 206, 220 Xie Ji-min, 37 Xie Jin-yuan, 1, 2, 35, 37, 50, 60, 67, 68

INDEX

Xindian River, 168 Xinhai Revolution Martyrs’ Cemetery Unit, 248 Xinhua Daily Building, 317 Xinhua Road (New China Road), 359 Y Yangcheng , 291 Yang Cho-cheng, 198 Yang Han-sheng, 67 Yang Hui-min, 50, 60, 67, 68 Yangmingshan Grass Mountain Royal Guest House, 195 Yang Rui-fu, 44 Yangtze River, 44, 319 Yang Xi-zong, 263, 265 Yang Yi-li, 254, 255, 283, 297, 302 Yao, Wen-ying, 223 Yao Yuan-jhong, 223–226 Yao Yuan-zhong, 14 Yasukuni Shrine (Yasukuni jinja), 113, 187 Yat-sen, Sun, 13, 161, 211, 214, 227, 228, 270, 277, 278, 285, 288, 290, 291, 294, 323, 326, 333, 334 yinghun changcun (long live the heroes’ spirits), 257 Ying Yun-wei, 67 Yin Ji-chang, 290 Yi Wen, 199 Yoshida, Hatsusaburo, 177, 178 Young, Mark, 115 Young Pioneers, 2 Young Plan, 115, 116 Yuanmingyuan, 78 Yuan Mountain (yuanshan) area, 160 Yuan Mu-zhi, 67 Yuanshan Playground, 184

415

Yuanshan Recreation Club (Grand Hotel Recreation Club), 196, 198 Yuanshan Sports Stadium, 184 Yuanshan Stadium, 184, 185 Yuanshan Zoo, 183–185 Yuan Shih-kai, 228 Yuexiu Mountain (Yuexiu shan), 248, 261, 289 Yuexiu Park, 278, 291 Yuexiushan Stadium, 289, 291 Yunnan, 163, 245, 247, 250, 256 Yu You-ren, 333

Z Zeitgeist , 328, 352 Zhang Qun, 339 Zhang Ru-qi, 286 Zhang Xue-liang, 54 Zhang Zhi-zhong, 334 Zhan Xing-xian, 290 Zhao Ping-yuan, 346 Zheng Ke, 252, 284, 287 Zheng Zu-liang, 271, 345, 349, 350 Zhenhai Tower (Zhenhai lou), 261, 262 Zhongguo jianzhu (Chinese Architecture), 275 zhonghua minzu, 229 Zhonghua Road (Zhonghua Lu (Chinese Road)), 289 Zhongshan Bridge, 200 Zhongshan Building, 220–222 Zhongshan Road, 199 Zhongzheng Road (Zhongzheng lu), 359 Zhu Zhi-xin, 265–267, 286 Zourong Road (Zourong lu), 323