Transnationalism in East and Southeast Asian Comics Art 3030952428, 9783030952426

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Transnationalism in East and Southeast Asian Comics Art Edited by John A. Lent · Wendy Siuyi Wong · Benjamin Wai–ming Ng

Transnationalism in East and Southeast Asian Comics Art

John A. Lent · Wendy Siuyi Wong · Benjamin Wai–ming Ng Editors

Transnationalism in East and Southeast Asian Comics Art

Editors John A. Lent International Journal of Comic Art Drexel Hill, PA, USA

Wendy Siuyi Wong Department of Design York University Toronto, ON, Canada

Benjamin Wai–ming Ng Department of Japanese Studies Chinese University of Hong Kong Shatin, New Territories, Hong Kong

ISBN 978-3-030-95242-6 ISBN 978-3-030-95243-3 (eBook) https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-95243-3 © The Editor(s) (if applicable) and The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2022 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 illustration: Maram_shutterstock.com This Palgrave Macmillan imprint is published by the registered company Springer Nature Switzerland AG The registered company address is: Gewerbestrasse 11, 6330 Cham, Switzerland

Preface

History and Development of the Project The genesis for this book project was the one-day (May 12, 2018) symposium held at Chinese University of Hong Kong, organized by Wendy Siuyi Wong and Benjamin Wai–ming Ng. The seven speakers from East Asia, Southeast Asia, and North America discussed a variety of transnational subjects related to comic art, including cultural flows, comics industry ownership, comics creation and labor, national identity and universal styles, the diaspora, and cross-national representations. They dealt with Japan, China, Hong Kong, Indonesia, Malaysia, the Philippines, and Singapore. In an effort to make this book geographically inclusive, contributors knowledgeable about Mongolia, South Korea, and Taiwan in East Asia, and about Cambodia, Thailand, and Vietnam in Southeast Asia supplement the conference presenters. The result is a study of aspects of transnationalism and comic arts in all of East Asia, except North Korea, and all of Southeast Asia, except Brunei, Laos, and Myanmar (The boundaries of these regions were drawn many decades ago by the Association of Asian Studies). Brunei, Laos, and North Korea were omitted because of scant information and lack of contacts, while Myanmar was not covered because of a lack of connections between comics and transnationalism as determined from interviews with local cartoonists conducted by John A. Lent in 2018. Though the first cartoons published in then Burma, in 1912, were drawn by British amateur painters who were colonial teachers v

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and the railway commissioner, the rest of the country’s comic art history lacks transnational links, save for a few Burmese cartoonists, who, in the early 2000s, exposed the oppression and absurdity of the government and military while they were in exile. The end result is a book of an introduction and thirteen other chapters, six covering East Asia and seven, Southeast Asia, dealing with offshore comics production, transnational ownership, multinational collaboration, border crossings of comics creators and characters, expansion of overseas markets, as well as other topics such as Chinese cartoonists in political exile working in Japan; South Korea’s foreign expansion of manhwa through translations, Webtoons, and U.S.-based manhwa firms; Cambodian artists’ spring-boarding from strong European and East Asian influences to the creation of indigenous styles; the colonial underpinnings of Indonesian comics; transnationalism by borrowing, swiping, and adapting in Thailand; the impacts of global styles on Malaysian cartoons; representations of Filipinas in Japanese manga; efforts to build transnational ties in Southeast Asian comics, and Vietnamese attempts to find the country’s own comic art voice. The chapters cover a wide expanse of topics that relate by varying degrees to transnationalism; in the process, bringing coherence to the total manuscript. Authors of these chapters include comics/cartoon researchers, cartoonists/illustrators-cum-scholars (e.g., Muliyadi Mahamood and Chi Huu Do), and a former coordinator of a comic art group within his adopted country (John Weeks). With the exception of John A. Lent and John Weeks, all are native to the countries/territories about which they write.

Framework of Project As with a large percentage of edited books, Transnationalism…tends to be uneven in the approaches and methodologies used. There are chapters that are case studies of individual comics personnel, such as the late Cheng Uen of Taiwan who plied his creativity for Japanese publishers, Wang Ning of China, an entrepreneur who intermingles Chinese and FrancoBelgian cartoonists in joint workshops and collaborative book projects, and the late Lee Wai-Chun of Hong Kong, whose long-running 13-Dot Cartoon projected Western images to young Chinese women, and an isolated comic book title, such as Bumbardai in Mongolia. Conversely,

PREFACE

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other chapters provide broad overviews of a country’s comics and how they affect or are affected by transnationalism, examples being those on Malaysia, with its trail of influences brought by British colonialism and the manga invasion, and South Korea, also inundated with manga, that has sought transnational links through offshore production, exportation and/or overseas publication of its manhwa and animation, and collaborative arrangements. The editors make no apologies for any unevenness in approaches and methodologies used; on the contrary, they believe such variety is justified, even beneficial, when discussing such an array of different cultures, each incorporating transnationalism in its own distinctive way. Using a geographical framework to organize East and Southeast Asia makes sense because of the marked differences within the regions and their component countries, relative to culture, language, religion, socioeconomic, colonial, and political heritages. To use religion as an example of this diversity, in Southeast Asia, one finds Muslim majority countries such as Brunei, Indonesia, and Malaysia, Theravada Buddhist majority nations such as Cambodia, Laos, Myanmar, and Thailand, Chinese Confucian-influenced entities such as Singapore and Vietnam, and the Christian majority of the Philippines. Almost all East and Southeast Asian countries experienced colonization—by Japan, Great Britain, France, Spain, the U.S., The Netherlands, and Portugal, and a range of governmental and political systems, including various shades of communism, other forms of authoritarianism, socialism, democracy, and monarchy. Such diversity does not encourage a comparative approach. Common threads tie these chapters historically, politically, and socioeconomically. Except for Thailand, all of them had been under colonial or occupation rule; in most instances, it was the colonizers who introduced cartoons and comics often through humor magazines: the British in Japan, China, Hong Kong, and Myanmar; the French in Japan and Vietnam; the Dutch in Indonesia; the Americans in the Philippines. In most cases, the earliest of these cartoon periodicals were designed for the use and enjoyment of the colonizers. Tied to this tread were later influences by U.S. comics, especially superhero and Disney titles, and Japanese manga. The Japanese eventually designated manga as cultural ambassadors, making their appearance very prominent throughout the region. Another significant transnational feature common to East and Southeast Asia is an international division of labor. Seeking less-expensive

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and strike-free labor, North American and European comics and animation companies leaned heavily on Asians to do the actual production work for their own artists. This transfer of labor was accomplished in various ways: by establishing offshore companies, e.g., animation studio offshoots in Japan, Taiwan, South Korea, and then Southeast Asia; enticing talented comics creators from the Philippines to move to the U.S. and work for Marvel, DC, Disney, and others, or “farming out” production (coloring, inking, etc.) to cartoonists in at least Taiwan, Hong Kong, the Philippines, Malaysia, Singapore, and Indonesia. The other transnational string tying together East and Southeast comic art is the desire to seek overseas markets. This has been the goal particularly of Japanese, Chinese, and Korean comics and animation, but most other regional countries have sought to sell their comic art with varying degrees of efforts and success. Transnationalism continues to gain a foothold in comics studies, and the aim of this book is to add to that volume of research. Drexel Hill, PA, USA Toronto, Canada Shatin, Hong Kong

John A. Lent Wendy Siuyi Wong Benjamin Wai–ming Ng

Contents

1

Introduction John A. Lent

1

Part I East Asian 2

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5

On Transnationality: A History of Negotiations of Self-Identity in Selected Works by Women Comic Artists in Hong Kong Wendy Siuyi Wong Transnationalism via Political Exile: Chinese Political Cartoonists in Japan Benjamin Wai–ming Ng Representational and Symbolic Dimensions in the Inter-Asian Developments: Taiwanese Cartoonist Chen Uen’s Comic Aesthetics and Legacy in East Asia Hong-Chi Shiau South Korean Manhwa’s Long and Strong Association with Transnationalism John A. Lent

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CONTENTS

The Transnationalization of Chinese Comic Books: A Case Study John A. Lent

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The Embryonic Stage of the Transnationalizing of Mongolian Comics John A. Lent

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Part II Southeast Asian 139

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Cambodia’s Emerging Digital Hybrids John Weeks

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Indonesian Comics: Zig-Zagging Between Indigenousness and Transnationalism John A. Lent

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A Historical Overview of Transnationalism in Malaysian Cartoons Muliyadi Mahamood

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Wife, Child, Illegal: Static Representations of Filipinos in Japanese Manga Karl Ian Uy Cheng Chua and Benjamin A. San Jose

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The Migration of Labor in Cartoons: The Story of Morgan Chua in Singapore and Hong Kong Cheng Tju Lim

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Thai Comics’ Grappling with Various Shades of Transnationalism John A. Lent

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Nationally, Much Less, Transnationally: A Struggle to Grow: Comic Art in Vietnam Chi Do Huu

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Notes on Contributors

Chua Karl Ian Uy Cheng received his Ph.D. in Social Sciences from Hitotsubashi University, Japan. He is Assistant Professor in the Department of History and prior to May 2020, he served as Director of the Japanese Studies Program at Ateneo de Manila University. He co-authored Covid-19 and Popular Culture in Southeast Asia Digital Responses to the Pandemic for the Kyoto University’s Center for Southeast Asian Studies Covid Chronicles series, and “Japanese Representation in Philippine Media” as a section for The Palgrave Handbook of Ethnicity. He has been an Asia Public Intellectual Junior Fellow. He is part of the editorial board of Social Sciences Diliman and East Asian Journal of Popular Culture and a steering committee member of the Japanese Studies Association of Southeast Asia (JSA-ASEAN). Do Huu Chi is a Vietnamese comic artist and art advocate. Since 2006, he has been creating comics and illustrations for several magazines and publishers in Vietnam. He was awarded the Special Jury Prize for Best Comics Strips in Asian Youth Animation and Comics contest in 2010. After graduating from the Savannah College of Art and Design with a MFA in Sequential Art in 2013, he returned to Vietnam and founded the creative hub Toa Tàu, which offers a dynamic creative platform for a wide range of audiences. Besides drawing, Chi loves graphic design, photography, and writing. His diverse body of work draws from one question: how to use the arts as an instrument to leverage and deepen the human experience. Chi is based in Ho Chi Minh City, Vietnam. xi

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Lent John A. taught at the college/university level from 1960–2011, including stints in the Philippines as a Fulbright scholar, Malaysia, where he started the country’s first mass communication program; Canada, as Rogers Distinguished Professor; China, as a visiting professor at four universities; and the USA. Lent pioneered in the study of mass communication and popular culture in Asia (since 1964) and Caribbean (since 1968), comic art and animation, and development communication. He has authored or edited 82 books, published and edited International Journal of Comic Art (1999–), Asian Cinema (1994–2012), and Berita (1975–2001), and chaired Asian Popular Culture (PCA) (1996–), Asian Cinema Studies Society (1994–2012), Comic Art Working Group (IAMCR, 1984–2016), Asian-Pacific Animation and Comics Association (2008–), Asian Research Center for Animation and Comics Art (2005–), and the Malaysia/Singapore/Brunei Studies Group of the Association for Asian Studies (1976–1983), all of which he founded. Lim Cheng Tju is an Educator who writes about history and popular culture. His articles have appeared in the Southeast Asian Journal of Social Science, Journal of Popular Culture, and Print Quarterly. He is the country editor (Singapore) for the International Journal of Comic Art and also the co-editor of Liquid City Volume 2, an anthology of Southeast Asian comics published by Image Comics. He is one of the authors of The University Socialist Club and the Contest for Malaya: Tangled Strands of Modernity (Amsterdam University Press/National University of Singapore Press, 2012). Mahamood Muliyadi is Professor of Cartoon Studies in the Faculty of Art & Design, Universiti Teknologi MARA, Malaysia and the founding President of the Malaysian Cartoonists’ Association in 1990. He received his Ph.D. in Cartoon Studies from the University of Kent, England in 1997. Among his books are The History of Malay Editorial Cartoons 1930s–1993 (Utusan Publications & Distributors, 2004) and Modern Malaysian Art: From the Pioneering Era to the Pluralist Era (Utusan Publications & Distributors, 2007). Muliyadi was a member of the National Visual Arts Development Board, National Art Gallery, Malaysia (2016–2018) and is currently a member of the Panel of Fine Arts Experts of the National Heritage Council of Malaysia. In 2012, he received the National Academic Award from the Ministry of Education in Malaysia.

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Ng Benjamin Wai–ming is Professor of Japanese Studies at the Chinese University of Hong Kong. He is a historian of Japanese thought and culture by training. He also teaches and researches on Japanese popular culture. His articles on Japanese popular culture have been published in International Journal of Comic Art, Animation Journal, Asian Cinema, Game Studies, Asian Music, etc. His manga research focuses on the interaction and collaboration between Japan and Hong Kong. San Jose Benjamin A. received his Ph.D. in International Public Policy from Tsukuba University, Japan. He is Assistant Professor in the Department of Political Science and since August 2020, serves as the Director of the Japanese Studies Program at Ateneo de Manila University. He authored “Impediments on Reaching Human Security for Migrants: Prospects for the Philippines and Japan” in Thinking Beyond the State: Migration, Integration and Citizenship in East Asia. His research interest includes labor migration issues, Philippine migration, and international relations. Shiau Hong-Chi is Professor of communications management at ShihHsin University in Taiwan. He had taught in the U.S. before his academic career in Taiwan. He is passionate in building a more nuanced understanding of how increasingly communication flows have helped engender new collectivities. His recent research examines how individuals form impressions of the world through their media use and how transcultural power is negotiated in a global context. He has recently published articles in Social Media + Society, Chinese Journal of Communication, Language Communication, Leisure Studies, Journal of Asian Pacific Communication, Asian Cinema, Cogent Arts and Humanities and International Journal of Comic Art and also contributed several book chapters mainly on East Asian Popular Culture. Weeks John is a comics scholar and creator based in Cambodia. His writing on Khmer art has appeared in the International Journal of Comic Art. He holds an M.A. in Asian Studies from Monash University. He has worked at American publishers Eclipse Comics and Dark Horse Comics. In Cambodia, he has worked with arts and research organizations including the Center for Khmer Studies, the Cambodian Book Federation, Nou Hach Literary Journal, Cambodian Living Arts and Our Books.

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Wong Wendy Siuyi is Professor in the Department of Design at York University in Toronto, Canada. She has taught in Hong Kong, the U.S. and Australia, and has established an international reputation as an expert in Chinese graphic design history and Chinese comic art history. She is the author of Hong Kong Comics: A History of Manhua (2002), published by Princeton Architectural Press, and she often receives invitations to speak on the topic at international venues. Her latest book, entitled The Disappearance of Hong Kong in Comics, Advertising and Graphic Design (2018), published by Palgrave Macmillan, utilizes the city as a case study to demonstrate the potential of these three media to offer us a global understanding of contemporary visual cultures.

List of Figures

Fig. 2.1

Fig. 2.2

Fig. 2.3 Fig. 2.4 Fig. 2.5 Fig. 3.1

Fig. 3.2

Fig. 3.3 Fig. 3.4

From Lau, Lily Lee-Lee. 1998. Mom’s Drawer Is at the Bottom. In Mom’s Drawer Is at the Bottom, 83. Hong Kong: The Association for the Advancement of Feminism Old Girl Mailbox. Cactus. First published in Sunday Supplement, Ming Pao. Date: September 21, 2008. Retrieved from http://www.stellaso.com/gallery/old girl_letterbox/3/1.htm Mandycat’s Website. Retrieved from https://mandycat. com/ Silly Way comics series. By Ma Chai. Published by Flying House Publishing 2007–2012 Little Thunder’s Instagram https://www.instagram. com/littlethunder/ The Weathercock (Hua Junwu, 1957), the homepage of the National Art Museum of China (Source http:// www.namoc.org/zsjs/gczp/cpjxs/201507/t20150729_ 290925.htm) Cheng Tao’s “You Can Kill All Roosters, But You Cannot Stop the Morning to Come,” Twitter post on October 14, 2014, 12:07 am. https://twitter.com/ taocomic/status/521874941335977984 The best-selling Anti-Chinese Manga in Japan: Manga Ch¯ ugoku Ny¯ umon (George Akiyama 2005) Rebel Pepper’s first comic book (Author’s copy)

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38 41 43 48

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58 62 64

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LIST OF FIGURES

Fig. 3.5 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. 5.1

Fig. 5.2 Fig. 5.3

Some of Sun’s comic books owned by the author Poster of “The Legacy of Chen Uen: Art, Life and Philosophy” on display outside the National Palace Museum Taipei (Source https://www.facebook.com/ chenuen2018/) Cover of Spider-Man, Issue #1. By Ryoichi Ikegami. It was originally published in Japan from January 1970 to September 1971 in Monthly Sh¯ onen Magazine. Image courtesy of Tong Li Comics Ltd. Drawing for the cover of Magical Super Asia (深邃美 麗的亞細亞). Volume 4. 1994. By Chen Uen. In this image, Chen used shuˇı-mò ink wash painting to create a sense of mystery and historical distance. Image courtesy of Dala Comic Publisher Heroes of the East Chou Dynasty is a historical fiction set against the backdrop of China’s Spring and Autumn period as well as during the Warring States periods (770–221 BC). The Japan Cartoonists Association honored Chen for his work on the series in 1991. Image courtesy of Dala Comic Publisher Cover of Chen’s Abi-Sword I . Abi-Sword (or Avici) is a technique of sword fighting used to revenge the death of one’s father. Image courtesy of Dala Comic Publisher Cover of Chen’s Abi-Sword II . Abi-Sword (or Avici) is a technique of sword fighting used to revenge the death of one’s father. Image courtesy of Dala Comic Publisher Romance of Three Kingdoms in video game format, which Chen repainted for the most part. The game required the background and the detailed weaponries to be rendered differently using computerized techniques. Image courtesy of Dala Comic Publisher Portrayal of Wu Xung, a well-known character in Water Margin. Image Courtesy of Dala Comic Publisher Office website of the 24th Seoul International Cartoon & Animation Festival (Source http://www. sicaf.org/) Promotional leaflet of the Korea Manhwa Museum (Source http://www.sicaf.org/) Covers of Kim Dong-Hwa’s Color Trilogy (Source https://firstsecondbooks.com/books/kim-dong-hwascolor-trilogy/)

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87 89

96 98

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LIST OF FIGURES

Fig. 5.4 Fig. 5.5

Fig. 6.1 Fig. 6.2

Fig. 6.3

Fig. 6.4 Fig. 7.1

Fig. 7.2

Fig. 7.3

Fig. 7.4

Fig. 7.5 Fig. 7.6

Fig. 8.1

Official website of Webtoon (Source https://www.web toons.com/en) Longtime cartoonist Park Jae-dong was a strong opponent of the manga inflow and was an organizer of Uri Manhwa Hyophoe. Seoul. August 10, 2018 (Photo by Kim Chunhyo. Permission of Park Jae-dong) The homepage of Beijing Total Vision Culture Spreads Co. Ltd. https://totalvision.cn/en/ Wang Ning, founder and general manager of Total Vision, with Emmanual Lepage (Courtesy of Wang Ning) French artists in China as part of the exchange between the two countries. Left to right: Michel Suro, Laurent Verron, Emmanual Lepage, and Christian Lax (Photo by Wang Ning. Courtesy of Wang Ning) Drawing by Dong Zhequn while an exchange artist in Paris (Courtesy of Wang Ning and Dong Zhequn) Samandariin Tsogtbayar (Satso) in Drexel Hill, PA, U.S. May 8, 2019 (Photo by John A. Lent. Permission of Samandariin Tsogtbayar) Zaluuchuudin unen (youth’s truth) propagated messages of the Mongolian people’s revolutionary party and Soviet Union. This World War II front page cartoon shows the USSR stopping Germany. (Courtesy of Dan Erdenebal) The adventures of Borkhuu, Odkhuu, and Tumurkhuu, (created in 1993, by Samandariin Tsogtbayar, was Mongolia’s first comic book. Permission of Samandariin Tsogtbayar) Erdenebayar Nambaral. Nomadic comics. Ulaan Baatar. July 27, 2018. (Photo by Xu Ying. Permission of Erdenebayar Nambaral) Bumbardai is a Mongolian comics series (Written and illustrated by Erdenebayar Nambaral) Dan Erdenebal and Erdenebayar Nambaral with copy of Bumbardai in Nomadic office. (Photo by Xu Ying. Permission of Dan Erdenebal) Cover and verso of Concombres amers: Les raciness d’une tragédie Cambodge 1967–1975. Graphic novel by Séra. Marabulles, 2018 (Source https://www.bedetheque. com/BD-Concombres-amers-Tome-1-347055.html)

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LIST OF FIGURES

Fig. 8.2

Fig. 8.3

Fig. 8.4 Fig. 8.5 Fig. 8.6 Fig. 9.1 Fig. 9.2

Fig. 9.3 Fig. 9.4 Fig. 9.5

Fig. 10.1

Fig. 10.2

Fig. 10.3

Fig. 10.4 Fig. 10.5 Fig. 10.6 Fig. 10.7 Fig. 10.8

The narratives end with proceedings at the ECCC, from My Story, Your Story. Art by Sao Srymao. 2016 (Courtesy of Kdei Karuna) Captain Cambodia. Illustration, story, and text by Patrick Samnang Mey. Cover and page 1. 2015 (Source https://www.facebook.com/patricksamna ngmey/photos/419096574926761) Enfant Soldat. By Akira Fukaya/Aki Ra. Delcourt, 2009 (Courtesy of Delcourt) Miley Manga, Khmer unlicensed comics scanlation portal (Source https://www.mileymangakh.com/) Doraemon and Tintin: One Piece imagery adorns Phnom Penh marquee (Courtesy of John Weeks) Cover of Put On, created by Kho Wang Gie. 1931 “Papaya Pa’ chan” by Saseo Ono. Kana Djawa Shinbun. Jakarta. In 1944 or 1945 (Courtesy International Journal of Comic Art ) R.A. Kosasih’s Sri Asih, Indonesian heroine akin to Wonder Woman Hikajat Dewi Kembang Melati, an example of silat cergam. 1960 A wayang cergam starring Petruk and Gareng. Cover of Dagelan Petruk-Gareng. Credit: Indri Soedono, artist. Courtesy of Lambiek. M. Salehuddin’s “Jenaka.” “Pak Ngah Inspects A Battalion,” published in Utusan Zaman on August 28, 1949 John Millar Watt’s “Philosofist,” published in Pop Annual 1: Nearly 100 cartoons reproduced from The Daily Sketch Saidin Yahya’s “Let’s strengthen the position of the nation by ourselves,” published in Majlis on January 27, 1948 Raja Hamzah’s “Keluarga Mat Jambul” [Mat Jambul’s Family], published in Berita Harian on July 1, 1957 Lat’s “Keluarga Si Mamat” [Mamat’s Family], published in 1979 (Courtesy of Lat) A David Low cartoon published in Berita Harian on August 10, 1957 Peng’s Berita Harian, published on October 4, 1958 Gila-Gila, 40th Anniversary Issue, published in April 2018 (Courtesy of Jaafar Taib)

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151 156 160 161 171

173 175 177

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193 194 196 198 199 201

LIST OF FIGURES

Fig. 10.9 Fig. 10.10 Fig. 11.1 Fig. Fig. Fig. Fig.

11.2 11.3 11.4 11.5

Fig. 12.1

Fig. 12.2

Fig. 12.3 Fig. 12.4 Fig. 12.5 Fig. 13.1 Fig. 13.2

Fig. 13.3

Fig. 13.4

Fig. 13.5 Fig. 13.6 Fig. 14.1

Gempak, published on July 15, 2012 Zunar’s “Ketawa Pink Pink,” published in 2018 (Courtesy of Zunar) Population pyramid of Japan circa 2019 (populationpyramid.net 2019) Cover of Maeda Musashi’s Firipin tsuma 4 koma nikki Cover of Hideki Arai’s Itoshi no Airin Cover of Kurasumeito wa Gaikokujin Cover of Makoto Arai’s Motto Tonari no Seki wa Gaikokujin A photo of the author together with political cartoonists, Morgan Chua (center) and Dengcoy Miel (left), August 2013 (Courtesy of the author) The cartoon that appeared on the front page of the May 19, 1971 issue of The Singapore Herald (By Morgan Chau) Cartoon drawing inspired by Tank Man (By Morgan Chua) Morgan’s 2014 recreation of his 1971 Singapore Herald tank cartoon (By Morgan Chua) Morgan’s 2010 cartoon about the influx of foreign talent into Singapore in the 1990s An early phap lo by King Rama VI, parodying the head of the royal railroads A cartoon likay strip by Prayoon Chanyawongse, late 1938 in Suphapburut (Source Resemblance to Tarzan and Popeye. Reproduced from Prayoon Chanyawongse Foundation) Vithit Utsahajit, former director, Banlue Sarn. Bangkok. August 3, 1993 (Source Photo by John A. Lent. Courtesy of Vithit Utsahajit) Tezuka’s Astro Boy and Shirato’s Kaze no lshimaru in the Thai-translated manga magazine, Katun Dek (Child Cartoon). April 1967 (Source Courtesy of Nicolas Verstappen) Cover of initial issue of comics magazine, Katch. November 1998 Panels from Suttichart Sarapaiwanich’s Joe the Sea-Cret Agent. In Katch. Issue 5. March 1999 Cartoons by Nguyen Gia Tri for the newspaper Ngay Nay, 1936

xix 205 207 214 219 220 223 226

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LIST OF FIGURES

Fig. 14.2 Fig. 14.3 Fig. 14.4 Fig. 14.5 Fig. 14.6 Fig. 14.7 Fig. 14.8

A double page from Than Dong Dat Viet, Volume 80, 2006 A double page from Long Than Tuong old version, Chapter 2, 2004 A commercial advertising comic by Facebook page “Bà Già Kêu Ca” (The Nagging Old Lady), 2019 ´ Ho.a Viê.t Nam (Cartoons in Vietnam) Cover of Biêm by Ly Truc Dung (2011) A cover and inside cartoons of Tuoi Tre Cuoi (Laughing Youth), 2019 Pages from Vietnamerica by GB Tran, 2011 Pages from The Best We Could Do by Thi Bui, 2017

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CHAPTER 1

Introduction John A. Lent

Historical Context In New York City, an Indian American mother brings home a Mumbaipublished Amar Chitra Katha, a comic book to familiarize her American-educated daughter with Indian culture. In Thailand, a Burmese cartoonist-in-exile draws about his homeland’s political troubles, while in Kenya, Gado (Godfrey Mwampembwa), originally from Tanzania, finishes one of his hard-hitting, online political cartoons that will be seen worldwide. Meanwhile, in Bangladesh, Pakistan, and Turkey, Islamic parliamentarians and protestors are urging the recall of their envoys in Paris and the boycott of French products because of Charlie Hebdo cartoons portraying the Prophet Muhammad. In Marvel Comics’ New York City offices, an editor is contacting a slew of freelance cartoonists scattered across Asia, Oceania, and South America, offering commissions to draw the company’s superhero characters. Perhaps at the same time, Nelson Shin returns to Seoul after overseeing DPR Korean animators in Pyongyang producing work for his Akom Studio, itself under contract by

J. A. Lent (B) International Journal of Comic Art, Drexel Hill, PA, USA e-mail: [email protected]

© The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2022 J. A. Lent et al. (eds.), Transnationalism in East and Southeast Asian Comics Art, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-95243-3_1

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J. A. LENT

Euro-North American animation houses. These are but a few examples of the transnationalization of comic art. It is becoming evident in comic art scholarship that comics and transnationalism are linked in many ways, a phenomenon existent throughout the medium’s history. A few examples suffice to make the point. After the comical weekly Punch was started in London in 1841, other imitators using the name Punch popped up all over the vast British commonwealth, on every continent except South America. In Asia, China, Hong Kong, Japan, and India sported their own Punches. Australian cartoon scholar Richard Scully (2013, 14, 29), who mapped the “Punch Empire,” did not include all Indian vernacular Punches because he said there were so many. Though not as extensive, the American cartoon magazine Puck (1871–1918) had sprouts such as Puck, or the Shanghai Charivari, Shanghai Puck, and Osaka Puck (see Lent 2015). Cross-national impacts also affected the development of comic strips, comic books, and political cartoons in Asia. These comic art forms were introduced and nourished in a variety of ways. 1. By the intermingling of Asian and Western cartoonists, such as European artists Charles Wirgman and Georges Bigot settling in nineteenth-century Tokyo and starting cartoon magazines, Japanese pioneer cartoonist Ippei Okamoto brought home comic strip characters (e.g., “Bringing up Father,” cloned into “Nanki no Tosan” or “Easy-Going Daddy”) after a visit to the New York World in 1922, or French artists Lelan, André Joyeux, and Albert Cézard introducing cartoons to Vietnam; 2. By colonists such as the Dutchman Clinge Doorenbosi and his 1938 strip “Flippie Flink” in Indonesia or the British commissioner of Burma’s railroad who is credited with drawing the first cartoon in Myanmar in 1912; 3. By visiting or resident Western cartoonists such as some of the early English-language political cartoonists in Hong Kong, or British businessman Ernest Major, who while resident in Shanghai, pioneered producing Chinese illustrated magazines as early as 1877, or the Russian Sapajou who worked as a cartoonist in China from 1925 to 1940 and influenced major artists such as Hua Junwu (see, Lent and Xu, 2017, 41);

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4. By exposure to outside artists, periodicals, and schools of art, examples being Miguel Covarrubias, Aubrey Beardsley, George Grosz, and others in China; British comics magazines The Beano and The Dandy in Malaysia; Mad magazine in Bangladesh (Unmad) and Malaysia (Gila Gila); Americanized comics characters “Kenkoy,” “Kulafu” (“Tarzan”), “Goyo at Kikay” (“Bringing Up Father”), “Lukas Malakas” (“Popeye”), “Kaptayn Barbell” (“Captain Marvel”), and others in the Philippines, and diverse art styles such as art nouveau, art deco, cubism, surrealism, and symbolism in 1930s’ Shanghai manhua and manga learned by Feng Zikai, the “father of Chinese cartooning,” while studying in Japan in 1921 (Harbsmeier 1984, 19); 5. By the spread of United States comic strips distributed throughout Asia by King Features of New York. 6. By military personnel who left American and British comic books behind when they were discharged from the Philippines and other Asian territories after the Second World War, and from South Korea after the Korean War.

Conceptualization of Transnationalism Transnationalism is loosely delineated in this work—not specifically defined, but rather conceptualized by what the term can encompass. It makes sense to avoid being strapped by a single of many descriptions of the notion of transnational across different disciplines. Most often, the term applies to immigration and crossing borders; other times, it refers to the global reorganization of the production process. It is sometimes used interchangeably with globalization or as the vehicle of globalization, and in media studies, it can encompass transborder media exports, “capital flows (and ownership concentration), individualization of technology, and consumption practices” (Christensen 2013, 2402). One researcher, in attempting to “disentangle” the term, clustered transnationalism as a “social morphology, as a type of consciousness, as a mode of cultural reproduction, as an avenue of capital, as a site of political engagement, and as a reconstruction of ‘place’ or locality” (Vertovec 1999, 447). Still another thought is that comparative and transnational “generally go hand in hand, because transnational exchange illuminates similarities and differences” (Hoffmann 2011).

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Transnationalism here refers to the movement of products, technology, ideas, and people across national borders—pure and simple. The term “comics studies” encompasses a multitude of forms, including comic books, comic strips, editorial (political) cartoons, graphic novels, animation, and Webtoons, although not all are represented in this collection of studies. Comics studies, according to Kate Polak (2015), recognized before other disciplines (particularly, literary studies) that analyses carried out strictly along traditional national borders were becoming “increasingly obsolete.” She contended that “comics scholars have historically grappled with approaching graphic narratives that are explicitly transnational at the levels of authorship, form, and content,” because the comics often have been collaborative efforts. She is correct about the transnational nature of comics production; however, although that phenomenon was there to be studied, researchers did not take up the challenge, to any extent, until the twenty-first century. Along the same lines, though transnational phenomena existed for centuries (more likely, millennia), the term “trans-national” came about only in 1916, credited to writer Randolph Bourne, who used it in an Atlantic Monthly article (Bourne 1916, 86–97). In media studies, the term was popular at the tail end of the twentieth century in discussions of transnational media flows and ownership, especially in the 1970s and early 1980s during the campaign for a New World Information Order, carried out by UNESCO and the Non-Aligned Countries Movement. An Asian example of pre-nineteenth-century transnationalism—though by another name—was the Siwilai project during the reign of King Mongkut (1851–1868) of Thailand. Siwilai was a localization process that selectively adopted socio-cultural traits from the West and hybridized them into a Thai setting, at the same time, retaining Thai sovereignty (see Chapter 13).

Contemporary Scene: Transnational Ownership In contemporary Asia (and elsewhere), transnationalism and comics/cartoons are bound in other dimensions, most perilously for comic art, by media conglomerates’ large-scale, global acquisition of newspapers and magazines that carry comic strips and political cartoons and of some comic book firms.

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The extent to which these media conglomerates have gobbled up comic art is mindboggling. A look at a 2017 report by Publishers Weekly on the world’s six largest media conglomerates with a total value of US $430 billion reveals that comics, animation, and video games hold an important place in these staggering collections of properties. First-ranked National Amusements, which encompasses Viacom, CBS, and Simon & Schuster, also owns Nickelodeon and its offshoots, MTV Animation, Paramount Animation, and CBS Games. Among second place Disney’s many holdings are the US$4 billion-dollar Marvel Comics empire, Disney Comics, Ultimate Comics, Lucas Film Animation, Pixar, Industrial Light and Magic, Fox Animation, Blue Sky Animation as well as video games, television channels, film studios, and theme parks. Third-ranked Time Warner Inc., which AT&T purchased in 2016, owns DC Comics, Mad Magazine, Cartoon Network, Warner Brothers Animation Studios, which in turn owns Looney Tunes, Rooster Teeth Animation, Warner Animation Group, Williams Street Animation, and videogame companies, in addition to Time, CNN, HBO as well as film and television studios. The second-tier conglomerates include Comcast with DreamWorks Animation, Universal Animation, and Illumination; News Corp with Avon Books; and Sony, owners of Sony Pictures Animation and Sony Pictures Imageworks. Since 2017, the order of the top-earning conglomerates has shifted so that by 2020, AT&T was first, followed in order by Comcast, Disney, and Viacom/CBS (National Amusements). In fact, buyouts, mergers, and other transfer financial arrangements occur so frequently that data become outdated rather quickly. However, one can gauge the degree of conglomerization that exists by looking at the latest figures available and building in the factor that if there are changes, they will be toward lowering, rather than expanding, the number of outlets as the big fish consumes the smaller ones down the line. As already surmised, it is not unusual to see publishing conglomerates consume each other. In recent years, the centuries-old Casterman, a publisher later of Franco-Belgian comics (including the Adventures of Tintin), became a part of Groupe Flammarion which, in turn, was bought by RCS Media Group of Italy. Germany’s huge comics publisher Carlsen was owned by Sweden’s Bonnier Group before it was sold to the Egmont Group of Denmark and Norway, and the once-powerful Robert Maxwell media conglomerate owned Fleetway Editions representing sixty to seventy percent of the UK’s comics market before the Danish Gutenberghus Group took it over.

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The aforementioned six largest media conglomerates with major comics appendages are not alone. Bertelsmann, the world’s fourthlargest publisher, has comics through its wholly owned Random Penguin Group subsidiary, previously partially owned by Pearson, the world’s second-largest publisher. Since 2014, the mammoth Amazon has owned ComiXology, a dominant digital comics marketplace. Hachette Livre, one of the world’s largest trade and educational publishers, has comics ties through its book publishing giant Hachette, and in recent years, Televisa Group, the Mexican media conglomerate, has brought into its fold at least half of the small companies responsible for hundreds of comic book titles on the Mexican market. A 2019 Publishers Weekly tabulation of the largest revenue producing publishers worldwide found at least eleven of the first thirty-two heavily involved with comics. The world’s largest publisher, RELX Group (Reed Elsevier), is also the number one producer of pop culture events, including comic cons worldwide, through its subsidiary, ReedPOP (Steiner 2019, 1). Bertelsmann (fourth), Hachette Livre (sixth), and Harper Collins (ninth) have already been mentioned. Four of these top publishers with significant comics holdings are in Japan: Kodansha Ltd. (seventeenth), Shueisha (twentieth), Kadokawa Publishing (twenty-first), and Shogakukan (twenty-fourth). Shueisha and Shogakukan are affiliated with the Hitotsubashi Group. Each of these conglomerates has several holdings in other media and entertainment properties, such as broadcasting, newspapers, records, a theme park, software (websites and mobile sites), video games, and film. As an indicator of their size, Kadokawa Group Holdings owns forty-three companies; Shogakukan publishes sixty-four magazines, eighteen of which are comics, and about 760 new book titles annually; and Shueisha, the world’s largest manga publisher, also owns Hakusensha publishers and with Shogakukan, Viz Media, to produce manga in the United States, and ShoPro, to distributes, license, and merchandise popular magazines and comic books in Japan. Other transnational publishers with significant comics holdings that Publishers Weekly lists are Egmont Group (thirteenth) of Denmark and Norway, Holtzbrinck (fourteenth) of Germany, and Bonnier (thirtysecond) of Sweden. The Egmont Group includes magazines, books, films, cineplexes, television, comic books, textbooks, online communities, games, and game consoles. Egmont’s more than 100 companies are active in more than thirty countries. Bonnier is composed of 175

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decentralized companies in five divisions (books, magazine group, business press, newspapers, and broadcasting and entertainment) operating in more than twenty countries. Bonnier consists of book publishers and book clubs throughout Scandinavia, is the major publisher of fiction in Finland, Norway, and Sweden, the leading publisher of children’s books in Germany, and the owner of Adlibris, an online book retailer. The synergistic holdings of these companies lend themselves well to spin-offs of comics on multiple platforms (Milliot 2019. See also, Milliot 2017, 2018). Besides the examples from Japan, other media conglomerates in Asia have major holdings in comics publishing. For most of its ninety-year history, the Philippines komiks industry was nearly totally in the hands of Ramon Roces, whose family-owned print and broadcast media. Similarly, a large proportion of the comic books published in Indonesia come off Kompas Gramedia Group presses. In Hong Kong, one comics company (Jademan) controlled the industry, its books garnering 70–90% of the market in the 1980s. In South Korea, two companies (Dai Won Publishing and Seoul Cultural Publishers) brought out fifteen of the country’s twenty comics magazines for years. In Malaysia, Art Square Group controls many of the comics and graphic novels titles. In Thailand, three mass media groups (Nation, Matichon, and Manager) are heavily involved in comics production and in India, Sir Richard Branson founded Virgin Comics LLC (later Liquid Comics), which was part of his Virgin group of transnational companies. Emphasizing transnationalism via conglomerate ownership of large segments of the comics industry is justified, because of detrimental elements and consequences inherent in such trends. For one thing, it is not just the power that conglomerates wield, but also that of other companies they interlock with through board memberships. Second, due to their immense holdings, conglomerate owners have many vested interests to protect, some of which can represent a threat to artists’ freedom and autonomy, the quality and diversity of comics titles and contents, and the consideration of goals other than just those of marketing. Third, conglomerates tend to enclose intellectual property solely for their own enrichment, putting a price on materials that once were free, strengthening and extending rights to intellectual property, and making sure these rights cannot be breached. Anyone who had tried to obtain permission to reprint material “owned” by these conglomerates can appreciate Herbert Schiller’s prediction of a “corporate enclosure of culture” (Schiller 1989).

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Finally, conglomerate ownership of mass media has been blamed for the homogenization/standardization of culture (in comics, e.g., the “Marvel Way”) and the blending of news and entertainment leading to sensationalism. Remembering that comic art also encompasses political cartoons and comic strips, the possible ramifications of conglomerate ownership of newspapers and magazines become even more serious. Corporations of the magnitude of those that operate newspaper chains in North America, Asia, Europe, and Australia especially, wield enormous control over their appendages and their journalists and artists. As I said before, they have many vested interests, often tied to government and big business, that can interfere with truthful reporting by writers and cartoonists.

Transnationalism: Inter-country Flows In the 1970s, much discourse took place in mass media circles concerning issues such as one-way news flows, media and cultural imperialism, and the need for a New World Information Order to right the imbalances between North/South, core/periphery, rich/poor countries. It was an important discussion but seemed to peter out, replaced by terms such as globalization, glocalization, and hybridity alongside strong denouncements of the cultural/media imperialism theory. With globalization, supported by new information technology, as the refrain went, news, information, and entertainment flowed both ways. To a limited degree, they have, but for the most part, globalization favors, as it always has, the dominant countries and their cultural goods, those that initially cornered the market. During the past quarter century, there have been formidable efforts, backed by strong government financial support, to open up or expand comics and animation of Asian origins to a wider international audience. Particularly, in Japan, South Korea, and China, governments saw the transnational potential of comics and animation and their merchandise as money-generating exports. At the same time, local companies envisioned their worth as products themselves or promotional boosts to other “saleables.” The Japanese government recognized the significant overseas market for manga during the past decade, labeling the comics as a cultural “ambassador” and establishing a prestigious international manga award to spur overseas cartoonists to imitate this Japanese comics style.

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After 1994, and again in 1997, the South Korean government pumped huge sums of money into comics (manhwa) and animation, hoping to cash in on the cultural globalism of the times. As a result, a strong infrastructure was put into place, including a government comics content association, separate animation and comics centers, comics museums, libraries, conventions, competitions, more than 150 university and college comic art programs, and a television cartoon network. Specifically, the federal government’s Korean Culture and Contents Agency and at least two municipal governments heavily funded comics and animation. In 2008, the Ministry of Culture, Sports, and Tourism set in place a multimillion-dollar stimulus package to promote comics by 2013 into what the Ministry called “killer content” for a global market. Even more money was allocated for animation, character-driven content, and human resources (Han 2008). The drive for manhwa to enter international markets was in full gear by the early 2000s, accelerated by major South Korean exhibitions at comics festivals in the United States, Europe, and Asia, the expansion of South Korean publishers with branches in the United States, and the opening of markets in China, Europe, and Southeast Asia. A result was that as domestic manhwa sales continued to drop, those outside South Korea increased, especially in Europe, but also in North America, Japan, and Southeast Asia, and to a lesser extent in Latin America, Oceania, and Africa. The transnationalizing of Chinese comics (manhua) was a consideration during China’s Eleventh Five-Year Projection for Social and Economic Development (2006–2010), when comics/animation was propped up as the “third pillar” of the economy, a key cultural sector to be developed at the national level. In short order, the Chinese government, viewing comic art as a potentially important investment, designated it as a “new industry” in more than twenty provinces, permitted nine cities to become important production bases with preferential policies, and sponsored many animation/comics extravaganzas. Efforts have been made to push China’s comics and animation globally through manhua retrospectives at international festivals, organizing participation in a Northeast Asia animation consortium, and co-production ventures with some foreign companies. For the most part, the immense government expenditure did not yield much improvement in manhua’s standing on a global level. Unquestionably, manga have traveled the furthest and most deeply into other cultures. Usually in pirated versions, they found their way

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into Taiwan, South Korea, and Hong Kong in the 1960s and 1970s, leaving strong impacts on local comics. Some Taiwanese cartoonists abandoned the profession because of a perceived double standard practiced by government censorship bodies that favored manga; in South Korea, manga were banned, yet, strangely, a government agency existed to censor them, and in Hong Kong, manga production techniques, such as the assembly-line, were adopted by the then-colony’s largest comics firm. The big boost came in the early to mid-1990s when Japan’s economic bubble burst and the country feverishly sought overseas markets. Simultaneously, a generation being nourished on video games and online activity, tired of (or never having taken to) American superhero comics and impressed with the freshness and diversity of manga drawings and stories and often complex, but vulnerable, characters furnished the market. There are a number of explanations for the enthusiastic global acceptance of manga: their cinematic formats, different types of stories, inclusion of liberal amounts of sex and violence, ease of reading, and the audiences’ seeking a different type of comic from those in the Disney style or Marvel way. Add to these two other reasons emanating from Indonesia’s switch from local to Japanese comics: the inexpensiveness of imported manga and the very narrow repertoire of local comics. Transnationalization of manga in Asia has been a blessing and a curse. On the one hand, the impact has been a godsend, reinvigorating some dormant comics cultures and showing the medium has a future. In other instances, the vigorous introduction of manga has homogenized the look of comic books and almost obliterated traditional means of producing them. A Tiny Country with Transnational Aspirations As can be observed in the second half of this book, it is not only the larger countries and territories of East Asia already discussed that envision the transnationalizing of their comics as a way to rejuvenate an industry that faced dire straits, if not extinction. For example, with Brunei Darussalam, it was a case of birthing and nourishing a neophyte comics scene, rather than rejuvenating a dormant one. To compensate for the fact that Brunei did not merit a chapter because of a lack of resources, a few paragraphs about the country’s comics are offered here. Though newspaper comics strips go back to the 1960s, comic books and graphic novels are more recent phenomena. Brunei

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comic books are a product of the twenty-first century, though a very few graphic novels appeared in the 1990s—Dr. Malai Yunus bin Malai Yusof (a.k.a. Noh), initially in 1990 with Dooi Malaiku and Rahim Jahit in 1999 with his Koleksi Cuboi, and anthology of his Borneo Bulletin strips. As of 2018, only seven artists had published comics/graphic novels, the most prolific with at least five books each were Dr. Malai, Rahim Jahit, and Mohd. Rezuan. Attempts in recent years have been made to develop a comics infrastructure with three entities publishing books (the governmental Dewan Bahasa dan Pustaka [Language and Literacy Bureau], Borneo Press, and AD Comics), a loosely formed group of amateur/professional comics artists, Bruvisual Creative Community (2012), that organized the country’s first comics exhibition, published a manga magazine, and held a manga competition, at least one team, Xibit, made up of seven artists collaborating on a comic book, and the government’s youth entrepreneurial campaign. Because of high youth unemployment, the government plans to remedy the problem by offering training, building infrastructures, providing financial support, and opening market access. Another hopeful result is that the young entrepreneurs will establish international markets—for comics as well. Bruneian comic art had been affected by transnationalism not only through dreams (though foggy) of creating an international market, but also by the welcomed influx of manga and the encouragement that they be bought and read and imitated. It is more than likely that the few local superhero comics characters were modelled after American prototypes (see Muhamad Norhadi 2021). There are other transnational flows of comics within Asia, often tied to cultural and linguistic commonalities. Malaysian cartoonist Lat’s Kampung Boy has found an international audience, especially in Southeast Asia, because of its nostalgic portrayal of children’s simpler life fifty or sixty years ago that many readers yearn for or recall. Politically motivated divisions of countries also allow for the transnationality of comics (e.g., Indian comics of Pran and others found followings in Bangladesh and Pakistan, both of which splintered from the Indian subcontinent); similarly, there is an interchange of cartoonists and their works between Malaysia and Singapore, which, at one time, made up Malaya. Chineselanguage comics, often in pirated editions, have found ready audiences in Taiwan, Hong Kong, Malaysia, and Singapore.

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Standing to revolutionize the transnational flow of comic art in Asia is the internet. It already has a running start in that direction, benefiting from the fact that Asia is highly wired. Asian countries lead the world in smartphone usage and in a number of other categories: four countries (China, Japan, South Korea, and India) have been among the top ten for fixed, wired internet usage; four (China, Japan, India, and South Korea) are in the top ten for mobile cellular subscriptions, and five (Hong Kong, South Korea, Japan, Singapore, and Taiwan) among the top ten for average peak broadband connection speeds. Comics and their creators in a number of Asian countries have gone digital, displaying and selling their comics and cartoons on the internet at an accelerated frequency and to an international readership, networking with colleagues globally, and establishing many web and blog sites devoted to comic art. Internet platforms and tech company setups are increasingly dealing with comics. In Indonesia, which has very high mobile phone penetration, Ngomik has tapped into the public’s love of comics and mobile phones by partnering with all of the country’s telecommunications firms to provide users with the opportunity to buy Indonesian and Japanese comics in mobile-friendly formats using their mobile phone credit. The company’s site lists about 3000 cartoonists. Recognizing that India has a potential comics market of up to half a billion people under age twenty-five, a huge untapped creative talent pool, and about 850 million mobile phone users, Graphic India was established with a focus on creating comics through mobile and digital platforms. After Japan, South Korea is the country that developed web comics early on and in profusion. For example, as early as between 2002 and 2004, the South Korean internet comic book market more than doubled and the number one portal site, Daum, was already transforming more than 50,000 comic books into digital files. Much of this internet activity benefited comics readers within countries, especially women. Previous to the onslaught of digital comics, women were not very regular or avid comics readers. They shied away from entering comics rental and sales shops and stalls because of these locales’ often dingy surroundings, their male dominance in clientele and merchandise, and their lack of capacity for discreteness. For example, initially, it was thought that online Japanese comics would appeal to commuters, but most readers turned out to be homebound and women, some of whom felt free to buy racy titles without being seen.

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But, as already indicated, digital comics and cartoons have opened up transnational venues for all cartoonists to network and exchange ideas, exhibit their work, and occasionally enter the international market.

Transnationalism and Creativity Transnationalism figures significantly in how comic art is created and produced and the way cartoonists and animators are treated. Issues that surface are the international division of labor (is it exploitation or a transfer of skills?), brain drains, poor labor compensation and conditions, offshore comic art employment and its effects on creativity, and the role of women in comic art creativity. Since at least the 1970s, American comics publishers “farmed out” work to less-expensive artists in Asia, Latin America, and Oceania. Among the first “invasions” was that of the Philippines; some Filipino cartoonists moved to the United States to work for DC Comics, while others remained in the Philippines and contributed their work directly or through brokers to American publishers. DC Comics’ interest in hiring Filipino artists was serious to the extent that its editors/officials went on a talent recruiting trip to its capital, Manila. They hired cartoonists under a broker system, explained by famous cartoonist Nonoy Marcelo (1988; quoted in Lent 2009b, 86–7), thusly: “Illustrators in the Philippines received 75 pesos per page. Those Filipinos who went to the United States subcontracted illustrators in the Philippines. The United States comics paid them the equivalent of 800 pesos per page and they gave the subcontracted illustrators in the Philippines 100 pesos per page, still better than 75 pesos they got here. Then, those back in the Philippines decided they’d also go to the United States and get the full 800.” Such practices usually raise the question of whether this is labor exploitation, solely a means of survival, or a transfer of skills? The answer is probably all three. Artists working for American comics and animation companies based outside the country are paid at a lower scale, but, as one argument goes, they still make more money than they can from their home countries’ comic art industries. Offshore comic art employment has provided some training and career opportunities for non-American artists and writers, but it also has damaged the styles of some of them. New Zealand cartoonist/graphic novelist Dylan Horrocks told how writing for DC Comics became a nightmare that he had to escape: “It almost killed me as a cartoonist. I was writing in a voice that wasn’t mine and felt

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trapped in other people’s wish-fulfillment fantasies. Eventually, I lost my cartooning voice entirely, and my lifelong faith in stories and art” (Gravett 2015). The transnationalization of comic art has also led to brain drains as Asian, European, and Central and South American artists and writers left their homelands for the glitter and money offered by DC, Marvel, or Disney. For example, the migration of a couple dozen Filipino cartoonists to the United States in the 1970s and beyond depleted the talent pool in the Philippines. But, one can hardly blame them for leaving; cartoonists throughout the world face precarious existences. Among the hundreds of cartoonists that I have interviewed on every continent, the majority had to keep “day jobs”—as an architect, farmer, clerk, tattoo artist, psychiatrist, ferry boat operator, graphic artist, betel leaf merchant, military colonel, teacher, long-distance truck driver, male hair stylist, French horn musician, engineer, electrician, medical doctor, boxer, and orchestra soprano. In Asia and Africa, particularly, to survive, cartoonists must draw for multiple outlets and regularly produce many drawings, some of which never see print, stopped for political or religious reasons or edged out by lucrative advertisements. Those factors account for why we see considerable pockets of West African, Philippine, Cuban, Mexican, Brazilian, and other nations’ cartoonists in the United States and Western Europe. Unfortunately, a number of them do not realize their dreams in their new countries and end up doing freelance cartooning and working non-comic art jobs. Other transnational comics labor problems hound cartoonists. In much of Africa, Asia, and the world more generally, newspaper and magazine editors continue to use less-expensive American, and sometimes British, syndicated gag and political cartoons and comic strips rather than indigenous ones, depriving local cartoonists of employment. For example, in Asia, local newspaper comic strips are almost non-existent in important English-language dailies in India, Malaysia, Singapore, and Thailand. Additionally, as international intellectual property regulations are either vaguely interpreted or not enforced, cartoonists’ rights are not normally respected. Widespread piracy endemic to these regions has added to cartoonists’ woes. Digitalization and its effects on the transnationalization of comics have been discussed at some length in the “Transnationalism: Inter-Country Flows” section; however, there is another domain where it has had an immense effect—the role of women as creators. As the internet allows

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creators to work at home, this benefits women who may be homebound taking care of families or restricted in their social movement by religious and social mores. Through the internet, they can have a comics community (even transnational) of their own.

Other Aspects of Transnationalism and Comics While writing the “Foreword” to Transnational Perspectives on Graphic Narratives: Comics at the Crossroads, I took the liberty of recategorizing the three sections of the book: comics creators as transnational agents, depictions and representations of transnationalism in comics, and transnational comic book titles and characters. They are briefly mentioned here to fill out the discussion on transnationalism and comics. The first category includes comics creators straddling different cultures and countries: artists and writers who are recent immigrants (Malaysia’s Hup and Sonny Liew to Singapore; Taiwanese cartoonists to China and Japan), those working for comics industries other than those of their home country (the aforementioned “Filipino invasion of the United States”), and those who stayed put, but their work sympathized with transnational causes (perhaps some comics journalists and Lalo Alcaraz or the Hernandez brothers’ [see, Glaser 2013] accounts of Latino culture in the United States). Depictions of transnationalism in comics most often focus on a locale and how it and its problems are represented, examples being Guy Delisle’s stories about Pyongyang and Burma, or Ted Rall’s tales of Afghanistan. This also includes comics about border crossings. Transnational comic book titles and characters refer to the revision and reimaging of titles and characters in a specific national context and style. Spider-Man India and Spider-Man the Manga can be classified as transnational titles because they “transplant the American superhero into Indian and Japanese cultures and settings” (Lent “Foreword,” in Denson, Meyer, and Stein 2013, xv). Transnationalism also relates to comics and political resistance and to the diaspora. For much of the history of comics and cartoons in Asia, there have been cartoonists who fled their homelands to escape political persecution and to exercise their “freedom to cartoon” abroad. During the Second World War and China’s Civil War, some cartoonists left China to live and work in Hong Kong. More recently, Myanmar political cartoonists crossed over to Thailand as exiles, and Arif Rahman left

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his native Bangladesh for Norway to escape further humiliation and pain inflicted upon him because of one of his cartoons. Comics related to diasporas include those used to teach AsianAmericans born abroad about their families’ homelands (an example being Amar Chitra Katha and Indian Americans), and those that attempt to express diasporic feelings, such as Gene Luen Yang’s books about Chinese Americans. Concluding, by now, it is evident that transnationalization is tied to many domains of comics/cartoons and animation, including how they are created, mass-produced, and widely distributed, how they are owned and by whom, how they depict non-native lifestyles, and how they and their characters straddle different cultures and countries. None of this is new—transnationalism related to comic art existed nearly the entire lifespan of the medium. What is new, is the (re-) awakening of interest in the phenomenon by the profession and by academia.

Scope of Transnationalism in East and Southeast Asian Comic Art By now, it is more than obvious that transnationalism relative to comic art can be viewed from a multitude of perspectives. Transnationalism in East and Southeast Asian Comics Art is built on a foundation that incorporates aspects of transnationalism already discussed, such as production and creativity (e.g., comics creators and characters crossing borders, translations of comics, and creating for overseas markets), outside influences on and cross-national circulation of forms and styles (e.g., the impact of colonialism and other cultural invasions), representations of transnationalism in comics, and immigration and diaspora. Production and Creativity Translation, foreign publication, and the expansion of overseas markets are discussed in chapters by John A. Lent, who shows a trend among Korean manhwa artists to have their work translated, published, and promoted in North America and Europe. The same chapter deals with Korea’s strenuous efforts to build a stronghold for manhwa, webtoons, and animation on nearly every continent, all part of the wide-sweeping Korean Wave. Lent, in a separate chapter, provides a case study of a Chinese comics entrepreneur who serves as a transnational agent for

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exchanges and collaborative experiences between Chinese and European cartoonists. Benjamin Wai-ming Ng concentrates on the topic of comics creators crossing national borders, in these cases, to seek freedom of expression and avoid further oppression in their homeland of China. Ng, using selfexiled Chinese political cartoonists Rebel Pepper and Sun Xiangwen as examples, examined how Chinese cartoonists draw political cartoons in Japan, and how Japan shapes the way they draw about China. Over the decades, other Asian countries experienced the loss of major cartoonists who left for more lucrative opportunities abroad, such as the rash of Filipinos who moved to the United States nearly fifty years ago as well as Taiwanese artists who moved to China and Japan, and Malaysians who relocated to Singapore. Influences on and Circulation of Forms and Styles A number of explanations are given for how East and Southeast Asian comics forms and styles are influenced transnationally. Colonialism played a significant role, evidenced in these pages by Muliyadi Mahamood’s examples of Malaysian comics with their British influences, Lent’s treatment of Dutch colonial influences on Indonesia comics development, and those mentioned by Chi Do Huu about the French roots of Vietnamese comics. Though other authors do not dwell on the impacts of colonialism, the comics of most of these countries have weathered varying levels of colonialism. The styles and forms of comics in nearly all the countries/territories studied by these authors were strongly affected by manga from Japan, not necessarily because of colonialism (except in the cases of Taiwan and South Korea), but rather because initially, manga represented a different model from those of American or European comics, with formats of plentiful black and white pages, panels drawn from cameralike angles, and a preponderance of image over text allowing for quick, easy reading; unique character styles, emphasizing the kawaii (cuteness) of girls (large, round eyes, long legs); more explicit content involving sex and violence, and attention-grabbing genres (Lolita, yaoi, unka, etc.). That manga, for whatever reasons, were popular and therefore profitable, made them attractive rejuvenators of sagging comics industries of East and Southeast Asia. A couple of the chapters in this volume dwell on the presence and the impact of manga. Lent shows how unsuccessful attempts to avoid manga,

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yet learn from their business model, helped steer South Korean manhwa into a transnational mode, and how the manga invasion of Indonesia reinvigorated a sagging comics industry, and Hong-Chi Shiau profiles Taiwan’s Chen Uen, a famous cartoonist, who, with his work for manga companies in Japan, used Chinese historical stories and renovated Shiumo aesthetic art that were different from other manga artists that resulted in the spread of a nuanced Chinese-ness via manga to East Asian audiences. Other chapters point to Japan’s pivotal role in the Asian cartoon/comics realm, including the already discussed case of Chinese dissident political cartoonists choosing Japan as an exile haven as well as Mongolia’s sole comics publisher using a Japanese advisor to spread the word about what they proposed as a transnational comic book. Transnational Representations in Comics Depictions of people in comics often have transnational dimensions. The abovementioned chapter on Chen Uen fits this category, as does, to a certain extent, Wendy Siuyi Wong’s analysis of women cartoonists of Hong Kong. Karl Ian Uy Cheng Chua and Benjamin A. San Jose move in another direction, studying how Filipino women migrants to Japan are portrayed in Japanese manga, and concluding that their depictions are of an earlier migration of Filipinas that flattens “their diversity into a single image.” Immigration/Diaspora The transnationalizing of comics labor in East and Southeast Asia has usually taken one of these forms: work for North American and European comics companies is “farmed out” directly to less-expensive artists in Asia, or through brokers who take a commission; in other cases, such as the “Filipino invasion” beginning in the 1970s, the cartoonists moved to the country where the comics are produced, the United States in this example. As discussed earlier, this book devotes space to comics creators straddling different countries, prime examples being Chen Uen as Hong-Chi Shiau relates, and Rebel Pepper and Sun Xiangwen, who migrated to Japan to avoid the authorities in China, as Benjamin Wai-ming Ng discusses. John Weeks, while revealing how Khmer cartoonists are indigenizing new styles, states that they are “joined by Khmer diaspora creators

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who have sought to reinterpret, re-engage and reconcile with their own challenging history.” Chi Do Huu also discusses the work of Vietnamese cartoonists who have migrated to the United States where they have garnered some fame with their comics.

Notes 1. Though examples in this paper relate to Asia, the transnationalization of comic art existed historically worldwide (e.g., Germany’s “Max und Moritz” strip’s inspiration for the American “Katzenjammer Kids”); German and Belgian colonists’ establishing humor magazines and newspaper comic strips in German East Africa and Belgian Congo; South Africa’s “Madam and Eve”’s modeling after American strips; early Brazilian comics’ copying of American and French strips, and the translating of American comic strips (dominicales ) in Mexican dailies (see Rubenstein 1999; Vergueiro 2000, 164–77; Lent 2005; Lent, 2009a). 2. Among them were: Indian Punch, Parsee Punch, Hindi Punch, Oudh Punch, Delhi Punch, Punjabi Punch, Urdu Punch, Gujarati Punch, Puneath Punch, Madras Punch, Bihar Punch (Lent 2015, 267; Scully 2013, 14, 29). 3. Another consideration was to offset the prevalence of foreign content on Chinese television. 4. These included at least 100 very lavish comics/animation festivals by 2012, museums, centers, theme parks, thousands of new studios, and hundreds of educational and training programs.

References Bourne, Randolph S. 1916. Trans-national America. Atlantic Monthly 118: 86– 97. Christensen, Miyase. 2013. Trans-national media flows: Some key questions and debates. International Journal of Communication 7: 2400–2418. Denson, Shane, Christina Meyer, and Daniel Stein, eds. 2013. Transnational perspectives on graphic narratives: Comics at the crossroads. London: Bloomsbury. Glaser, Jennifer. 2013. Picturing the transnational in Palomar: Gilbert Hernández and the comics of the borderlands. ImageTexT: Interdisciplinary Comics

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Studies 7 (1): n. page. Dept of English, University of Florida. http://ima getext.english.ufl.edu/archives/v7_1/glaser/. Gravett, Paul. 2015. Dylan Horrocks: All pens are magic. Paul Gravett: Comics, Graphic Novels, Manga website, January 9. http://www.paulgravett.com/art icles/article/dylan_horrocks. Han, Sun-Hee. 2008. South Korean gov invests in content: Third stimulus package for local cultural units. Variety, November 24. http://variety.com/ article/VR1117996414. Accessed November 25, 2008. Harbsmeier, Christophe. 1984. The cartoonist Feng Zikai. Oslo: Universitetsforlaget. Hoffmann, David L. 2011. Cultivating the masses: Modern state practices and Soviet socialism, 1914–1939. Ithaca: Cornell University Press. Lent, John A. 1995. Easy Going Daddy, Kaptayn Barbell, and Unmad: American influences upon Asian comics. Inks (November) 58–67: 71–72. Lent, John A. 2005. Cartooning in Latin America. Cresskill: Hampton Press. Lent, John A. 2009a. Cartooning in Africa. Cresskill: Hampton Press. Lent, John A. 2009b. The first one hundred years of Philippine komiks and cartoons. Tagaytay City: Yonzon Associates Inc. Lent, John A. 2015. Asian comics. Jackson: University Press of Mississippi. Lent, John A., and Xu Ying. 2017. Comics art in China. Jackson: University Press of Mississippi. Marcelo, Nonoy. 1988. Interview with the author. September 29. Milliot, Jim. 2017. The world’s 54 largest publishers, 2017. Publishers Weekly, August 25. Milliot, Jim. 2018. The world’s 54 largest publishers, 2018. Publishers Weekly, September 14. Milliot, Jim. 2019. RELX Group is the world’s biggest publisher. Publishers Weekly, October 11. Muhamad Norhadi bin Ibrahim. 2021. Comic art: towards the development of creative publishing in Brunei Darussalam. Unpublished M. A. thesis, University of Brunei Darussalam. Polak, Kate. 2015. Playing at the margins: Review of Transnational on graphic narratives. ImageTexT: Interdisciplinary Comics Studies 7 (1): n. page. Dept of English, University of Florida. http://imagetext.english.ufl.edu/archives/ v8_1/polak/. Rubenstein, Anne. 1998. Bad language, naked ladies, and other threats to the nation: A political history of comic books in Mexico. Durham: Duke University Press. Schiller, Herbert I. 1989. Culture Inc: The corporate takeover of public expression. New York: Oxford University Press.

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Scully, Richard. 2013. A comic empire: The global expansion of Punch as a model publication, 1841–1936. International Journal of Comic Art 15 (2): 6–35. Steiner, Rupert. 2019. How comic con’s owner is harnessing tech to power its stock. Barron’s, March 21. Vergueiro, Waldomiro C. S. 2000. Brazilian superheroes in search of their own identities. International Journal of Comic Art 2 (2): 164–77. Vertovec, Steven. 1999. Conceiving and researching transnationalism. Ethnic and Racial Studies 22 (2): 447–462.

PART I

East Asian

CHAPTER 2

On Transnationality: A History of Negotiations of Self-Identity in Selected Works by Women Comic Artists in Hong Kong Wendy Siuyi Wong

Introduction Narrative sequential drawings with or without text are present under different names in many traditional Chinese cultures that could date back as far as ancient times, such as the huaxiangshi (畫像石 stone relief drawings) found in an underground tomb chamber from the Hua Dynasty (202 BC–9 AD). In contemporary times, Hong Kong’s British colonial background (1841–1997) benefited modern comics’ development in a transnational environment. As a meeting place for Chinese and nonChinese cultures interacting via trade and commercial activities, the city absorbed creative talents relocating from mainland China after the Second

W. S. Wong (B) Department of Design, York University, Toronto, Ontario, Canada e-mail: [email protected]

© The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2022 J. A. Lent et al. (eds.), Transnationalism in East and Southeast Asian Comics Art, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-95243-3_2

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World War (1939–1945). Since then, some of these creators found comics books publishing opportunities locally as well as globally to meet the Chinese diaspora communities’ popular reading needs. After decades of growth, these materials evolved to be known under their own “label” as Kong-man (港漫), literally Hong Kong comics, or an abbreviation for the local Cantonese term for Hong Kong manhua, as to distinguish these works from comics produced elsewhere. The term Kong-man is a narrow definition and most often refers to original local creations that involve Kung Fu (功夫 martial arts) or fighting theme series comics or daa-shu (打書 fighting book) in sixteenmo (十六開本 approximately 7.71 inch by 10.75 inch, 32-page) full-color floppers with standard staple stitch binding. Kong-man was rooted in three genres established in the 1930s: lianhuantu (連環圖), typically palm-size picture books of sequential drawings that can be traced back to Sung Dynasty (906–1279), American cartoons that began to flourish in Asia in the 1950s, and Japanese manga, which has been popular in Hong Kong since the mid-1960s (Wong 2004). Locally known as a gungchaishu (公仔書 figurine book), this lowbrow popular reading material suffered from the public’s negative view of popular picture books in the 1970s. The medium was eventually standardized as manhua (漫畫 comics) around August 1986 when Tony Wong Yuk-long (黃玉郎 born in 1950), the “Godfather of Hong Kong comics,” listed Jademan Holdings Limited on the Hong Kong stock market (Sze and Lung 2017). These original lowbrow homegrown creations shook up the comics publishing industry, with sales exceeding US$13 million annually in the late 1980s. About 75% of the mainstream titles published between 1980 and 1990s in Hong Kong belonged to fighting-related genres: modern kung fu, costumed sword fighting, and sci-fi (Lent 1999). In the early 1990s, new additions to the manhua genre—gongwu (江 湖 outlaw society) and guwaachai (古惑仔 gangster)—challenged the stereotyped identity of the Kong-man genre, which dominated the local manhua market before Hong Kong’s 1997 handover to the People’s Republic of China (PRC). The existing perception of the history of Hong Kong comics is primarily a masculine one, largely fighting-themed works produced almost exclusively by male artists. Between 1949 and 1999, the industry included only a handful of women comics’ artists, according to Wong and Cuklanz’s 2000 survey (2000, 2002). This chapter will continue to examine women’s comics artists works from the late 1990s onwards.

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Since the late 1990s saw transformations in the comics’ landscape in Hong Kong with local original creations’ steady decline in work produced, interest in mainstream fighting genres, and the shrinking of the specialized comics publishing industry. The local production continued to face severe challenges because of the increased copyrights authorized to the Hong Kong-Chinese versions of Japanese manga titles, as well as competition from other forms of entertainment, such as gaming and animation. With the decline of the aforementioned mainstream flopper (薄裝港漫) and the homegrown fighting genre manhua, the so-called “alternative comics” (另類漫畫), printed as regular picture books or graphic novels by book publishers, slowly emerged in the new millennium. With the changes in the local comic creations industry, which male dominated in terms of creations of original stories and artistic expressions, a less hostile and more neutral work environment benefitting female artists slowly developed. This contributed first by the shifting of the creative force with the increasing post-secondary education in art and design programs. Instead of receiving on-the-job training as the “old school” lianhuantu veterans had in the 1970s and 1980s—a time when most apprentices were male—new recruits benefited from a wellrounded academic training provided by the formal art academy. These young creators included both genders; they valued artistic expression over commercial success, often making connections between their self-identity and the city of Hong Kong (Mather 2017). Not only has this socalled “alternative” been labelled as tuchai manhua (土製漫畫 homemade manhua) or buntu manhua (本土漫畫 local manhua), it soon became “local original comics mainstream” with fresh young talents emerging since the new millennium. When compared to the period when fighting genre manhua was at its height of popularity in the early 1990s, more women artists are participating in this new “alternative comics” landscape. Building on the transnational characteristics of the male-dominated history of Hong Kong comics, this chapter investigates the representation of female voices in this creative venue through selected works by seven women artists based on the transnational features underlying their creations. There are other outstanding and popular female artists that I am not able to discuss in this study given their genres of work less fit with the arguments in this chapter. In this examination of Hong Kong women artists’ transnationality of narrations and arts, this chapter will reference academic studies on works by women artists elsewhere,

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including Hillary Chute’s Graphic Women: Life Narrative and Contemporary Comics (2010). It argues that these women’s works offer various negotiation strategies in response to both transnationality and the local cultures that have shaped their personal and professional experiences as well as the ways in which these creators assert and negotiate their identities as Hong Kong women artists. It will first consider the concept of transnationalism and how its use can help us to analyze selected works within Hong Kong’s cultural and geopolitical context.

Transnationalism, Transnationality, and the History of Hong Kong Comics Transnationalism is often associated with globalization; the Concise Oxford Dictionary defines it as “the social and global transformations of interconnectivity between peoples, states, economies, and cultures under the processes of globalization” (Brown et al. 2018, n.p.). Scholars often criticize transnationalism as “a form of cultural imperialism and Western hegemony” (Brown et al. 2018, n. p). In the case of Hong Kong, the modern form of manhua is a product of transnationalism, with its foundations in the city’s history as a British colony after Qing Manchuria Imperial China (1636–1912) ceded the territory to the British Empire in 1842. As an international free port for entrepôt trade, Hong Kong was the scene of “sustained and meaningful flows, networks, and relations connecting individuals and social groups across the borders of nation states” for the next 180 years, both economically and culturally (Rogers et al. 2013, n.p.). This interconnectivity brought modern comics from different countries and cultures to influence manhua artists, their works, and Hong Kong manhua’s transnational identity. In his examination of The China Punch (1867–1868; 1872–1876), influenced by The Punch, the British English-language periodical, Christopher Rea (2013, 390) affirms that the magazine is “part of a global history of dissemination of the visual grammars of cartoon and caricature during the age of colonialism.” Rea found no evidence of its influence on Chinese cartoons or humor periodicals at the time, and The China Punch cartoons’ influence hopped a generation or two, from the 1870s to the 1910s. His view is that the publication is “part of the pre-history of modern Chinese pictorial satire and humour magazines” and “some of the earliest known examples of pictorial satire drawn by foreigners living in China” (420), which is a missing history yet to be written. From a transnationalism

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perspective, there is credence to Rea’s view that the acknowledgment of “foreigners’” contributions to modern manhua is lacking. On the potential transnational Western influence on early modern Chinese comics, let us not forget about the respected pioneering manhua master, Feng Zikai (豐子愷 1898–1975), who studied in Japan in the early 1920s. He deeply admired Japanese artist Takehisa Yumeji’s (1884– 1934) works, incorporating the latter’s brushwork sketch style into his own comics drawings. With the experience living in Japan, Feng named his cartoon series Zikai Manhua (子愷漫画 The Manhua of Feng Zikai), as the Chinese/Kanji characters of—漫画 (Manga) are used in Japan. With his adoption of the term, Manhua, he was also credited with cartoon art’s popularity in mainland China after the mid-1920s (Yoshikawa 2000). However, with the rise of Chinese nationalism since the 1910s, scholars of the early history of modern Chinese comics often reverted to narration of minzu wenhua (indigenous culture 民族文化) for authenticity and national identity without examining the transnational aspects. The Punch may have inspired The China Punch, but its impact in the colony in the pre-history of modern manhua in the late nineteenth century was limited as verified by Rae (2013). Rather, it was the hybridized 1930s Shanghai manhua that arguably contributed to the birth of modern Chinese manhua in the early twentieth century, which detoured and flowed back to Hong Kong via a transnational network after 1945. Shanghai was the production center of cultural publications and supplied all of China, including overseas Chinese diaspora communities, between the 1880s and the dawn of the Second Sino-Japanese War (1937–1945). With regime change that shifted political control of mainland China to the communists in 1949, capitalist Hong Kong snatched Shanghai’s position in supplying Chinese manhua. The 1950s and 1960s were an important watershed for the development of modern Chinese manhua in Hong Kong. Regardless of creators’ political ideologies, manhua works produced during this time captured a significant moment in East Asian history. These decades represent perhaps the best transnational works by new generations of artists who witnessed or experienced changes of attitude towards the West—from being resentful to inquisitive and receptive. The pre-modern history of Hong Kong manhua between the 1870s and the 1950s, however, is seriously under researched. From the mid1960s onwards, there are adequate survey studies with archival materials that manhua veterans, academics, or cultural institutes conducted, some

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with government funding (Wong 2018a). The international community’s understanding of Hong Kong manhua in the modern period has been plagued by the impression that it is limited to Kung Fu, as one writer expressed in 2007 (ComiPress 2007). Although not everyone agrees with this Kong-man identity stereotype, one cannot deny its existence has impacted locally drawn comics. Jeffrey Mather (2017) argues that academic studies on Hong Kong comics lack analytical responsiveness to the social and cultural tensions of a comics medium that emerged in a different period.

An Invisible Transnational History of Comics by Women Artists in Hong Kong Given the transnational environment and conditions of Hong Kong throughout its history, scholars such as Ng (2002) and Wong (2004) credit American and Japanese comics with influencing the medium’s development. Artists synthesized Chinese elements and vernacular features into the stereotyped Kong-man stylistic identity. Although more cultural analytical studies needed to be undertaken, a general overview of this transnational history of Kong-man is available via key archival works.1 It is hard for young readers to imagine the prosperous, maledominated local manhua market that existed between the 1950s to the 1990s, largely because they are too young to have experienced this heyday. With the old school, 32-page sixteenmo full-color fighting genre comics floppers disappearing in the 1990s, the alternative comics were slowly taking their place. This shift also introduced an increasing number of female artists into this new landscape of original local manhua. One key factor that facilitated this shift was the increasing number of university-trained art and design programs talents who graduated in the new millennium and were seeking ways to make a living with their artistic skills. It was also a new business opportunity. Inspired by Japanese publishing companies who specialize in comics, Joint Publishing (Hong Kong) Company, a leading local publisher, was the first to offer opportunities to fresh talents and launched its first Local Comics Series (土製 漫畫系列) in 2006 (Wong 2018b). Although Japanese manga remains popular, local publishing houses remain willing to invest in the homegrown comics titles with local themes and humor, even though the demand is on a smaller scale.

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Unlike the manhua veterans who were company employees, this new generation of artists are considered “independent”—they are largely selfemployed and receive royalties rather than a monthly salary. Some lucky talents may have their own regular comics panel column in a newspaper or magazine that provides a stable income, and they can republish the column as curated collections. It is difficult to sustain one’s livelihood on royalties alone, so most artists hold a full-time job in another field. To contrast their work from the fighting genre manhua floppers of the 1990s, mainstream conventional publishing houses publish these new generation artists’ works in regular paperbag compilation book formats. Instead of using the term manhua, artists also choose other terms such as picture story books, graphic novels, and illustration books to sell these works. This differentiation blurs the boundary between the Kong-man fighting genre style and alternative comics; the latter are usually more toon-style picture books or fine arts approached graphic novels. The works by female artists who belong to this new generation of artists that we are examining in this chapter are not necessarily targeted at women readers only, rather, they represent and reflect how these women articulate themselves in relation to their gender identity, roles, and local cultures at large. Before turning our focus to the absence of female comics’ artists in the male dominate comics landscape, especially since 2000, we need to recognize the contributions of pioneering women artists in the local manhua industry. In a 2002 article that attempts to record this history, Wong and Cuklanz point out that there were a handful of women artists of any note between 1945 and the 1990s, and examine the works of three of these pioneers—Theresa Lee Wai-chun (李惠珍 1943–2020), Chan Ya (陳也, born in 1963), and Lily Lau Lee-lee (劉莉莉, born in 1966)—on the critique of the gender ideology reflected in their works. The following sections will unfold a comprehensive landscape on the graphic narrative of Hong Kong women artists by first revisiting Lee and Lau’s works, then by analyzing the creations of five other female artists from the recent two decades.

Realization of Self as a Woman with Gender Politics In his article, Siu-keung Cheung (2012, 339) points out that “transnationalism is an essential dimension in the formation of Hong Kong.” In this section, I will revisit two case studies of titles created by Theresa Lee

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Wai-chun and Lily Lau Lee-lee to articulate this unique transnationality of Hong Kong comics using the realization of self—how they projected themselves in their works, subconsciously or consciously, as part of the formation of Hong Kong transnational identity. Theresa Lee Wai-chun, widely known as the “Master of girls’ comics of Hong Kong” and a “fashion designer on paper,” debuted her key work, Sapsam Dim (13-Dot Cartoon), in the summer of 1966 when she was twenty-three years old. Inspired by Harvey Comics’ Richie Rich, whose lead character is the only child of incredibly wealthy parents, Lee’s young female lead character, Miss 13-Dot, has a similar situation—the only child of super-rich parents with a banker father. Harvey’s Richie first appeared in Little Dot, another Harvey Comics’ title, in September 1953. Lee admitted that she favored American comics like Richie Rich as reading material when she was growing up in the 1950s and 1960s— Don Flowers, an American cartoonist, was her favourite artist (Lam and Lee 2019). Her story is a testament to Abbas’ (1997) comment on how talents localize foreign publications as their own when the latter enter their sphere. Although it is hard to find concrete evidence on how much the Richie Rich and Little Dot cartoons influenced Lee, the author has her own explanations to claim her cartoon’s originality in terms of its title and plot, which she reiterated time and again over her fifty-year career. Lee explained that the cartoon was her dream world where she could have whatever she desired. The name, “13-Dot”—zai-se-ti—is a Shanghainese slang term that Lee’s mother used to call the artist when she was a teenager; it refers to young people with dizzy, giddy attitudes. Her lead character, Miss 13-Dot, is the epitome of this term—carefree and playful with money at her disposal for her adventures or novelty ideas. It can be argued, however, that “external forces” urged the author to reflect on herself as a woman in Chinese society in Hong Kong. Hong Kong in the 1950s and 1960s was a patriarchal society with traditional Chinese values—daughters and women were little appreciated in the family and in society. In 2016, Lee published her graphic novel autobiography, Chun • Sapsam Dim (真• 13点), her last formatted work on comics, where she used toon-style drawings to narrate her life—from birth, through her humble but happy childhood, her loving family life, and a bright career. She recounted how her parents did not support her artistic and creative interests nor encourage her to have any career ambitions (Lee 2016). Hillary Chute’s research shows that women’s graphic

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comics are often dedicated to trauma, however, they “do not project an identity that is defined by trauma: they work to erase the inscription of women in that space” (2010, 2). Undeniably, Lee’s lifetime work was pushing that space by realizing, discovering herself, and asserting the value of her presence as a woman by contributing to the emergence of images of modern independent women in 1960s society via her depictions of a confident and independent individual—Sapsum Dim. Throughout her career, Lee presented herself as a hardworking and persistent comics artist who inspired readers across different generations throughout her career (Wong 2014). Lee was the only prominent female voice in the man’s world of comics in Hong Kong during much of her career. Although her graphic narratives may not be an assertive feminist declaration, she did advocate for women’s rights on the basis of gender equality. Her pioneering works were breaking new ground for future generations. After the first run of the 13-Dot Cartoon ceased in 1980 and Lee landed a new role creating a children’s magazine, Sannei Gogo (Brother Sunny). Throughout the 1980s and 1990s, works by female artists were rare. Only one paperback four-panel comic strip collection, One WomanThree Markets (一個女人三個墟) by Chan Ya, was published in 1989. Almost a decade later, the self-proclaimed feminist Lily Lau Lee-lee’s first book-format compilation of comics was published in July 1998, entitled Mom’s Drawer Is at the Bottom (媽媽的抽屜在最低). The bilingual Chinese-English version published two years later caught the eye of Jeffrey Mather, who comments that this work “provides a series of polemics against marginalisation, and self-marginalisation, of women in Hong Kong society” (2017, 79). Unlike Lee’s 13-Dot Cartoon, Mom’s Drawer is heavily imbued with a gender equality critique that stems from the author’s personal experience of parents who had few expectations for their daughter or are based on the author’s observations of the gender roles playing out in Hong Kong society. Lau chose to narrate her story in a one-page panel comics based on the fact that her mother took the drawer at the bottom of the family’s shared chest. The story is offered from Lau’s perspective, beginning with her admiration of the chest’s top drawer with treasures placed above it, and visualized efforts to try to climb up to reach them. In the last panel of the strip, she is defeated and realizes that it is better instead to take a nap in the bottom drawer for sweet dream, a metaphor for a space where she belongs (Fig. 2.1).

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Fig. 2.1 From Lau, Lily Lee-Lee. 1998. Mom’s Drawer Is at the Bottom. In Mom’s Drawer Is at the Bottom, 83. Hong Kong: The Association for the Advancement of Feminism

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This comic strip can be read at multiple levels. First, the positioning of her mother’s drawer at the bottom represents her submissive and self-sacrifice position in the family. It also symbolizes the social role of women in Hong Kong society. By depicting herself retreating to the bottom drawer for comfort, the strip offers a conclusion to the dilemma of reaching one’s goal or retreating to security at the bottom. From this example, we can understand why Mather remarks that Lau’s comics are against marginalization and self-marginalizing at the same time. Nevertheless, Lau’s work echoes Chute’s (2010) study of the American context where feminist graphic narratives with new aesthetics evolving around self-representation is a growing field in the 1990s. We can find Lau’s as an example in Hong Kong. From Chute’s view, “[a]gainst a valorization of absence and aporia, graphic narrative asserts the value of presence, however complex and contingent” (2010, 2). We can decode this feature in Mom’s Drawer. In the context of Hong Kong and elsewhere, it takes bravery for bold women to adopt the feminist label due to the public’s often negative connotations of such women as radicals. Lau is also concerned about this stereotype and takes special care when portraying sex and lust in her comics. Her critiques on sexual politics can be traced to her educational background—she graduated with a bachelor’s degree in graphic design from the School of Design at the Hong Kong Polytechnic University (PolyU) in 1990, where courses on critical studies are required to enroll. Her creative training was focused on finding her own voice and style, either for a commercial purpose or for pure artistic expression. This top design school in the colony between the 1970s to 1990s were based on the British design education model, and it was common practice for art and design students at that time to seek out foreign inspirations, then morph them into their own personal style. In addition to being heavily inspired by feminism, Lau also explored the American underground comics scene during her undergraduate studies; works by Trina Robbins, Aline Kominsky-Crumb, and Alison Bechdel were available in Hong Kong. Lau’s sharp black line art combining carefree hatching techniques with cartoon trimmings visual styles as seen in Mom’s Drawer is totally different from Lee’s 13-Dot Cartoon, and more closely resembles the works by American women artists mentioned above. Lau’s works fit well into what Chute (2010) calls “invested in the ethics of testimony.” She thinks it is “the risk of representation” that “needs to rethink the dominant tropes of unspeakability,

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invisibility and inaudibility” (2010, 3) in the general censorship-driven culture. In the cultural context of Hong Kong, Lau was able to continue with her comics creation label after Mom’s Drawer was published. Lily’s Comix works appeared in various mainstream newspapers in Hong Kong with her provocative critiques on sexual politics, graphic nudity, and sexual outspokenness, despite the topics’ controversial nature. However, making a living as a full-time artist was not easy. Lau’s personal website (lilycomix.com), regular creations of comics columns in mainstream newspapers, and visual diaries were short-lived as she encountered other career opportunities, including completing her master’s degree in the UK and relocating to Taipei for a period. Her most recent comics collection is Lily’s Feminist Graffiti Wall, published in 2011 by a Taiwanese publishing house. This volume includes works produced after 2000 under eight sections, including one on her life as a graduate student. Her disappearance from the public comics’ scene has not erased her past contributions, and she is being recognized in this chapter for her role in this brief history of comics works by female artists in “presenting temporal layers of experience while refusing to reify ‘experience’ as the foundational precept of feminist critique” (Chute 2010, 6). However, other women artists have not necessarily adopted her self-reflective feminist critiques on sexual politics as the narrative strategy for their creations. As the economy and gender inequality improved in Hong Kong in the 1990s, the generations of women born after 1960s experienced less traumatic upbringings when compared to their predecessors. A more affluent society led to more gender equal opportunities and young people were free to pursue art professionally. The next section is an analysis of works produced by women artists active in the past two decades and an examination of how they asserted themselves with female identities that did not exist in the male-dominated landscape of comics between the 1970s and 1990s.

Assertions of the Unrepresented Self When compared to earlier generations, women born in the 1970s encountered less sexual discrimination growing up, and had more freedom to pursue artistic quests; many had support from parents and teachers. From the mid-1980s to the mid-1990s, Hong Kong society witnessed the “rags to riches” stories of homegrown male comics artists, such as Tony

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Wong Yuk-long (born in 1950) and Ma Wing-shing (born in 1961), who changed society’s perception of this popular drawing form. Cultural studies scholar Wing-sang Law (2018) traces the three waves of postWorld War II local consciousness in Hong Kong, the third of which was a cultural uprising among the post-1980s generations who were interested in understanding localness and ethnicity as an outcome of the city’s transition in the late 1990s. We can apply insights from cultural studies on transnational identity to this analysis of female comics artists’ works. With the aforementioned changes in the publishing environment and the increasing number of professional trained creators in the new millennium, Stella So (蘇敏怡 Man-yee So, born in 1977), who graduated from the School of Design of PolyU in 2000, has a different artistic career path when compared to fellow alumna, Lily Lau Lee-lee, who graduated ten years earlier. Where Lau may have been captivated by feminist critiques, So uses her creative passion to respond to disappearing local cultures. Her graduation project, a hand-drawn short animation entitled Very Fantastic (好鬼棧) (https://youtu.be/myE8DF_7Yqk), draws attention to the disappearing cityscape of toug lau (唐樓), Chinese-style residential buildings. This work earned So local and international animation awards; it was also released as a DVD and published as a graphic novel in 2007. Such recognition helped her to secure job opportunities as an illustrator, animator, designer, and comics artist. After gaining experience as a multidisciplinary visual creator, So returned to work full-time as a comics artist. Her first venture was a four-panel comics strip column, Old Girl Diary (老少女lou-siu-nu); it ran in newspapers in 2006, the year that she turned thirty. Its lead character appeared in earlier works as So’s avatar. The strip’s name is a self-critique of So, her age, and her relationship status (single)— an autography of an “old maiden” living in solitude (Chu 2020—[ref: Chu, Kin-wai. 2020. Women Living in Solitude: A Case Study of The Base of an Old Girl and Hitorigurashi Mo 5 Nen Me. Feminist Encounters: A Journal of Critical Studies in Culture and Politics, 4 (1), Art. No. 06, 1–16. https://doi.org/10.20897/femenc/7910]) with a plot that revolves around the quotidian mundaneness and dullness as one approaches middle age (Fig. 2.2). Let us consider Quesenberry and Squier’s (2016) theories of life writing and graphic narratives in this analysis of Old Girl Diary. With target readers aged thirty and younger who are confronting similar

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Fig. 2.2 Old Girl Mailbox. Cactus. First published in Sunday Supplement, Ming Pao. Date: September 21, 2008. Retrieved from http://www.stellaso.com/ gallery/oldgirl_letterbox/3/1.htm

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life issues—marriage peer pressure, dating, establishing financial independence, and living alone—So took a light-hearted approach in her narratives and used pragmatic information. We can view being thirty years old as an object, which Quesenberry and Squier suggest “helps us to recognise how fundamental the ‘thing’ is to the authorial process of turning a ‘fantasy’ into a ‘fully operational’ life narrative,” and “illustrates how and when characters connect to moments of significance” (2016, 67). This is a “self-actualising moment coming out of a biological or physical experience or out of a moment of social recognition of cultural markers relating to her body and appearance,” and is the author’s “act of self-identification” (2016, 67). As life writing with underlying graphic narrative strategies, it is easier to understand why Old Girl Diary’s popularity has endured for more than fourteen years—through her self-representation, the author is able to connect with her readers. The Joint Publishing (Hong Kong) has published her comics strips into three compilations: Old Girl’s Base (老少 女基地 2009); Old Girl’s Heart (老少女心事 2012); and Old Girl, I Am a Village Aunt (老少女之我是村姑 2015). So’s series narrates an unrepresented women’s image in the context of Hong Kong, in which she took “age” as a significant “object” in response to societal age discrimination and resistance tactics of being labeled. By asserting herself as a woman in a self-pitying and sarcastic way due to her age and marital status, she does not intentionally place social critiques in her works. Rather, she sees herself as heavily connected to the local culture and identity by characterizing Old Girl as an ethnic Hongkonger; not an attractive and fashionable Sapsam Dim or a radical feminist Lily Lau, but an ordinary and plain looking woman living with her cat. She embraced the chung-nu (中女 literally “middle-age woman”) or ching-nu (剩女 literally “surplus woman”) label and its negative connotations. The work’s popularity is based in this honest realism. Cat lover, pseudonym Mandycat (real name 鄺詩韻 Si-wan Kwong, born in 1975) is an active and popular women comics artist who like So, models her protagonist on her own life. After graduating with a bachelor’s degree in public relations and advertising from the Hong Kong Baptist University, she worked as a magazine editor before turning to writing and illustrating full-time in 2011. With a friend’s encouragement, she started an online comics panel in 2008, starring her boyfriend, herself, and her cat; she called the comic series that developed, he she it (他她牠).

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Two years older than So, Kwong did not take the same self-deprecating route in her life writing and graphic narratives strategy. Instead, Mandycat is healthy, positive, sometime silly, but certainly a down-to-earth woman with can-do Hongkonger spirit. She is single (and later marries) and has feline companionship (as well as likes So). Her comics drawings are crisp with a free brush cartoonish style, which could be considered more refined than So’s expressive style as well as more appealing to a wider audience. For Quesenberry and Squier, “the writer’s drawing style—the line, style, representational rhythm, and the use of various forms of visual documentation from photographs to scraps of text” (2016, 80–1), could be an authentication strategy of a life writing author. With her professional background and connections, Mandycat is better able to diversify her comic works with product extensions and exposure through public events and product placement (Fig. 2.3). She was a very productive creator with two to three compilation books published annually between 2006 and 2017. We can interpret her creative outputs as the “gesture” that indicates and amplifies meanings of everyday mundane life rather than fixing the narration of the object, Mandycat, the lead character. Readers can also refer to the author’s attempts to “expand potential reader-communities when relating experiences that stretch beyond the personal, individual life to bridge ‘close-focus exploration’ and ‘macrosocial critique’” (Quesenberry and Squier 2016, 77). Starting with Office Weekly, her first online cartoon on Yahoo online, Mandycat’s narrative on office life attracted readers with similar experiences or backgrounds, those looking for leisure reading materials with content that connects to their local, personal experience, which is something Japanese manga can’t offer. Perhaps the local nature of the content explains why both Old Girl and Mandycat are successful examples of the homegrown female comics characters created since 2000. The improved economic and social status of women in Hong Kong meant that women had increased opportunities to excel professionally. However, what these two comics assert is the “alternative” identities of women—old maiden and ordinary white-collar female worker—who are very unlikely to be lead characters in a male artist’s comics title. Both authors are not only affirming themselves, but also asserting the place and contributions of ordinary women as proud and equal members of society. Housewife or homemaker, one of the least valued roles in society, is represented in the works of by another popular comics female artist, Maggie Lau (劉海欣, Hoi-yan Lau, born in 1976). She is better known

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Fig. 2.3 Mandycat’s Website. Retrieved from https://mandycat.com/

by her pen name Ma Chai (馬仔 or 留馬仔Lau Ma Chai), which translates as Little Horse. She loved Japanese manga and drawing comics as a child. After graduating with a degree from the Institute of Textiles and Clothing at PolyU, she worked as the “office lady” (OL), a local slang referring to white-collar women, at an IT company; here she found ample material for her online blog, Maggie Market (馬仔市集), which was launched in 2003 with her colleagues’ encouragement. As with So and Mandycat, Maggie Lau based her comics character, Ma Chai, on herself. Her inaugural venture was well received, and she was able to devote herself to comics art just over one year later. The turning point in her career was her design of an online game, Hong Kong-style Café.

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Based on her lead character, Lau developed her Silly Way comics series from her blog; two compilation books were published in 2007: My Silly Way (我的低能之道) and My Silly Way II (我的低能之道 II). As with her fellow artists, Lau’s story line is about her quotidian life. Her comics series developed as a sort of autobiography, with publications marking important life phases. In July 2007, Our Silly Wedding (我們的低能婚 禮) was published and My Silly Pregnancy (我的低能大肚之道) followed a year later when she was pregnant with her first child. Further books include: My Silly First-time Parents Way (我的低能湊 B之 道 2009), My Silly First-time Parents Way III: Nursery School (我的低能湊 B 之道3幼 兒班篇 2013), and My Silly Way Accompanying by Four (1 人低能 4 人同 行 2016) (Fig. 2.4). Lau’s Silly Way is what Quesenberry and Squier call “autobiographical authenticity,” in which comics are “the product of a ‘strategic role’ that cartoonists play to get the desired response from their audiences” (2016, 80). Hongkongers born in the 1970s were raised in colonial Hong Kong without the complications that arose with the colony’s return to the PRC in 1997. So, Mandycat and Maggie Lau benefited from the city’s economic growth and resulting opportunities for women, and they pursued their creative and artistic desire as a career. This generation is conscious of their local identity (Law 2018), and it can be argued that the narration of autobiographical-style comics series as a form of life writing and graphic narratives, as represented by these three women artists, may not be feminist in nature, or a self-projection of career successful women, but the popularity and value of their works lies in their commonplace plots that are vernacular enough for only locals to appreciate.

Localization and Internationalization of Self The selected works created by female artists Stella So, Mandycat, and Maggie Lau demonstrate the transnational nature of comics. Their works are diversifying the representations of women’s identity in the Hong Kong comics landscape. This chapter argues that their intention to assert underrepresented women in their works is not much different from that of American queer female comics artists who use graphic narrative to create images of themselves, thereby exposing their personal and community lives, then reflecting themselves back in the popular form (Chute 2018). While life writing and graphic narratives of personal daily life is popular among many Hong Kong female comics artists born in the 1970s and

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Fig. 2.4 Silly Way comics series. By Ma Chai. Published by Flying House Publishing 2007–2012

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1980s, graphic memoir is widely utilized. In his 2017 article, Mather selects male artists’ graphic novels with a focus on reading and writing Hong Kong; this section will contribute to the literature on this genre by looking at female artists’ narrative strategies in writing on local culture and their city with the more intimate touch of a memoir. Apart from creating the self-avatar Old Girl comics, So is a graphic memoir pioneer who has authored two titles: Very Fantastic—The Incredible Pre-War Tenement (好鬼棧——不可思議的戰前唐樓 2007) and Powder City—Hong Kong in Disappearance (粉末都市——消失中 的香港 2008). When compared to fellow creator and male artist Yeung Hok-tak (楊學德), who first self-published the graphic novel, Glorious Lam Tin (錦繡藍田), in 2002, So’s titles also offer snapshots of local life and elements in disappearance. Pseudonym Lee Hong-lan (李香蘭, real name 梁曉文 Hiu-man Leung, Rainbow Leung, born in 1986), the winner of the Young Writers’ Debut Competition in 2009, had her hand-drawn graphic memoir, Sheung Ha Wo Che (上下禾輋), published by the Joint Publishing. Like Glorious Lam Tin, which is dedicated to Yeung’s memories of the public housing estate where he grew up, Leung adopts a similar graphic memoir approach. Mather comments that Yeung’s work is an example of the “convergences between space, architecture, and identity” (2017, 80). Similarly, Leung’s Sheung Ha Wo Che is arguably also identified with such depiction. However, her life writing, and graphic narrative style have female sensitivities that are reveled through feelings and sentiments. Sheung Ha Wo Che is an example of a conjunction of humble monuments, ordinary people, and the author’s family. It consists of old-style small villages in a sub-urban setting with various dwellings built during different periods of Hong Kong colonial’s 150-year history. Unlike Lam Tin, which is a public housing estate packed with cold concrete high-density residential building. The artist uses an outsider art drawing style with color pencils and watercolor brush to create an unrefined but imitated look. Certainly, Sheung Ha Wo Che can also be viewed as a “synecdoche of Hong Kong itself and its fractured social structure represents a traumatic crisis of identity and meaning” (Mather 2017, 81), which authors born in the 1970s and 1980s—like Yeung and Leung—have faced since the 1997 handover of sovereignty. With the uncertainties that have morphed into certainties of changes under Beijing’s rule, Mather is precise in his reading of these graphic memoirs. He comments that these works “navigating through the walls and halls can be viewed in terms of a searching for a

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stable sense of self, a notion that is reinforced through the depiction of people as mere silhouettes” (2017, 81) and linked into Abbas’ (1997) highly cited insight about the “culture of disappearance” of Hong Kong with the use of the “disappearance to deal with disappearance” strategy in the creative works. Female artists’ works discussed here fit well into this grand landscape narration of Hong Kong cultural identity, given they are very often unrepresented. Leung’s Sheung Ha Wo Che is divided into seven themes, with a visual prologue section that offers a brief history of place as well as postscripts written by the author and her mother. Its sketchbook approach leaves little use for a table of contents. Each spread is filled with handwritten text, color pencil sketches, and touches of watercolor with rich contents referencing her life experiences in Sheung Ha Wo Che. Her non-linear rendering of the places, objects, people, and animals is raw but filled with affection and vehemence. In each page, the author takes an anthropological approach of recording the development of the cultures and everyday life in this area of the city. For example, in the section titled “My Family,” there is a spread of a drawing of a conversation between the author and her mother from the former’s childhood. The drawing depicts the landscape of where they are living with text that explains how her mother taught her to appreciate different shades of colors from nature. Unlike Yeung, Leung does not shy away from “sentimental realism, nostalgia or romantic celebration of a cohesive working-class community” (Mather 2017, 81). In the construction of the meaning of the Hong Kong local, cultural studies scholar Kwai-Cheung Lo notes that “the local is the transnational itself in its becoming” (2005, 112). Female comics artists featured in this chapter are embracing that strategy in their individual searches for the local as the transnational via their own modes of visual expression. When compared to Leung’s sketching art styles, pen name Men Xiao-lei (門 小雷, English name Little Thunder, real name Sam-ling Cheng 鄭心菱, born in 1984) is using a refined realistic drawing style with watercolors in her works. Born and raised in Hong Kong as a member of an artistic family, created her first original comic at the age of eight, and became a full-time comics artist after completing her high school education. Her artistic talent is inborn, and she cares less to obtain post-secondary education; she prefers to look for her own local and international opportunities through her distinctive and beautiful style of illustrations and paintings in hybridized Franco-Belgian comics’ realistic style in full color.

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As a creator, Little Thunder embraces the fictional graphic novel platform. In 2007, she published a three-part graphic novel, Kylooe, for Les Éditions Dargaud, a publisher of Franco-Belgian comics series. French, Chinese, and Italian translations appeared in the next three years. This series established her “sexually empowered women” signature style and she gained global acceptance from readers. Myartisreal magazine commented that her work was: “Pulling inspiration from her daily life in Hong Kong and her personal experiences Thunder is able to paint the woman in her works with a type of sexual and energy that is not like what we are used to seeing but is a type of empowering sexiness that comes from knowing one’s self” (Myartisreal Magazine 2020). Indeed, her personal experiences are essential for her creations. For her Kylooe trilogy, for example, the first two parts are set in Hong Kong. Her depiction of Hong Kong, still sentimental realism when compared with that of Leung, is more fictional with middle-class romanticism. Jason Li, a commentator for an online group blog about Chinese tech, media, and design, views Kylooe as a deeply autobiographical work filled with her emotional footprints, which took Little Thunder six years of her significant coming-of-age period to complete (Li 2016). The three stories in this trilogy focus on people who are trying their best to fit in with society, just as the author is herself. Frederik Byrn Køhlert points out “the comics form’s capacity for externalizing and structuring the experienced self,” which “not only influence how they shape and view their past selves but also creates new opportunities for self-representation in the present” (2019, 189). For example, her passion for pole dancing, a form of performing art that does not have positive social connotations, Little Thunder depicted in the third part of her Kylooe trilogy. Her singlevolume graphic novel, The Blister Exists (2017), follows this theme and is a visual encyclopaedia of pole dancing moves. Little Thunder wants to present herself as a confident woman in her works. She told HypeBae, leading online magazine for women’s contemporary fashion, that drawing comics allows her to express herself without using words, and through learning pole dancing, she began wanting to translate the sexiness that she experienced while pole dancing into her art (Lam 2018). Her image as a sexually empowered woman is combined with her signature style of realistic watercolor rending, with a touch of bandes dessinées Franco-Belgian style comics, with thoroughly detailed drawings with little to no speed lines. She is commercially successful in a variety of creative activities, ranging from graphic novels to organizing art

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shows, and often receives commissions from brands such as Nike, Dior, and Shu Uemura. Her Instagram account has over 818,000 followers as of April 28, 2021, where she has posted close to 3,000 images of her artworks and processes (Fig. 2.5). She is more able to “open up a space for individual expression, subversive experimentation, and more inclusive modes of representing difference” (Køhlert 2019, 191). Her self-writing and autobiographical approach are more fictional when compared to other female artists. Among all of the female comics artists who have emerged since 2000, Little Thunder is an excellent example of how a local Hong Kong creator can be a transnational and international artist. With her natural artistic talents and supportive family, Little Thunder’s career path has been much easier than it was for earlier generations, including Theresa Lee Wai-chun in the 1960s and Lily Lau Lee-lee in the 1990s. The selected works by artists discussed here, as well as other women creators, represent a timespan of approximately fifty years of Hong Kong comics history from the 1960s to the 2010s, a period from which their contributions should not be omitted.

Conclusion As Chute points out, “the medium of comics can perform the enabling political and aesthetic work of bearing witness powerfully because of its rich narrative texture” (2010, 4). This chapter discusses comic works by female artists in Hong Kong, arguing that this short and sparse history has developed in line with the transnational nature of Hong Kong, due to the territory’s geopolitical environment and colonial past. First, we can better understand the narration of self as an independent woman in traditional Chinese society in Hong Kong from the works of Theresa Lee Wai-chun and Lily Lau Lee-lee. Lee broke new ground in the 1960s with her projection of the identity of a modern woman and she celebrated a successful, five-decade career as a professional comics artist. Lau made her mark in the late 1990s, asserting a thought-provoking feminist identity during a period when the city was entering a new era of authoritarian rule. The careers and works of these two artists are evidence of the translation of gender politics from the Western context into a local context in Hong Kong. Second, with the contributions of Lee and Lau’s generations, women artists born in the 1970s and 1980s were able to continue to explore

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Fig. 2.5 Little Thunder’s Instagram https://www.instagram.com/littlethu nder/

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self-representation in their creations by portraying other long-neglected woman identities in the comics arts in Hong Kong. These “assertions of the unrepresented self” storytelling strategy echo the actions of American women artists as Chute details in her study. This chapter also reviewed works including Stella So’s Old Girl, Mandycat’s Office Girl, and Ma Chai’s Silly Housewife—autobiographical-style comics series that are a form of life writing with graphic narratives that serve as an extension of a transnational storytelling strategy in women comics. Third, in response to our increasingly globalized and interconnected world, Rainbow Leung records sentimental local realism and celebrated romanticism in the story of Hong Kong with feminine touches. Little Thunder expresses herself as a sexually empowered woman in her works, which have earned her an international reputation and brand endorsement opportunities. Their works have contributed to the transnational characteristics of Hong Kong comics. Many outstanding and popular female artists—including pseudonyms Tse Sai Pei, Miloza Ma, Lucia Shum, Kaiki, Rosie, Kylie Hung Ka Yi, and Neko Kreuz. In the future, the hope is for newly emerging works by women artists to be acknowledged and celebrated like their male colleagues have been since the 1960s.

Note 1. Such works include the Hong Kong Comics Hong Kong Story—Hong Kong Comics Online Exhibition (2013) (http://www.hkmemory.org/com ics/), co-presented by the Hong Kong Memory project and the Hong Kong Arts Centre (HKAC).

References Abbas, Ackbar. 1997. Hong Kong: Culture and the politics of disappearance. Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press. Brown, Garrett W., Iain McLean, and Alistair McMillan. 2018. Transnationalism. In A concise Oxford dictionary of politics and international relations. Oxford University Press. Oxford Reference. https://www.oxfordreference.com/ view/10.1093/acref/9780199670840.001.0001/acref9780199670840-e1783. Accessed May 5, 2021. Cheung, Siu-Keung. 2012. Hong Kong: Geopolitics and intellectual practice. Inter-Asia Cultural Studies 13 (3): 326–344. https://doi.org/10.1080/146 49373.2012.689687.

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Chute, Hillary L. 2010. Graphic women: Life narrative and contemporary comics. New York: Columbia University Press. Chute, Hillary. 2018. Feminist graphic art. Feminist Studies 44 (1): 153–170. Comi Press. 2007. Does Hong Kong comics have anything other than Kung Fu? https://www.comipress.com/article/2007/07/01/2231.html. Accessed February 3, 2021. Køhlert, Frederik Byrn. 2019. Serial selves: Identity and representation in autobiographical comics. New Brunswick, NJ: Rutgers University Press. Lam, Connie, and Theresa Wai-chun Lee. 2018. A conversation with Theresa Lee, the creator of Miss 13 Dots. In Women’s manga in Asia and beyond, 271–285. Cham: Palgrave MacMillan. Lam, Teresa. 2018. Meet Little Thunder, the comic artist telling beautifullydrawn stories of girls. HYPEBAE. https://hypebae.com/2018/4/little-thu nder-comic-artist-me-art-bookexhibition-hong-kong-interview. Accessed May 6, 2021. Law, Wai-sang. 2018. Decolonisation deferred: Hong Kong identity in historical perspective. In Citizenship, identity and social movements in the new Hong Kong: Localism after the umbrella movement, ed. Wai-man Lam and Luke Cooper, 13–33. Abingdon: Routledge. Lee, Theresa Wai-chun. 2016. Chun • Sapsam Dim. Hong Kong: Joint Publishing (Hong Kong) Co. Ltd. Lent, John A. 1999. Local comics books, and the curse of manga in Hong Kong, South Korea and Taiwan. Asian Journal of Communication 9 (1): 108–128. Li, Jason. 2016. Kylooe: An emotionally-charged comics trilogy about trying to fit in. In 88 Bar. https://88-bar.com/2016/05/kylooe-an-emotionally-cha rged-comics-trilogy-about-tryingto-fit-in/. Accessed May 6, 2021. Lo, Kwai-cheung. 2005. Chinese face/off . Champaign: University of Illinois Press. Mather, Jeffrey. 2017. Hong Kong comics: Reading the local and writing the city. Wasafiri 32 (3): 79–86. https://doi.org/10.1080/02690055.2017.132 2325. Myartisreal Magazine. 2020. Female empowerment, a look at little thunder. https://myartisrealmagazine.com/2020/06/female-empowermentlittle-thunder/. Accessed May 5, 2021. Ng, Benjamin Wai-ming. 2002. 日本漫畫對香港漫畫界及流行文化的影響 [Impact of Japanese comics on Hong Kong comics and entertainment industry]. 二十一世紀雙月刊 [Twenty-first Century Bimonthly] 72: 105–112. Quesenberry, Krista, and Susan Merrill Squier. 2016. Life writing and graphic narratives. Life Writing 13 (1): 63–85. Rea, Christopher. 2013. ‘He’ll roast all subjects that may need the roasting’: Puck and Mr Punch in nineteenth-century China. In Asian punches, ed. Hans

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Harder and Barbara Mittler, 389–422. Berlin, Heidelberg: Springer. https:// doi.org/10.1007/978-3-642-28607-0_16. Rogers, Alisdair, Noel Castree, and Rob Kitchin. 2013. Transnationalism. In A dictionary of human geography. Oxford University Press. https://www-oxf ordreference-com.ezproxy.library.yorku.ca/view/10.1093/acref/978019959 9868.001.0001/acref9780199599868-e-1923. Accessed May 5, 2021. Sze, Yan-ngai and Wing-seon Lung. 2017. A memoir of kong-man II: The legends of Yuklong. Hong Kong: Funny School Publishing. [In Chinese] 施仁毅、龍 榮俊: 《港漫 回憶錄 II-玉郎傳奇》 。 香港: 豐林文化出版社, 2017 年。 Wong, Wendy S., and Lisa Cuklanz. 2000. The emerging image of the modern woman in Hong Kong Comics of the 1960s & 1970s. International Journal of Comic Art 2 (2): 33–53. Wong, Wendy S., and Lisa Cuklanz. 2002. Critiques of gender ideology in Hong Kong Comic Arts, 1966–1999. Journal of Gender Studies 11 (3): 253–266. Wong, Wendy S. 2004. Hong Kong comic strips and Japanese manga: A historical perspective on the influence of American and Japanese comics on Hong Kong manhua. Design Discourse, inaugural preparatory issue: 22–37. Wong, Wendy S. 2014. Fifty years of popularity of Theresa Lee Wai-chun and Miss 13-Dot: Changing identities of women in Hong Kong. International Journal of Comic Art 16 (2): 582–596. Wong, Wendy S. 2018a. Tracing the origins of Hong Kong manhua: A case of culture of disappearance. In The disappearance of Hong Kong in comics, advertising and graphic design, 15–38. Cham: Palgrave MacMillan. Wong, Wendy S. 2018b. Reinventing Hong Kong Manhua: A case of the nonappearance. In The disappearance of Hong Kong in comics, advertising and graphic design, 39–65. Cham: Palgrave MacMillan. Yoshikawa, Kenichi. 2000. 中國近代漫畫: 豐子愷與竹久夢二 [Comics in Modern China: Feng Zi-kai and Takehisa Yumeji]. 二十一世紀雙月刊 [Twenty-first Century Bimonthly] 62: 96–106.

CHAPTER 3

Transnationalism via Political Exile: Chinese Political Cartoonists in Japan Benjamin Wai–ming Ng

Introduction Political cartoons are comical drawings that often use dark humor to criticize politics and current events from the perspective of ordinary people, serving as a barometer of the political climate and freedom of expression. Rayma Suprani, an exiled political cartoonist from Venezuela, once said in his YouTube video: “A political cartoon is a barometer of freedom. Dictators hate political cartoons, and therefore I keep drawing them” (2019). The Taiwanese political cartoonist Huang Yongnan (CoCo, born in 1953) regards political cartoons as the “everlasting opposition party”

An early edition of this book chapter was published in International Journal of Comic Art (20:2 Winter 2019 issue): 110–127 B. W. Ng (B) Department of Japanese Studies, Chinese University of Hong Kong, Shatin, New Territory, Hong Kong SAR e-mail: [email protected]

© The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2022 J. A. Lent et al. (eds.), Transnationalism in East and Southeast Asian Comics Art, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-95243-3_3

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(Wan 2003, 50). Political cartoons are known to have existed in China for more than a century (Wu 2018), and they are increasingly subject to state control and repression. The Chinese novelist Wang Xiaobo (1952–1997) remarked: “Nowadays, China is one of the few countries in the world that does not have political cartoons. Humor has become a profound knowledge in this country” (Wang 2006, 22). The Chinese political cartoonist Wang Liming (also known as Rebel Pepper, born 1973) is more critical, saying, “the Chinese government has no sense of humor. It looks like its brother nation North Korea in this regard. Political cartoons are not allowed to exist” (Wang 2017a, b, 6). Likewise, another Chinese political cartoonist, Gou Ben, explained, “The essence of a political cartoon is satire. Politicians in China are used to praise and applause. It is natural that they have no appetite for thorny satire, especially in publications they view as their publicity tools” (Zhang 2015, n. p.). James Schnell (1999), an American professor of communication studies, sees the lack of political cartoons in China as a natural consequence of the absence of press freedom. In recent years, many political cartoonists in China can no longer publish their drawings without facing the potential consequences of toeing the Party line. A small number of them attempt to publish their works overseas with Japan as one possible venue. Using Rebel Pepper and Sun Xiangwen (born in 1983) as examples, this study examines how Chinese cartoonists draw political cartoons in Japan and how Japan shapes the way they draw about China. It helps us to understand Japan’s role as a haven for self-exiled Chinese cartoonists and the dilemma that Chinese cartoonists in Japan face to strike a balance between artistic expression and breadwinning.

The Rise and Fall of Political Cartooning in Communist China Political cartoons often flourish in times of chaos. Liao Bingxiong (1915– 2006), a representative Chinese political cartoonist, saw anger and sadness in time of chaos as the main sources of inspiration for drawing political cartoons. He explained: “My profession is to express anger through cartoons. I feel sad for the victims and get angry at the devil. When our world has no more sadness and anger, I will lose my job” (Jianzheng Editorial Board 2013, n. p.). The political chaos and social unrest before

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the Second World War (1939–1945) stimulated a vast production of political cartoons in newspapers and magazines (Hung 1994). Political forces were deeply engaged in power struggles and warfare and thus did not have time to control the media. It was a golden age of Chinese political cartoons. Political cartoonists such as Feng Zikai (1898–1975), Liao Bingxiong, and Hua Junwu (1915–2010) used their drawings to express anti-Japanese sentiments as well as to criticize policies of and corruption within the Chinese government. The development of political cartooning in China after 1949 can be divided into five periods. The first period (1949–1957) marked the formation of state cultural policy. After the founding of the People’s Republic of China in 1949, the Communist Party used political cartoons to support state policies by laying down the following three underlying principles in cartooning: First, cartoons about international affairs should be anti-American and pro-Third World. Second, cartoons about domestic affairs should depict internal contradictions among the people. Third, cartoons should be in line with political movements, glorify the Communist Party, and attack the enemies of the people (Jianzheng Editorial Board 2013). Most political cartoonists were willing to compromise, but some continued to use cartoons to address political and social issues. They knew how to express their views in a subtle way to avoid trouble. For example, Hua Junwu used the weathercock (Feng xin ji 1957) (Fig. 3.1) to deride unprincipled officials. The second period (1957–1976) witnessed turbulence and repression. Political cartooning functioned as a tool for political propaganda. Even subtle humor and criticism in cartoons were not allowed during the Anti-Rightist Movement (1957–1959) and the Cultural Revolution (1966–76). Highhanded cultural policy killed creativity and personality. Liao Bingxiong, Feng Zikai, Hua Junwu, Ding Cong (1916–2009), Zhang Ding (1917–2010), and countless others faced political repression in the atmosphere of struggle against imaginary enemies. In 1957, Liao Bingxiong composed a series of poems with illustrations, entitled Dayoucihua–jiaotiao zhuyi zhugong (Ragged verse with drawings: For dogmatic guys) to satirize the Communist Party’s cultural policy. These poems and drawings were hilarious and ironic. For instance, one of the poetic drawings reads: “Flowers must face upward. The Sun must rise. People must smile. These are the three rules in drawing” (Lent and Xu 2017, 97; Hung 2003, 88). He was labeled a rightist in 1958 and was sentenced to four years in a forced labor camp. During the Cultural

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Fig. 3.1 The Weathercock (Hua Junwu, 1957), the homepage of the National Art Museum of China (Source http://www.namoc.org/zsjs/gczp/cpjxs/201 507/t20150729_290925.htm)

Revolution, he was condemned as a “reactionary cartoonist.” Like Liao, Feng Zikai also made trouble by expressing his concern about the aforementioned cultural policy. In 1962, he disagreed with the government, thereby setting a model for every artist to follow. He was a cat lover who wrote and drew about the two cats he raised. In the same year, he was criticized for naming one of his cats, Mao Bobo (Uncle Cat) to allude to Chairman Mao Zedong (1893–1876) (Bajin 1994). He became an “antirevolutionary cartoonist” during the Cultural Revolution and was forced to work on a prison farm. He died of lung cancer in 1975. In the early 1960s, Hua Junwu published a series of editorial cartoons, entitled Remin

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neibu fengci manhua (Satiric cartoons about the people), in Guangming Ribao (Enlightenment Daily), the national daily newspaper. Some of his works caused him trouble during the Cultural Revolution. For instance, Dufu jiantao (Self-criticism of Dufu, 1961) and Cangxie renzi (Cangxie learning characters 1961) expressed his serious doubt about dogmatic cultural policy and the simplification of Chinese characters, respectively. He was persecuted during the Cultural Revolution (Hua 2003). Under this suffocating atmosphere, drawing political cartoons to express personal views rather than to advocate state ideology was no longer possible (Ying 2001). Wang Fuyang and Ding Cong were denied their right to draw for more than twenty years, while imprisoned or dispatched to rural areas to do farm labor.1 The third period (1976–2001) saw the revival of political cartooning. The political condition improved somehow following the fall of the “Gang of Four” in 1976 (Croizier 1983). In the 1980s, with the launch of the “reform and opening-up” policy, political cartooning became more active and diversified. Old hands such as Liao Bingxiong and Hua Junwu picked up their ink drawing tools again. Liao, for example, drew the cartoon Yeshi wusong (I am Wusong too, 1980) to ridicule anti-corruption measures. Another senior political cartoonist Ding Cong created a similar cartoon in 1988 about the tiger hunter Wusong catching a small cat. The Indian summer in political cartooning was short. The Chinese government tightened its control over cartoons after the crackdown of the student-led demonstrations in 1989 (Schnell 1999). In the 1990s and 2000s, political cartoons were allowed to be published as long as they did not challenge the Community Party’s authority. The most noteworthy development was perhaps the rise of new blood from southern China such as Kuang Biao (born in 1966), Fang Tang (born in 1938), and Zhuang Xilong (born in 1949). They published their works about corruption in the Communist Party and on other current issues in newspapers based in Guangzhou. The fourth period (2002–2012) is characterized by the rise of cartooning in social media. In the Hu-Wen era (2002–2012), the Chinese government continued to exercise tight control over cartoons in print media. For instance, Kuang Biao was suspended from Xin kuaibao (News Express ), a Guangzhou newspaper, for drawing the General Secretary of the Chinese Communist Party Hu Jintao in an editorial cartoon on September 11, 2006. Caricaturing Chinese leaders was considered politically incorrect (Reuters Staff 2007). Many political cartoonists could not

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find newspapers or magazines in which to publish, and some decided to leave China. In 2008, Guo Jingxiong (born in 1975) and Qiang Yefei (born in 1968) left for the United States and Thailand, respectively. The most noteworthy development of this period was perhaps the rise of political cartooning on Chinese social media sites, such as Sina Weibo in 2009. At first, the government did not have sufficient technologies to control social media and thus political cartoons flourished on the internet (Fig. 3.2). Both old (such as Kuang Biao) and new (such as Cheng Tao (born in 1980) and Rebel Pepper (born in 1973) political cartoonists had a large number of social media followers. The fifth period (2013–present) is the dark age of cartooning. Political cartooning in social media came to a sudden end after the establishment

Fig. 3.2 Cheng Tao’s “You Can Kill All Roosters, But You Cannot Stop the Morning to Come,” Twitter post on October 14, 2014, 12:07 am. https://twi tter.com/taocomic/status/521874941335977984

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of the Xi Jinping administration in 2012. The government under Xi had the know-how, resources, and determination to crack down on unwanted political cartoons on social media platforms. Xi made an important speech on August 18, 2013 about controlling the internet as a top national priority (Takaguchi 2015). Rebel Pepper refers to the state control of the internet as “Internet Cultural Revolution” (Miyazaki 2016). The government used the following methods to control cartooning on the internet. First, unwanted political cartoons would be deleted. Sometimes, the cartoonists would be given a warning, have their internet account locked, asked to explain to the national security police, or in the worst-case scenario, given a short-term prison sentence. Second, the government promoted pro-government internet cartoonists (such as Naguang Feixing [born in 1985]), bloggers (such as Zhou Xiaoping [born in 1981]), and writers (such as Hua Qianfang [born in 1978]) and used its internet propaganda team or the so-called “50-Cent Party” to attack government critics. Satirical political cartoons vanished. In October 2014, Cheng Tao reported: “The freedom of speech is deteriorating. The kind of cartoon that could be published twenty years ago can no longer be published in newspapers and magazines. The kind of cartoon that could be posted on Weibo three years ago will be immediately deleted now” (Cheng 2014a, b, n. p.). Nowadays, the Chinese government has full control over the internet, using internet technologies to manipulate public opinions and monitor people’s activities (Takaguchi 2015). It supports some semi-official cartoonists (such as Wang Huabin and Jiao Haiyang) and suppresses political cartoonists who are critical of China’s politics. Chinese political cartoonists either stop drawing (such as Murong Aoao) or refrain from discussing politics (such as Gou Ben). Some try to publish their works outside Mainland China (such as Kuang Biao who published in Hong Kong and Feng Xie (a pseudonym to protect his identity) who published in the United States) or even flee overseas (such as Rebel Pepper and Sun Xiangwen (born in 1983) to Japan, Cheng Tao and Guo Jingxiong (born in 1975) to the United States, Badiucao (pseudonym) to Australia, and Qiang Yefei to Thailand). Political cartooning in China is now in a dark age.

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Japan as a Haven for Chinese Cartoonists Historically, Japan offered a haven for the Chinese who escaped prosecution, warfare, and tyranny. Various forms of Chinese culture such as music, literature, calligraphy, painting, and martial arts were preserved and further developed in Japan. In the late Qing period (1636–1912), Chinese revolutionaries sought refuge in Japan. Japan became the haven for them to publish anti-Manchu cartoons. For instance, Xie Zantai (1872–1937) published his famous political cartoon, Shi ju tu (Illustrative Map of Current Affairs ) in Japan in 1898 (Lent and Xu 2017). Minbao (People’s Journal ), the journal of the Chinese revolutionaries in Japanese exile, published editorial cartoons to advocate revolution (Lent 1994). Japan has continued to serve as a haven for the Chinese in the modern period. Since the 1980s, the number of Chinese residents in Japan has been rising tremendously and has reached 0.78 million2 (Ministry of Justice, December 2020). Most stay for economic reasons, but some, including scholars, writers, human right activists, businessmen, officials, artists, religious followers, and ethnic minorities escaped to Japan to avoid prosecution. Although Japan does not usually accept political refugees, there are many other ways and statuses for the Chinese to stay, such as profession, marriage, investment, study, special skills, and cultural activities. Two Chinese cartoonists, Rebel Pepper and Sun Xiang Wen, sought haven in Japan. Japan is the cartooning Mecca for Chinese artists and fans. After the Open Door Policy adopted by China in 1978, many Chinese cartoonists are under the Japanese influence and have exchanges with their Japanese counterparts. Some young Chinese artists travel to Japan to study manga and anime or published their works by Japanese publishers. The success of Liang Xiaolong (born in 1973) and Xia Da (born in 1981) has inspired Chinese cartoonists to submit their works to Japanese publishers. Chinese cartoonists feel close to Japan and some want to find a haven or career in the country. Rebel Pepper and Sun Xiangwen were connected to Japan before their self-exile there. Inspired by the “father of manga” Tezuka Osamu (1928–1989), Rebel Pepper dreamed of becoming a cartoonist in his childhood. His business was also related to Japan. He opened an online store to sell Japanese products to the Chinese. Sun Xiangwen is a big fan of Japanese manga. He drew in the Japanese style and submitted his works to Japanese publishers. His dream is to publish erotic cartoons

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in Japan. For safety, freedom of expression, and career prospects, both have chosen to remain in Japan. Japan can provide not only shelter, but also a livelihood for exiled Chinese cartoonists. The right-wing genre in Japanese manga, in particular anti-Korean and anti-Chinese titles, has a strong following. For instance, Manga Ch¯ ugoku ny¯ umon (Introduction to China through Manga, 2005) by the Taiwanese writer Huang Wenxiong sold over half a million copies (Bokelai 2018) (Fig. 3.3). Its Chinese edition was published in Taiwan in 2008. Other anti-Chinese titles published in Japan include the Soshite Ch¯ ugoku no h¯ okai ga hajimaru manga Ch¯ ugoku ny¯ umon 2 (The Beginning of the Collapse of China: Introduction to China through Manga 2, 2006), Manga ken Ch¯ ugoku ry¯ u (Hating the Chinese Wave, 2008), Manga abunai! Ch¯ ugoku (How Dangerous China is! A Cartoon, 2008), and Manga de wakaru uragiri to shukusei no Ch¯ ugoku kin gendaishi (Understanding Betrayal and Corruption in Chinese Modern History through Manga, 2014). Consciously or not, both Rebel Pepper and Sun Xiangwen have been recruited into the Japanese right-wing camp. They have gained publicity and job opportunities in Japan through their drawing of anti-Chinese communist cartoons.

Rebel Pepper and His Political Cartoons in Japan Rebel Pepper established himself as an outspoken political cartoonist before his exile in Japan. In China, his cartoons seldom appeared in newspapers or magazines. In 2009, he made use of social media to share his satirical cartoons with his fans and he often mocked the Community Party’s policies. Investigated by the Hunan Municipal Public Security Bureau in the same year, he stopped posting cartoons for about two years and only became active again in 2011. Within a short period of time, his Sina Weibo and Tencent microblogging websites attracted 340,000 and 500,000 followers, respectively (Ford 2015). In late 2011, the National Security Bureau interrogated him for posting his cartoon, “Everyone has one vote to change China.” In 2012, he published his cartoons in I-Sun Affairs, a weekly magazine in Hong Kong. A year later, the National Security Bureau detained him for one night for spreading rumors in his cartoon about flooding in Zhejiang. Since posting cartoons on the web did not generate any income, Rebel Pepper opened an online store to sell Japanese products to the Chinese.

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Fig. 3.3 The best-selling Anti-Chinese Manga in Japan: Manga Ch¯ ugoku Ny¯ umon (George Akiyama 2005)

In May 2014, he went to Japan with his girlfriend to find business opportunities for his online business. Initially he planned to return to China in August upon the expiry of his visa. During his three-month sojourn in Japan on a visitor’s visa, he posted a number of cartoons on social media to criticize the Chinese government and articles to praise Japan. Without any warning, Rebel Pepper was suddenly under intense fire from statecontrolled Chinese media. It all started when the Remin wang (people. com.cn), the website of The People’s Daily, called him a “pro-Japanese traitor” and requested the readers to bring him to justice in an article posted on August 18, 2014. His Sina Weibo and Tencent accounts were

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locked and his online store in Taobao, the largest online Chinese shopping website, was shut down. Rebel Pepper decided not to return to China, intending to apply for political asylum in Japan. After the Immigration Bureau of Japan told him that political asylum was extremely difficult to acquire, he applied to stay as a non-paid visiting researcher at Saitama University. During his three-year sojourn in Japan (May 2014–May 2017), Rebel Pepper published many political cartoons about China in Newsweek (Japan Edition), Shinch¯ o 45, and Radio Free Asia as well as on Twitter and Facebook. He received several international awards, including The Best Political Cartoon of the Year in November 2014 from Hong Kong InMedia and Freedom of Expression Award in April 2017 from Index on Censorship in the United Kingdom. In January 2017, he published his first comic book, Manga de yomu usotsuki Ch¯ ugoku ky¯ osant¯ o (Understanding the Lies of the Chinese Communist Party through Manga), and it was an instant success (Fig. 3.4). It sold 26,000 copies in Japan and also had a Chinese digital edition. Rebel Pepper was frank to admit that his exile brought him unexpected success as a cartoonist: “This is not only my first book published in Japan, but also the first book of my life. This is because Japan is a nation that has freedom of speech. Now I tend to think that my exile in Japan is indeed a blessing in disguise” (Gelan 2017, n.p.). While Rebel Pepper’s artistic style remained the same, his political cartoons created in Japan revealed obvious changes. First, his works became more explicit, critical, and unreserved. Compared to his earlier works, the sense of dark humor and subtlety declined. For example, in October 2014, he drew a cartoon in which Xi is having sex with the pro-government blogger Zhou Xiaoping. In another cartoon posted on September 7, 2016, Xi is performing a sexy pole dance to please G20 leaders (Rebel Pepper 2018). He explained his change: “In the past, I expressed my views on current affairs in a satirical and subtle way. Now I know my subtlety cannot stop me from being blacklisted and censored. From now on, my works will not be constrained in expression anymore” (Gelan 2014, n. p.). “Since I came to Japan, I am no longer exercising self-censorship and I have the guts to criticize directly. Many of my internet fans have also realized this change. Some do not understand, criticizing that my cartoons are not as artistic as before” (Kaiwen 2016, n. p.). In particular, he focused his assault on Xi Jinping. He drew Xi like a Chinese steamed bun to refer to Xi’s publicity stunt in a Beijing dumpling shop in 2013. In the eyes of Rebel Pepper, Xi is a modern

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Fig. 3.4 Rebel Pepper’s first comic book (Author’s copy)

emperor who uses personal cult and ultra-nationalism to promote his dictatorship. Under his administration, China has neither human rights nor freedom. Rebel Pepper said he will use political cartoons to defeat Xi’s administration and he will not go back to China as long as it remains under the Communist Party’s control. Second, Rebel Pepper’s cartoons were no longer exclusively about China, but also included many Japan-related topics, such as Sino-Japanese relations, Japan’s politics, anti-Japanese education, and television dramas in China, to cater to Japanese readers’ interests. At first, he wanted to translate and publish his earlier cartoons in Japan, but Japanese publisher Shinch¯osha told Rebel Pepper that these works were too difficult for

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Japanese readers who were unfamiliar with Chinese politics. Shinch¯ osha suggested that Rebel Pepper should draw new cartoons for Japanese readers (Wang 2017a). The cartoons that he drew in Japan used more panels to tell stories. In China, he drew mostly one panel gag cartoons, whereas in Japan, he turned to draw four-panel and multi-panel cartoons that were more suitable for Japanese magazines and storytelling. From Rebel Pepper’s observation, China made use of anti-Japanese sentiments to divert internal dissension after the June Fourth Incident, attempting to brainwash its people through school textbooks, television dramas, and public entertainment. For example, about half of Chinese television dramas screened in 2017 are anti-Japanese and the school textbooks teach the students to hate the Japanese. Rebel Pepper likes to compare China and Japan. In Japan, cartoonists can use their works to criticize their prime minister, because the Japanese enjoy freedom of expression. He did the same thing in China and ended up living in exile. He maintains a strong Chinese identity and misses his homeland very much. He is not sure whether he can return to China during his lifetime as the Communist Party has full control of China (Takaguchi 2015). Rebel Pepper likes Japan, but it is no paradise to him. He has identified problems in Japan’s democracy, such as voter indifference and the impracticality of left-wing ideas. In his opinion, Japan should revise its constitution to prepare itself for a potential Chinese threat. He is pessimistic about the future of Sino-Japanese relations and of China; he foresees that the Communist Party will continue to rule and manipulate nationalism.

Sun Xiangwen and His Political Cartoons in Japan Unlike Rebel Pepper, Sun Xiangwen was a nameless amateur cartoonist who did not draw political cartoons in China. The Communist Party did not threaten him, rather he went to Japan on his own to pursue a career in the comics industry. Sun Xiangwen is a big fan of Japanese manga and anime. He recalled: “In my childhood, I watched Astroboy and Ikky¯ usan. When I was in the primary school, I indulged in Seiya and dreamed of becoming a cartoonist” (2013, 2). When he was a teenager, he learned Japanese on his own and drew cartoons for his blog. His real passion during that time was the Japanese-style erotic cartoon, but he could not find a place to publish his

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works in China. He said, “Having spent an entire year discussing with publishers, I came to realize that I was hopeless in the Chinese comic circle. I could never publish anything popular in China. I decided to debut in Japan as a cartoonist” (Sun 2015, 30). He felt sad that he could not find freedom of expression and pride in China. He was hurt when a Chinese publisher asked him to plagiarize Japanese cartoons. He sent his works to Japanese publishers and won an award from a weekly Japanese manga magazine. Sun traveled to Japan to receive the award and returned with a very positive impression of the country during his two-week visit. In 2012, Taiy¯o tosho, a Tokyo-based publisher, invited Sun to submit a cartoon book manuscript about modern China. It was a high-risk project, but the Japanese cartoon Attack on Titan gave him courage to draw (Sun 2015). He spent six months to finish it in his hometown of Hangzhou and sent the manuscript to Japan. The book, entitled Ch¯ ugoku no yabai sh¯ otai (The Ugly Reality of China), was published in August 2013. It was well received in Japan and had four editions. Sun then decided to become a professional cartoonist in Japan. He traveled to Japan in July 2013 and stayed to draw cartoons. Although his dream was to draw erotic manga, he could only make a living in Japan by publishing anti-Chinese political cartoons. He became a prolific cartoonist and published his works in a number of Japanese magazines such as Sh¯ ukan bunshun, FLASH , Takarajima, Japanizumu, and SPA. After his first book, Ch¯ ugoku no yabai sh¯ otai, he published seven more comic books in Japan: Ch¯ ugoku no motto yabai sh¯ otai (The Uglier Reality of China, 2014), Ch¯ ugokujin ni yoru han Ch¯ uky¯ oron (Anti-Chinese Discourse from the Chinese, 2015), Ch¯ ugoku ga zettai ni Nihon ni katenai riy¯ u (Why China Cannot Beat Japan, 2016), Ch¯ ugokujin ga mita kokogahendayo nihonjin (From the Perspective of the Chinese, What is Weird about the Japanese, 2016), Nihonjin ni kika shitai (I Want to Naturalize to Japanese, 2017), Kokuseki o suteta otoko ga kataru Ch¯ ugoku no yaba sugiru hanashi (Dark Stories about China from a Man who Gave up his Nationality, 2020), and Ch¯ ugokujin no boku wa nihon no anime ni sukuwa reta (How a Chinese like me was saved by Japanese Anime, 2020) (Fig. 3.5). The contents of his books deal with various problems in China and are somewhat repetitive. In many ways, they look similar to other antiChinese cartoon books published in Japan. However, Sun stressed that he is the only one who is anti-Chinese Communism, and not anti-Chinese (Sun 2015).

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Fig. 3.5 Some of Sun’s comic books owned by the author

To him, China is a living hell under the Communist Party as it is heavily polluted—geographically, socially, and morally—and the Chinese people have no freedom, justice, democracy, or pride. He believes that most Chinese hate the Community Party at heart, and when the economy bubble bursts, people will stop supporting them. He hopes that Taiwan will unify the nation so that China can adopt a multi-party system. He saw this message on the internet: “Taiwan, please come to attack our heavenly dynasty. We will collaborate” (Sun 2013, 96). He expressed the same wish in an interview conducted on February 1, 2016: “I am dreaming that one day Mainland China and Taiwan will be unified. It should not be China absorbing Taiwan like what many Chinese people expect. I hope the current Taiwanese government can be put in charge of the united China” (Kametani 2016, n. p.).

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By contrast, Japan is like heaven to Sun Xiangwen. In Ch¯ ugoku ga zettai ni Nihon ni katenai riy¯ u, he maintains that Japan is superior to China in terms of popular culture, otaku culture, politics, economy, and religion. He adds that due to anti-Japanese propaganda, many Chinese have misleading perceptions of Japan, including that Japan is a right-wing nation, it stole Diaoyudao (Senkaku Islands) from China, Japanese troops committed the Nanjing Massacre in 1938, and the Yasukuni Shrine is a symbol of militarism. The real Japan he has experienced is a democratic, liberal, peaceful, and friendly nation. Facing growing threats from China, Sun believes that Japan should revise its constitution so that it can build its national armed forces to exercise “collective self-defense.” Hence, he criticizes the left-wing forces (such as Students Emergency Action for Liberal Democracy or SEALDs), media (such as Asahi Shimbun), and opposition parties (such as the Democratic Party) for undermining Japan’s fundamental interests. He loves Japan so much that he has decided to apply for naturalization. He has gone so far as to use Heisei, the period of Japanese history corresponding to the reign of Emperor Akihito, and to follow Shintoism. Like Rebel Pepper, Sun is pessimistic about the future of Sino-Japanese relations as China is using anti-Japanese education to promote nationalism. He holds that Japan should not rely too much on Chinese money, lest its autonomy would be compromised. At first, the Chinese media paid no attention to Sun Xiangwen, who published his books in Japanese with limited circulation and was relatively unknown among the Chinese in China. He began to draw some negative coverage in the Chinese media in August 2017 when he declared that he would apply for naturalization and then visited the Yasukuni Shrine on August 15, the anniversary of Japan’s surrender in the Second World War.

Concluding Remarks Confucius said: “If ritual is lost in China, we should look for it in the wild.” When the freedom of expression in political cartooning is no longer allowed in China, Chinese cartoonists look for it overseas and Japan is one such place from where they can continue to draw and publish. With insights from Rebel Pepper and Sun Xiangwen, we understand that Chinese political cartooning continues and is transforming in Japan. These two cartoonists are very different in terms of artistic style, content, and format. Rebel Pepper represents the continuation of the Chinese

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political cartoon tradition in Japan. While making some minor changes in content and mode of expression to suit his new home, he remains the same Rebel Pepper very much as we know him. On the other hand, Sun Xiangwen represents a new departure from his early interest and dramatic transformation. As a cartoonist, he was reborn in Japan. The only thing that he is keeping from his early interest is the Japanese sh¯ onen (preteen and teenage boys) manga style. He has transformed himself from an amateur erotic manga artist into a professional political cartoonist who has joined the right-wing manga camp in Japan. Rebel Pepper sees Japan as a temporary shelter. He likes Japan but understands that Japan has its own problems and limitations. He tries to keep a safe distance from Japan’s right-wingers. For more space for freedom of speech and expression, he left Japan for the United States in May 2017 (Wang 2017b). To Sun, Japan is a dreamland, and he has decided to stay permanently. He has been close to and is now a part of Japan’s right-wing camp. Rebel Pepper has maintained a strong Chinese identity, whereas Sun has switched his national identity to Japanese. Is Japan really a perfect place for Chinese cartoonists to draw political cartoons? On one hand, self-exile in Japan turned out to be a blessing in disguise. Both Rebel Pepper and Sun Xiangwen reached the peak of their careers in Japan. They had their cartoon books published and gained fame and money-making opportunities. On the other hand, to achieve success in Japan, there were trade-offs. No doubt they can draw, publish, and earn a living, but they may not be able to draw the things that they want. Rebel Pepper’s dream is to introduce the true history of post-Second World War China through cartoons, whereas Sun Xiangwen’s dream is to publish erotic manga. They cannot fulfill their dreams in Japan, not because of a lack of freedom of speech, press, or expression, but because the market does not support their ultimate goals. Ironically, they sought freedom of expression in Japan, but willingly or not, they were aligned with right-wing forces in order to earn a living. In short, self-exiled Chinese cartoonists’ careers drawing Chinese political cartoons are both a blessing in disguise and a tradeoff. These cartoonists were caught in a dilemma between freedom of expression and earning a living. Chinese political cartooning survives in Japan, but it is no longer the same.

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Notes 1. Another political cartoonist Mou Yintang (1935–2017) suffered a similar fate. In 1957, he was criticized for mocking the dogmatism in state cultural policy in his cartoons. In the same year, Wang Dazhunag (1936–2013) was forced to stop drawing political cartoons. 2. According to Ministry of Justice of Japan statistics, there were 813,675 Chinese residents in Japan in December 2019. The Chinese make up the largest foreign community in Japan, constituting about one third of its foreign population. (http://www.moj.go.jp/housei/toukei/toukei_ich iran_touroku.html).

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Hua, Junwu. 2003. Hua Junwu ji: wenji 2 (Works of Hua Junwu: Essays 2 華君 武集: 文集 2). Shijianzhuang: Hebei jiaoyu chubanshe. Hung, Changti. 1994. War and Popular Culture: Resistance in Modern China, 1937–1945. Berkeley: University of California Press. Hung, Changti. 2003. Xinwenhuashi yu zhongguo zhengzhi (New Cultural History and China’s politics 新文化史與中國政治). Taipei: Yifang chuban. Jianzheng Editorial Board. 2013. Zhongguo weihe nanrong zhengzhi manhua? (Why does China disallow political cartoons? 中國為何難容政治漫畫?) Digital Times China. https://www.facebook.com/chinadigitaltimeschinese/posts/ 588693304492225. Accessed February 25, 2021. Kaiwen. 2016. Biantai lajiao: jiquan lingjiu dou quefa youmogan he baorongxin (Rebel Pepper: All totalitarian leaders do not have the sense of humor and tolerance 變態辣椒: 極權領袖都缺乏幽默感和包容心). RFI, February 22. https://www.tumbral.com/blog/enfuorgblog. Accessed February 25, 2021. Kametani, Tetsuhito. 2016. ‘Taiwan s¯ ot¯ osen’ kekka ni ch¯ugokujin mangaka ga Teigen ‘ch¯ ugoku to Taiwan ha t¯ ogou subeki’ (“China and Taiwan should be United.” A Suggestion from a Chinese Comic Artist after the General Election in Taiwan “台湾総統選”結果に中国人漫画家が提言「中国と台湾は 統合すべき」). Daily News Online, February 1. https://dailynewsonline.jp/ article/1082545/?page=all. Accessed February 25, 2021. Lent, John A. 1994. Comic Strips in Chinese History. In Handbook of Chinese Popular Culture, edited by Wu Dingbo and Patrick D. Murphy. Westport: Greenwood Press. Lent, John A., and Xu Ying. 2017. Comics art in China. Jackson: University Press of Mississippi. Ministry of Justice, December 2020. Statistics of Japan. http://www.moj.go.jp/ housei/toukei/toukei_ichiran_touroku.html. Accessed February 25, 2021. Miyazaki, Norihide. 2016. Ch¯ugokujin f¯ ushi mangaka ga Nihon ni b¯ omei shita jij¯ o (About a Chinese satirical cartoonist who fled to Japan 中国人風刺漫画家 が日本に「亡命」した事情). T¯ oy¯ o keizai onrain, October 2. http://toyoke izai.net/articles/-/137839. Accessed February 25, 2021. Rebel Pepper (Wang, Liming). 2017a. Manga de yomu usotsuki ch¯ ugoku ky¯ osant¯ o (Understanding the lies of the Chinese Communist Party through manga マンガで読む嘘つき中国共産党). Tokyo: Shinch¯ osha. Rebel Pepper (Wang, Liming). 2017b. B¯ omei ch¯ ugokujin mangaka ga kataru ‘Nihon ga “utsukushiku” mieru riy¯u’ (Why Japan looks so beautiful? A view from the exiled cartoonist Rebel Pepper 亡命中国人漫画家が語る「日本が“ 美しく”見える理由」). Nikkan SPA, April 27. https://nikkan-spa.jp/132 2720. Accessed February 25, 2021.

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Reuters Staff. 2007. Chinese artists slay Communism’s sacred cows. Reuters, October 18. https://www.reuters.com/article/us-china-party-art/chineseartists-slay-communismssacred-cows-idUSPEK17075220071018. Accessed February 25, 2021. Schnell, James A. 1999. Perspectives on communication in the People’s Republic of China. Lanham: Lexington Books. Sun, Xiangwen (Son, K¯ obun). 2013. Ch¯ ugoku no yabai sh¯ otai (The ugly reality of China 中国のヤバい正体). Tokyo: Taiy¯ o tosho. Sun, Xiangwen (Son, K¯ obun). 2015. Ch¯ ugokujin ni yoru han ch¯ uky¯ o ron (AntiChinese Communist Party discourse from the Chinese 中国人による反中共 論). Tokyo: Seirind¯ o. Suprani, Rayma. 2019. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PFFbXhEcYTM Takaguchi, K¯ ota. 2015. Naze Sh¯ukinpei ha gekidoshita noka ninki mangaka ga bomeishita riy¯ u (Why he made Xi Jinping so mad? Reasons for the popular cartoonist to exile なぜ、習近平は激怒したのか–人気漫画家が亡命した理 由). Tokyo: Sh¯ odensha. Wan, Beilin. 2003. Zhengzhi manhua shi yongyuan de fanduidang! (Political cartoons are the everlasting opposition party! 政治漫畫是永遠的反對 黨!) Business Today, April 10, 850: 50. https://www.chinatimes.com/new spapers/20120531000364-260107?chdtv. Accessed February 25, 2021. Wang, Xiaobo. 2006. Gerren zunyan (Personal pride 個人尊嚴). Xian: Shanxi shifan daxue chubanshe. Wu, Iwei. 2018. Illustrating Humor: Political Cartoons on Late Qing Constitutionalism. In Not Just a Laughing Matter: Interdisciplinary Approaches to Political Humor in China, edited by King-fai Tam and Sharon R. Wesoky. Singapore: Springer. Ying, Tao. 2001. Zhongguo manhua wushinian (Fifty years of Chinese Cartoons 中國漫畫五十年). Wuhan: Changjiang wenyi chubanshe. Zhang, Yu. 2015. Changing Times Have Traditional Political Cartoons on the Wane in China. Global Times, February 2. http://www.globaltimes.cn/con tent/905410.shtml. Accessed February 25, 2021.

CHAPTER 4

Representational and Symbolic Dimensions in the Inter-Asian Developments: Taiwanese Cartoonist Chen Uen’s Comic Aesthetics and Legacy in East Asia Hong-Chi Shiau

Introduction Organized by the Ministry of Culture of Taiwan, Chen1 Uen’s (鄭問 1958–2017, born Cheng Chin-wen 鄭進文) posthumous exhibition was entitled “The Legacy of Chen Uen: Art, Life and Philosophy” (千年一 問 故宮鄭問大展). Approximately 250 pieces of art spanning original comics panels, illustrations, scripts, and sculptures were showcased at the National Palace Museum Taipei from June 16, 2018 to September 17, 2018 (Fig. 4.1). During the opening ceremony, officials hailed Chen as a trailblazer in Taiwan’s comics industry, a man who had a profound influence on various artistic forms across the region (Ministry of Culture

H.-C. Shiau (B) Shih-Hsin University, Taipei, Taiwan e-mail: [email protected]

© The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2022 J. A. Lent et al. (eds.), Transnationalism in East and Southeast Asian Comics Art, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-95243-3_4

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of Taiwan 2018). President Tsai Ing-wen offered a public eulogy for the beloved artist, paying tribute to his dedication to educating and enlightening new artists in the past and for years to come. This chapter begins with the story of how Chen Uen’s works entered the National Palace Museum in Taipei and became officially appreciated. The exhibition was curated by artist Chung Meng-shun (鍾孟舜), former head of the Taipei Comic Artist Labor Union and one of Chen’s apprentices and close colleagues. In light of the lack of recognition of Chen’s work and lagging government efforts to support Taiwanese cartoonists, Chung proposed to the incumbent government to curate an exhibition at the National Palace Museum Taipei—the home of Chinese “high culture” that epitomizes the classical collections, including ink paintings, calligraphy, and porcelain arts crafted in ancient Chinese empire eras (Hioe 2018). In sharp contrast to this Sino-centric influenced legacy, Hioe considers Chen’s artworks to be Japanese inspired. Paradoxically, Chen appropriated Chinese long ink wash painting style and Western aesthetics in comics through the Japanese inherent in Chinese traditional high art cultures. While it has been difficult to locate Chen’s achievement as an artist, comic

Fig. 4.1 Poster of “The Legacy of Chen Uen: Art, Life and Philosophy” on display outside the National Palace Museum Taipei (Source https://www.fac ebook.com/chenuen2018/)

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art as a form of popular culture that uses an ink-brush style and heavily references popular media, represents a rupture with the National Palace Museum’s core collection. The Museum has also been criticized in recent years for its Sino-centric focus, since it was built around the artifacts’ collection that the Chinese Nationalist Party (or Kuomintang, KMT) brought over from the mainland China in 1949 after it was defeated by the Chinese Communist Party in the final phase of the Chinese Civil War between 1945 and 1949. With that non-local-driven historical and political background, special exhibitions on indigenous cultures in Taiwan are rare. The hybridized exhibition, increasingly popular in Taiwan and resonant to the main theme of this book, can be tied with the fact that the production and circulation of new artworks are collaboratively transnational—with Japanese, Korean, or some other Southeast Asia flavor.

Representational and Symbolic Dimensions of Chen’s Work Studies concerning the intersection of arts, new technologies, and video game aesthetics in the non-western context remain scarce. First, this chapter will pay attention to the transnational symbolic flows through the lens of a media educator who collaboratively planned the controversial exhibition mentioned in the earlier section. I will contextualize the rise and legacy of Taiwanese cartoonist Chen Uen. Chen’s career trajectory, along with his artworks, have illustrated the transnational symbolic flows, particularly within, but not limited to, East Asia. This chapter argues that the popularity of Chen’s style is an example of a regional confluence of the comics, animation, and video games industries through collaborative teamwork and mutual benefit stemming from the rise of intra-Asian appropriation of Chineseness. Such an accomplishment would be nearly impossible for a single creator working on their own in the capacity as a cartoonist and illustrator to achieve. Locating Chen’s shuˇı-mò painting (水墨畫 ink wash painting) comic aesthetics requires an understanding of Chen’s career trajectory. Starting from his initial bourgeoning popularity in Japan in response to his comics works being banned in China, then, his subsequent return to popularity in Taiwan as an innovative illustrator instead of a cartoonist. Chen began his career as an illustrator, rather than as a cartoonist. His works pull from diverse forms, such as the visual arts, design, and

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music to make a single creation. It is in this context where this chapter finds it imperative to introduce how his career intersects with the regional artistic articulation. In the early 1980s, Chen moved to Japan, where he worked as an apprentice at several publishing companies. Chen admittedly was inspired by Ryoichi Ikegami (池上遼一) (Wu et al. 2017), who was well known for his adaptation of American’s Spider-Man into a Japanese setting. This alternative version, according to Chung, impacted Chen’s aesthetic appropriation. It was originally published in Monthly Sh¯ onen Magazine between January 1970 to September 1971. In the 1970s, Japan was experiencing an economic boom, but cartooning remained in its infancy. Manual drawing was slow and labor intensive, which for the period did not impact the quality of programming on low-definition televisions. While the original Spider-Man was very well-received in Japan, Ikegami found it to be too American and he set about domesticating the characters to fit the local sh¯ onen (boys) genre, with the ultimate aim of syndication in the most popular weekly magazines. When it was published, the series was met with immediate success and recognition. The process of domestication for Japan in the 1970s was also in line with a common aspiration to present Japan as a faceless cultural entity in order to enjoy further cultural influence in other countries, mostly in East Asia—South Korea, Taiwan, and Hong Kong—with Japan’s colonialist past and lingering economic exploitation in the region in mind. Although there were no bilateral copyright agreements in the region for entities in the comics and publishing industries, Japan’s domestic market was sufficiently robust to handle the subtle maneuver of the story of America’s Spider-Man into a Japanese setting. For example, from the cover of this comic title by Ikegami, we can see the character is dressed in a Spider-Man outfit in an urban site of Japan—or more obviously, Tokyo—rather than New York City (Fig. 4.2). The color renderings in the background are partially blurred, enabling the artists to use the ink wash painting style, rather than employ flat tone color as in its original American version. However, the characters’ appearance (mostly Caucasian-like facial features with “Asian flavor”) is common among Japanese adaptations of Western comics. First of all, black hair is crucial; this is how the character transforms from American into Japanese. Furthermore, the body shape ought to be muscular but when compared

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Fig. 4.2 Cover of Spider-Man, Issue #1. By Ryoichi Ikegami. It was originally published in Japan from January 1970 to September 1971 in Monthly Sh¯ onen Magazine. Image courtesy of Tong Li Comics Ltd.

to the American version, Japanese heroes are slim but solid. These characters are carefully designed so that anyone across the world can see part of themselves in them. This transformation in character design is far removed from common practices in sh¯ ojo (girls) manga where characters’ eyes are unrealistically big. The drawing is comparatively realistic in the Japanese way without imposing excessively distinctive Japanese flavors. In other words, these characters in the sh¯onen genre look European; their body shape and facial features are more European while their hair and outfits are the perfect Japanese image of their western selves. Chen already admired several cartoonists in Japan when he began working as a background painter who was part of a team creating a Japanese version of an American comic.

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Chen Uen And Taiwan’s 1980s Manhua Renaissance During Chen’s internship in Japan in the early 1980s, his Taiwanese background caught the critics’ attention. Over time, he became known for his unique style combining traditional Chinese ink wash painting techniques with his use of vibrant colors. Chen was committed to this style, but simultaneously improvised and experimented while admiring Japanese master Ikegami. For example, one of his works is evidence that Chen’s drawing style is akin to that of Ikegami. Chen became a highly respected illustrator and manga artist during his time in Japan, and his works were also published in Hong Kong. The way that he drew comic characters remained similar to Ikegmai’s drawing style, but Chen’s use of ink-brush rendering made the pistol and the background misty (Fig. 4.3). The look is like fire and smoke, which somehow flattens the geometric design. The acclaimed comic syndication in Magical Super Asia (深邃美麗的 亞細亞 Vol. 1 to Vol. 5, 1993–1996) did inherit the Japanese legacy of Ikegmai’s drawing style. The subject tackled in this comic series explored

Fig. 4.3 Drawing for the cover of Magical Super Asia (深邃美麗的 亞細亞). Volume 4. 1994. By Chen Uen. In this image, Chen used shuˇı-mò ink wash painting to create a sense of mystery and historical distance. Image courtesy of Dala Comic Publisher

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the forgotten guerillas in northern Thailand and Myanmar in the early 1950s. These Chinese nationalist troops withdrew from mainland China in 1949 and continued to fight the Chinese communists, while the Chinese nationalist government had already lost the civil war and settled in Taiwan. The guerilla troops later settled in northern Thailand, stateless and continuing their fight against the communists. This is a subject under presented in Taiwan’s official history; Chen’s ambitions went far beyond the aesthetic experimentation of combing the Chinese, the Japanese, and the Western. There are distinctions between Western and Chinese painting; Chung Meng-Shen noted this when he detailed what he had learned during his apprenticeship with Chen.2 Chung recalls what Chen said: “In Western painting, there is no space for blankness. Blank indicates unfinished and incomplete particularly in oil painting on canvas. In contrast, blank—or how to leave it blank—is considered important in Chinese ink-painting art” (Yang 2018, n. p.). The sharp discrepancy is also derived from the use of rice paper, which is highly absorbent. When using canvas, one can repaint several layers until the artist is satisfied with the results. Watercolor on rice paper, however, spreads quickly; each stroke is irreversibly unique and thus it must be precisely drawn. Chen’s style is also exemplified in his paintings for Heroes of the East Chou Dynasty (東周英雄傳), the comic title that won him an award from the Japanese Cartoonists Association in 1991 (Fig. 4.4). Here, even though the character’s facial expression and hairstyle are clearly depicted, the rest of his body is rendered and merged into the background. Other visible objects are four colorful birds, implying that the old man is situated in a forest or garden where birds were chirping. The background was rendered in a colorful manner. Chen was particularly fond of experimenting with painting materials. He subsequently produced a number of masterpieces by experimenting with burning paper, ironing rice paper, and mixing various inks by utilizing different utensils and charcoal. Chen and many of his fellow cartoonists in the Taipei Comic Artist Labor Union3 put it ironically, thanks for the under-appreciation of comic art in Taiwan, Chen was never considered as a “highly regarded artists,” or he had never seen himself as a “fine art master” (Shiau 2020). As a cartoonist and illustrator, Chen followed the briefs from his patrons, but they were usually open-minded and allowed Chen to experiment. Due to the nature of commission relationships with publishers and later a video game animation studio, he was able to experiment with various projects. Chen was also set free in

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Fig. 4.4 Heroes of the East Chou Dynasty is a historical fiction set against the backdrop of China’s Spring and Autumn period as well as during the Warring States periods (770–221 BC). The Japan Cartoonists Association honored Chen for his work on the series in 1991. Image courtesy of Dala Comic Publisher

part because “he had never been recognized highly in the high art circle anyway” (Yang 2018). He was always engaged in thinking of new ways to improve his painting skills and often woke up in the middle of the night with new inspirations. His efforts paid off as he became the first Taiwanese artist to have their artwork successfully serialized in Japan’s Weekly Sh¯ onen Magazine, a distinction that reveals his popularity in Japan despite fierce local competition.

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The Aesthetic Experimentation with the Chinese and the West Chen’s work can primarily be categorized into fantasy, martial arts, and pan-Asian historical genres. He attended Fu-Xing Vocational Arts School during the 1970s when vocational education combined two tracks: water and ink painting, classified as Chinese aesthetics and students were required to learn Chinese calligraphy and ink wash painting, and the western art track, composed of charcoal sketching for beginners and oil painting on canvas for advanced students. While the tracks were distinctive, the vocational school required students to imitate ancient masterpieces. The emphasis on Chinese art was to convey the aura of space via rendering, which was enabled by the use of rice paper. The key was to help express the artist’s intention and spirit. For Western art, the basic drawing principle was to learn geometric perspective—to realistically convey a sense of distance in which distant objects appear smaller than they really are (Panofsky 1960). While students were not meant to learn comics drawings, graduates of vocational schools formed the main body of cartoonists in Taiwan in the 1970s and 1980s. With commercial opportunities expanding in various media ranging from publishing to video gaming since the 1980s, graduates from arts schools such as the one that Chen attended found themselves able to make a living by working as cartoonists or illustrators for those media. Taiwanese cartoonists have long admired Japanese comics-related industries, however, they felt that there were so few comics, animation, and video game lovers in Japan who recognized their creative and artistic potentials. With his touches of Chineseness style, Chen changed the perception of Japanese audiences after he received an award from the Japanese Cartoonists Association in 1991 and worked as an illustrator for Romance of the Three Kingdoms (三國志), a PS2 game series that video game publisher Koei released around 2000. Japanese publishers liked Chen and later, he found favor with the Chinese video gaming industry because he could align his work with Chinese and Western aesthetic elements.4 He was very adept in using geometric perspective, which later helped him to develop specialized techniques in video digital painting. He was trained in two-dimensional drawing, but was able to expand his skills into the digital video platform for the stimulation of three-dimensional backgrounds and environments for video gaming.

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Chen’s appropriation of perspective drawing contains several parallel lines on the horizon with one vanishing point, usually directly opposite to the viewer’s eye on the horizon line. Due to his superb techniques, he received an invitation to join a large project that comprised several online video game startups in Beijing. His ability to draw backgrounds for ancient Chinese battlefield scenes was highly valued, a skill that is attributable to his schooling in ink wash painting. This skill on geometric perspective is not part of the training for those who were trained in video digital painting. For instance, fighting scenes on mountainsides were painted a number of times to create layers, whereas plants, bamboo, and fire were rendered using ink wash painting techniques. Another distinctive feature of the online video gaming world is the creation of avatars— player-controlled digital bodies—which are essential in improving the participant’s immersion in virtual environments and to enhance a sense of coexistence with others (Murray 1997). Chen began his career in manga in Taiwan in 1984 with a series published in the China Times Weekly (中國時報周刊). While original cartoons were popular prior to the 1970s, the ruling party, the Chinese National Party, launched a comic cleansing movement that strictly regulated local production. Meanwhile, pirated Japanese comics were not banned, in part because Taiwan lacked any bilateral copyright agreement, thus resulting in a double standard. The stringent publishing laws suffocated local artistic creativity while pirated Japanese comics inundated the island (Lent 2015). Taiwan submitted to this Japanese dominance without a struggle until 1984, when, on the advice of Taiwanese comics scholar Hung Der-ling, the Cartoonist Association of the Republic of China collaborated with The China Times, a daily newspaper published in Taiwan, to hold three national comics contests. The newspaper offered the winners contracts with the newspaper and a comic weekly that the publisher operated. With the emergence of new cartoonists in the 1980s, Chen’s comics works were syndicated as comics columns in several Taiwanese newspapers. This breakthrough was remarkable, especially since martial law was still in place. Under the restrictive political censorship, comic strips and illustrations were often considered too cute or funny for newspapers to carry. Shortly after the government lifted martial law in 1987, Chen published his masterpiece ABI-SWORD volume 1 (Fig. 4.5) and volume 2 (Fig. 4.6) in 1989 in Taiwan and Japan. Chen, along with many

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Taiwanese cartoonists, slowly became visible to readers, which “looked as if a small flower had blossomed at the edges” (Taiwan Panorama 2018). As noted, Japanese manga consistently influenced comics in Taiwan in both drawing style and characters depicted. Chen was the first to introduce elements of traditional Chinese ink wash painting into the industry. Due in part to the distinctive artistic style of Legends of Assassins (刺客列 傳), Chen was invited to create a series for the new publication, Sunday Comics; ABI-SWORD was written by Ma Li and illustrated by Chen. With ABI-SWORD, Chen concentrated his efforts on experimenting with visual images, giving free rein to his creative instincts while reimagining Hong Kong comics’ martial arts style, which had always been his motivation and reference point. Chen was an avid follower of martial arts movies from Hong Kong and used cinema techniques in his drawings. For example, as protagonists come to blows in a scene, Chen renders images of 156 striking hands in

Fig. 4.5 Cover of Chen’s Abi-Sword I . Abi-Sword (or Avici) is a technique of sword fighting used to revenge the death of one’s father. Image courtesy of Dala Comic Publisher

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Fig. 4.6 Cover of Chen’s Abi-Sword II . Abi-Sword (or Avici) is a technique of sword fighting used to revenge the death of one’s father. Image courtesy of Dala Comic Publisher

a cascading motion, in frames laid out across a two-page spread. Subsequently, he employed cinematic language by using a sweep of blank white, with free-flowing lines showing the characters’ silhouettes. In a following scene, the protagonist’s outstretched arms and splayed fingers add to the scene’s drama. The sudden calm, a still silhouette or use of white space, is breathtaking in its effect (Taiwan Panorama 2018). Chen’s innovative brushwork blends realism with the flowing strokes of Chinese painting. He uses fine lines drawn with pen and ink to flesh out architectural details and his characters’ martial arts’ movements, while in crucial scenes, thickly painted brushstrokes leap off the page, bringing the story to life.

Takehiko Inoue (井上雄彥), Japanese Manga Artist Manga artist Takehiko Inoue is best known for the basketball series Slam Dunk, one of the best-selling manga series in history,5 and the samurai manga Vagabond. Many of his works are about basketball as Inoue is

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a huge fan of the sport. Vagabond, however, references Chen’s works. Inoue admits that he followed Chen diligently to draw those characters and backgrounds for Chen’s excellence in using ink paint in comic serials (Yang 2018).6 In the 1980s, it was rare that a comics artist would draw a panel as if one is drawing a part of a painting. The interpenetration of comic arts in the region—the fusion of martial arts from Hong Kong and China—and the hero stories derived from the West are manifested in Chen’s works. It is difficult to evaluate the Japanese influence on the design of the Chineseness style found in Hong Kong and Taiwanese martial arts comics. As Hung (2003) noted, most Chinese characters depicted across comics, animation, and video games are Western and Japanese inspired in terms of their visual style. Avatars in video games are drawn in the “Japanese” way because this style of character is better received in East Asia and across the world. This mutually influenced aesthetic style of character design is expressed in Takehiko Inoue’s works. During an interview with Inoue in a documentary film about Chen, Inoue and some of his Japanese colleagues express their admiration of and appreciation for Chen, who they learned from during their apprenticeships in his ink-brush painting style in the 1980s. Before his debut with Slam Dunk, Inoue was an assistant to Tsukasa Hojo, the creator of City Hunter—a Japanese version of Superman. Hojo and Inoue closely examined Chen’s ink wash painting skills using the works that Sh¯onen Jump magazine published. Chen’s martial arts’ illustrations are inspired by movements and actions found in different sports. With a close study, readers will find serendipitous similarities between martial arts and sports in comic drawings, which is Inoue paying tribute to Chen. Notably, the fusion is not simply related to transnational symbolic transmission, but also to the transition from comic arts to illustrations and video games. The cinematic movement adaption in comics is more Western inspired, but animation and video gaming are Japanese influenced worldwide. Chineseness as a cultural identifier has been long understood with respect to nationalist filmmaking, but in recent decades, animation and video art have become increasingly dominant in adopting Chineseness. Chineseness is often framed as a counterpart to modern cinematic language, or an art form derived from Chinese traditional arts. Farquhar (1993, 23) writes: “The recent rejection of Chineseness as the emphasis in animation is a commentary swing back to considerations of form and cinematic language.” As such, there has been a long struggle to

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nurture the “art form through years of internal repression and turmoil” (Ehrlich and Jin 2001, 27). With the rise of internet technologies in the 2000s, China’s rapidly emerging cyber society and internet governance issues have reshaped video game production. Since the Taiwanese comics, animation, and video game markets have long been saturated with pirated Japanese counterparts, Taiwanese cartoonists were caught up with the size of the larger Chinese market. Furthermore, as important players in the larger Chinese community, Taiwanese cartoonists found that the rise of Chinese nationalism as well as the aesthetic elements incorporated in the video game industry, made ink-paint drawing a widely sought talent in the comics and video games industry. Online video games have been flourishing since the late 1990s. In this period, video gaming publishers and developers were required to create ancient landscapes, battlefields, and objects, but with different player compositions and physical-world connections that work together to create unique video game cultures on a specific server (Zhang 2013a). With the further integration of a Chinese techno-linguistic region, it became desirable for video game companies to draw the battlefield backgrounds and weaponries with Chinese ink wash painting techniques. Avatar design follows Inoue’s legacy with the Caucasian look, painted with watercolors. The lighting was punctuated to show perspective, and ink wash painting was later employed to render the characters’ surroundings. Chen and many Japanese cartoonists experimented with an innovative mixture of western and Chinese art in the 1980s, and this combination became essential for creating content for the Chinese video game industry. It is worth noting that some ethnographic observers have demonstrated the richness of symbolic transfusion that new technologies kindled where the search for genuine nationalist identities were at best a problematic task. Chen drew on his Japanese techniques when he collaborated with Hong Kong publisher Jade Dynasty to create a manga series based on stories from the popular Taiwanese Pili glove puppetry television show in 2000. Though it bloomed in Taiwan, Pili glove puppetry originated in Fujian province during the seventeenth century. In 2012, Chen attended France’s Angoulême International Comics Festival in an attempt to reach out to European and Southeast Asia audiences through German and Thai language editions of his comics (Taiwan Panorama 2018). In an increasingly globalized world, Chen also delved into the digital realm, cooperating with Japanese gamemaker

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Game Arts on a special edition of its popular video game, Romance of Three Kingdoms, featuring characters based on the illustrator’s earlier designs (Fig. 4.7). However, due to the nature of video gaming design principles, Chen was required to follow certain technological settings and requirements. Digital processing for three-dimensional images challenged the ways of working that Chen was familiar with but also offered him new opportunities for experimentation. The increasing popularity in Japan for Chen’s comics can be seen as a new global division of labor in the late twentieth century (Ehrlich and Jin 2001). His later return to popularity in Taiwan and China was grounded in his experience and reputation as an innovative illustrator, animator, and video game visual interface artist. With the rise in popularity of computer games in 2000s, Chen traveled to China to open an ink-brush graphic design studio. Chen’s death in 2018 and the commemorative exhibition mentioned in the introduction are signifiers of contemporary societal transitions in the new era of democratic Taiwan with the rise of young digital game players across the Greater Chinese Region. A newfound cultural vitality and self-assurance have pervaded comics production and

Fig. 4.7 Romance of Three Kingdoms in video game format, which Chen repainted for the most part. The game required the background and the detailed weaponries to be rendered differently using computerized techniques. Image courtesy of Dala Comic Publisher

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other cultural domains, challenging the traditional value of knowledge about and engagement with fine arts.

Conclusion This chapter demonstrates how representational and symbolic dimensions of transnational developments and technological transformations have reshaped Chen’s works, which resulted in their wide circulation in the Greater China Region. Chen integrated Western superhero comics, Japanese manga of the 1970s, and Chinese martial arts ink wash paintings into his works. His career trajectory and his artworks clearly illustrate transnational symbolic flows. In Chen’s well-known version of Water Margin (水滸傳),7 the protagonist, Wu Xung, has undergone complicated aesthetic negotiations. He looks agile and muscular, but not as “beefy” as traditionally depicted. Chinese ink wash painting influenced the way that the tiger is drawn and painted as well as how Wu Xung’s clothes are tied at his waist. Each stroke is rendered in the “Chinese way” (Fig. 4.8). Combining transnational symbolic elements is increasingly common among younger generations of artists. However, computerized painting is not aesthetically pleasing or appropriate to depict aspects of Water Margin, such as the character’s clothes and the tiger, particularly if the painting is for a video game (Wu 2018). To draw the character, it is thus very popular or even expected to use ink wash painting. Thanks to his use of this medium, however, to completely digitize this technique will require the development of new rendering coding and software advances. This chapter sheds light on the young artists who unpacked the symbolic dimensions of transnationalism in East Asia and the implications for new visualization techniques during the new millennium. In particular, Taiwan has witnessed the rise of intra-Asian appropriation of Chineseness through the collaborative works of its artists with creators from across the region. The converging nature of comics and other multimodal art forms since the 1990s—the artistic expression of comics art has closely aligned with animation and video games—has heavily relied on digital technologies (Zhang 2013b). Given Chen’s importance in the history of comics in Taiwan, this chapter is also conscious that the now-dominant video games and animation inevitably require a team to work collaboratively. As a result, similar to what the author has argued elsewhere (Shiau 2020), the leader of such an art team becomes a curator or project manager,

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Fig. 4.8 Portrayal of Wu Xung, a well-known character in Water Margin. Image Courtesy of Dala Comic Publisher

rather than an artist. Chen’s legacy has led new generations of cartoonists to examine the new aesthetic literacy in comics art. Additionally, this chapter also argued that with the rise of new technologies, the possible cultural references are coded differently. Despite this, further research should explore how artworks can travel regionally and globally to offer a nuanced transnational perspective on digital literacies and practices. The advent of computer animation technology has allowed a new generation of comics artists and animation filmmakers to produce ink wash paintings more cost effectively. However, there remains a lack of understanding of East Asian aesthetic pedagogy (i.e., emerging ink wash painting styles and Chinese computer graphics). Software capable of visually stimulating shuˇı-mò, the water and ink, style

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of drawing and illustration has evolved rapidly. Students were trained in traditional drawing and painting tools in vocational art school until the 1990s but since the 2000s, art and design training has informally developed new digital repertoires, which offer a new generation of artists the opportunity to explore an innovative visual landscape in comics, animation, and video gaming.

Notes 1. Chen Uen (鄭問), whose family name Chen also appears as Cheng in Taiwan’s official spelling system, are both found in various English articles. This chapter adopts Chen, which occurs in his posthumous exhibition, and how the press covers his family name. However, Chen is often mistakenly seen as the most popular surname (陳) in the Greater China Region. Cheng is common spelling in this case as it is closer to its Chinese pronunciation. 2. The author interviewed Chung Meng-Shen three times in 2019. Chung also spoke on his apprenticeship with Chen, which lasted for four years in the early 2000s. 3. Hung Der-ling (Tony) is a Taiwanese comics historian who taught in four colleges before his retirement. He mentioned this to the Chair of the Ministry of Culture of Taiwan at a reception party. 4. This claim is based on the author’s informal interviews with Hung and Chung in 2019 and 2020. 5. Slam Dunk, written and illustrated by Takehiko Inoue, features a high school basketball team. It was serialized in Shueisha’s Weekly Sh¯ onen Jump from October 1990 to June 1996. 6. Takehiko Inoue mentioned this in a documentary on Chen Uen entitled, An Ask in a Thousand Years, released in February 2021. Chen Uen’s Uen (問) literally means “to ask.” The title suggests that Chen Uen is ONE in a thousand years. It also suggests answering any inquiry one might have to the artist after his sudden passing in 2017. 7. The fourteenth-century novel Water Margin, also translated as Outlaws of the Marsh, Tale of the Marshes, or All Men Are Brothers, is considered one of the four great classical novels of Chinese literature. It is written in vernacular Chinese rather than literary Chinese.

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References Ehrlich, David, and Tianyi Jin. 2001. Animation in China. In Animation in Asia and the Pacific, ed. John A. Lent, 7–32. Bloomington: Indiana University Press. Farquhar, Mary Ann. 1993. Monks and monkey: A study of national style in Chinese animation. Animation Journal 1: 4–27. Hung, Der-lin Tony. 2003. Reading Taiwanese comics (台灣漫畫閱覽), Taipei, Taiwan, YuShen Publisher (In Chinese). Hioe, Brian. 2018. Review of The legacy of Chen Uen: Art, life and philosophy. New Bloom: Radical Perspective of Taiwan and Asian Pacific, September 12, 2018. https://newbloommag.net/2018/09/12/review-chen-uen-exhibit. Lent, John A. 2015. Asian comics. Jackson: University Press of Mississippi. Murray, Janet H. 1997. Hamlet on the Holodeck: The future of narrative in cyberspace. Cambridge, Massachusetts: The MIT Press. Panofsky, Erwin. 1960. Renaissance and renascences in western Art. Stockholm: Almqvist & Wiksell. Shiau, Hong-Chi. 2020. Performing Chineseness, Translated histories: Taiwanese cartoonist Chen Uen’s ink-brush comic aesthetics and digital pedagogy. Critical Arts: South-North Cultural and Media Studies 34 (5): 55–71. https:// doi.org/10.1080/02560046.2020.1830142. Taiwan Panorama. 2018. Manga master—The extraordinary talent of Chen Uen, June 7. https://nspp.mofa.gov.tw/nsppe/news.php?post=135497&uni t=410. The Ministry of Culture of Taiwan (Republic of China). 2018. The legacy of Chen Uen: Art, life & philosophy. Accessed January 10, 2020. https://www. moc.gov.tw/en/information_197_84400.html. Wu, Po-hsuan, Yuan-ting Yang, and Jonathan Chin. 2017. Comic book great Uen Cheng dies. Taipei Times, March 31. http://www.taipeitimes.com/ News/taiwan/archives/2017/03/31/2003667813. Wu, Weihua. 2018. The Ambivalent image factory: The genealogy and visual history of Chinese. Animation 13 (3): 221–237. Yang, Chen-hsung. 2018. I found Chen has friends everywhere: Interview with Chung Mengshuen. (鄭問到處有朋友: 專訪鍾孟舜) Mirror Weekly, Accessed May 10, 2021. Zhang, Lin. 2013a. Productive vs. pathological: The contested space of video games in postreform China (1980s–2012). International Journal of Communication 7: 2391–2411. Zhang, Tao. 2013b. Governance and dissidence in online culture in China: The case of anti-CNN and online gaming. Theory, Culture & Society 30 (5): 70– 93.

CHAPTER 5

South Korean Manhwa’s Long and Strong Association with Transnationalism John A. Lent

Understanding transnationalism to simply mean the movement of goods, technology, ideas, and people across national boundaries places South Korean comic art in a lead position among Asian countries. For more than a quarter of a century, South Korean government agencies have bellowed the notion that comic art (particularly animation) is a valuable exportable product, pumping huge sums of money into building up the infrastructure of comics and animation in the process. For more than twice that time, South Korea was one of the world’s major production centers for American and European animation through its numerous offshore facilities. And, for a sizable portion of that same period, the South Korean government and comic art industry used various schema and legislation to fend off the huge impact of Japanese manga and anime. By the 1990s, change was in the works as comic art began to be Koreanized, mainly because of government agencies’ strong financial support,

J. A. Lent (B) International Journal of Comic Art, Drexel Hill, PA, USA e-mail: [email protected]; [email protected]

© The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2022 J. A. Lent et al. (eds.), Transnationalism in East and Southeast Asian Comics Art, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-95243-3_5

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first in 1994, and again in 1997. In the early twenty-first century, the government’s belief that South Korean comic art and other popular culture forms were important exports, and its building of a strong infrastructure to support them, led to the “Korean Wave” (hallyu), that began to sweep China, Japan, other parts of Asia and the world, and, in the process, replacing Japan as the favorite popular culture provider. It was not a case of just adjusting already-existing comic art formats; the Koreans innovated, taking advantage of being one of the world’s most wired nations with a broadband penetration then of 80 to 85%. A new industry grew around webtoons, originally created by ordinary internet users, some of whom were fortunate to have their webtoons go transmedia, adopted as movies, television shows, and printed books. This success was not lost on entrepreneurs, who, in the 2010s, set up companies to push webtoons globally. Transnationalism relative to South Korean comic art (and perhaps, popular culture more generally) fits into five categories, which are, benefiting other countries by providing less expensive labor to produce their creative works; advancing the knowledge of domestic cartoonists/animators through the transfer of skills that might result from serving as workhorses for overseas producers; adapting, for use by local creators, the culturally appropriate and safe aspects of manga and anime that flood the local market, at the same time, ensuring that the incoming Japanese comics art does not totally dominate the market, and finding profitable ways to transmit South Korean manhwa, animation, and webtoons to the world. These categories signpost the rest of this chapter that deals with South Korea’s pioneering role in offshore animation production, the government’s strong support in building a sturdy infrastructure for domestic animation and comics, the efforts to market Korean manhwa, animation, and webtoons globally, and the drive to stem or slow down the invasion of Japanese manga.

Introduction of Offshore Animation Aside from occasional transnationalization of comic art that might have occurred while the United States and other countries’ militaries were engaged in the Korean War,1 or that might have come about through

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syndication of American comic strips, the major thrust toward transnationalism came about in 1969, when South Korea joined Japan and Taiwan as offshore animation producers. South Korean entrepreneurs recognized the potential benefits of offshore production to learn technical skills from the United States and start their own industry. Among these pioneering studios were DaiWon, started in January 1974 by animator Junk Wook, mainly to handle Japanese contracts (Jung Wook 1995); International Art Production, started in 1968 and headed by Tayk Kim and Jeong Yoon Song, which contracted directly with producers in the United States, bypassing the normal process of using Japan as a subcontractor (Tayk Kim 1995); and AKOM, started by Nelson Shin, which became one of the largest studios in South Korea with contracts to produce much animation for the United States, including that of The Simpsons. Shin (1995) recalled that in 1980– 81, he met with officials of the recently established Marvel Productions, who challenged him to produce a 75-minutes feature within two months. With “almost all of the Korean animators,” Shin finished the job within ten weeks, after which, much more work from the United States came to him. Companies based in the United States have dominated offshore animation, although Japan and some European countries have been involved. Reasons given for this need to engage foreign companies to produce American animation include, the renaissance of interest in animation in the late twentieth century with all-cartoon networks, primetime animation shows, and increased time slots devoted to animation on weekday afternoons and Saturday mornings; the availability of less expensive labor pools in Asia; the long history of disgruntled American animators who for decades felt marginalized—poorly paid, with long, tedious working hours, and the denial of credit for their works; and the labor strike free atmosphere endemic to many foreign (particularly Asian) countries. Impressed with the large amount of foreign capital that offshore animation companies pulled in, the South Korean authorities in 1994–1995 granted the industry a favored “manufacturing” status and sponsored a huge animation festival, the Seoul International Cartoon and Animation Festival (SICAF) (Fig. 5.1). It was at this time that the South Korean government, including the president and technocrats, recognized animation as a “value added” product for South Korea; the government thence provided tax credits and other support in the form of low interest loans for those engaged in the industry. These actions encouraged more domestic

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Fig. 5.1 Office website of the 24th Seoul International Cartoon & Animation Festival (Source http://www.sicaf.org/)

production and a strong infrastructure to back it up. It is worth noting that by 1997, South Korea was the world’s largest animation producer, its eighty to one hundred studios churning out up to a thousand works annually for American Canadian, Japanese, and European clients.

Building of an Animation and Cartoon Infrastructure After learning from a 1994 report that animation was South Korea’s most important cultural product (because of its huge offshore production), the government primed the industry with the above-mentioned incentives and other financial assistance to create comic art centers, schools, and libraries. The rather quick result was the release of five local features and

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the establishment of a twenty-four-hour cartoon cable network, animation schools, and additional cultural production networks. As the offshore production bottomed out later in the 1990s after United States-based companies found even less expensive and labor-safe locales (China, Southeast Asia, and eventually South Asia) to send their work, and after the severe economic downturn that blasted South Korea in 1997, the government boosted its thrust for animation and comics. The government upgraded animation and comics to a national strategic industry, placing culture contents technology, of which animation and comics were a sector, in the category of six major high-tech fields for the future (Lee 2003). In 1997, the government created the Korean Culture and Contents Agency (KOCCA) under the Ministry of Culture and Tourism to oversee contents in animation, comics, film, television, music, and games. KOCCA annually has had hefty funds available for the advancement of animation and comics. The outlook for comic art became rosier in the early 2000s as financial assistance was planned to create pilot films, assist in dubbing works for foreign audiences, and to support foreign marketing strategies and activities. It was obvious that the government was aiming to reverse the pattern of South Korea being a workstation for other countries’ creative efforts; rather, South Korea’s home-grown animation and comics were to be liberally supported to reach an overseas market. What happened in the next decade in Asia was unprecedented up to that time. Three government ministries (Culture and Tourism, Telecommunications, and Energy and Resources) vied to have animation in their portfolios, and local authorities and the private sector took an interest in nurturing comic art and benefiting from the government largesse. Heavily government-funded centers sprang up in Seoul (Seoul Animation Center) and Bucheon (Bucheon Cartoon Information Center), and animation made up one of the five divisions of a newly established (in 1998) Seoul Industry Promotion Foundation. A state-of-the-art Korea Comics Museum (Korea Manhwa Museum) opened, and about 150 university, college, and high school educational programs appeared (Fig. 5.2). Other ministries became involved, for example, the Ministry of Commerce that awarded merits to individual projects, such as those dealing with export promotion (Cho 2003; see also Kim Jae-Jung 2003). Associations were established for most branches of the industry—i.e., three-character business groups as well as others for studios and individual animators. Knowledgeable about the huge financial rewards to be gained

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Fig. 5.2 Promotional leaflet of the Korea Manhwa Museum (Source http:// www.sicaf.org/)

from licensing, the government created the Korean Character Business Association, registered in the Ministry of Energy and Resources, and two other organizations placed within the Ministry of Culture and Tourism. As production for overseas studios receded, from a high of about US$100 million annually to US$30 million a year by 2003 (Boyean 2003), many of the 200 studios (most opened since the late 1990s) produced local television series, taking advantage of government subsidization and developing a South Korean style of animation that used some skills transferred from previous offshore work. At the same time, they helped to meet the quota of fifty percent South Korean animation on local television as the Ministry of Culture and Tourism and the association of broadcasting stations mandated.

Internationalizing Korean Animation, Comics, and Webtoons South Korean animators and cartoonists had tried to nudge into the foreign market since at least the mid-1990s, but they were not successful until the early twenty-first century, when the government and the profession began screening South Korean works at international festivals and competitions and provided opportunities to foreign animators and industry officials to participate in similar South Korean festivals, seminars, and associated events.2 For example, in 2003, KOCCA sponsored 40 animation companies to attend the Cannes Film Festival, the Korean Independent Producers sent ten studios to the Cannes Korean Pavilion

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(Animation 2003, 22), and KOCCA set up a South Korean comics exposition at the Angoulême International Comics Festival in France. These transnational exchanges were also visible inside South Korea at the time, as the annual SICAF3 set aside a large area for South Korean and other country companies and centers to promote shows, seek foreign sales and production partners, sell merchandising copyrights and licenses, promote investment, open the China market, and generally target a world market. The government again boosted manhwa’s potential stake on the global scene, when, in 2008, the renamed Ministry of Culture, Sports, and Tourism allocated US$33.3 million to develop comics by 2013 into what the ministry called “killer content” for the foreign market. The package also included US$67 million for animation, US$40 million for characterdriven content, and US$134 million to develop human resources (Han 2008).

Animation Payoffs trickled in for the industry as South Korean animation was sold to the United States, Spain, France, Italy, England, Germany (O 2003), Hong Kong, and Taiwan. Partnering with foreign producers and distributors took shape, resulting in an assortment of combinations: of broadcasting systems, governmental and educational institutions, animation studios, toys and games developers, and digital companies. Some involved strictly investment capital, some dealt with aspects of the production or distribution process, and others, a mixture of both. For example, the globally popular Beyblade (Topblade in South Korea) television series released in the United States through Nelvana, was a collaboration between Seoul Broadcasting System, Seoul Animation, and Sonokong Toy Company, all in South Korea, and Tokyo TV and Madhouse Studio in Japan. Other partnerships existed between South Korea and Canada, Ireland, Luxembourg, United States, France, and China. Due to their similar cultural, linguistic, and philosophical roots, South Korea, China, and Japan explored a number of cooperative ventures, actually leading to a Northeast Asia consortium. Thinking of the potential market of 6.1 billion people, the organizers had high hopes, most of which were not fulfilled (Zhang 2003; Tekeuchi 2003).

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Manhwa South Korean comic books (manhwa) began to find a viable market in the United States and Europe at about the same time as animation’s advances. Manhwa sales in the U.S. and Europe increased by about ninefold between 2002 and 2004 (Baik and Choi 2005). In 2005, South Korea’s comic book exports amounted to KRW 3 billion (US$3.26 million), 40% of which was to Europe, 30% each to the United States and Asia. South Korea’s largest manhwa publisher, Daiwon Culture Industry, Inc., nearly doubled its export sales every two years after entering Europe in 2002, to KRW 620 million (US$668,000) in 2006. Increasingly, manhwa were translated into European languages (Hankyoreh 2007). Manhwa experienced an overseas boom for a myriad of reasons, including that they are, in comparison with manga, more personal and less explicit in content, and that their creators/producers are more globally inclined, more lenient with licensing rights, and more flexible and experimental. Concerning the latter point, Jeremy Ross, editorial director for United States-based publisher Tokyopop, thought Japanese artists were almost bonded with their publishers and editors and shied away from doing anything different (Lee 2007). Beginning in October 2005, manhwa publishers copied their manga counterparts Viz and Tokyopop by bringing their South Korean content directly to the United States. Three of the largest manhwa publishers— Sigongsa, Seoul Cultural Publishers, and Haksan—jointly created Ice Kunion to accomplish this. Three months later, Netcomics also came to the United States, intent on finding a way to transform internet comics into profits. It succeeded, constructing a pay-per-view system whereby customers can read the first chapter of a book for free and then pay 25 cents for access to each succeeding chapter. It was not very long after that the United States could no longer absorb the large inflow of manhwa and a few companies folded, in a few cases, not finishing major series. Yen Press, part of the Hachette Book Group, took over Ice Kunion’s manhwa series in 2007. The economic recession also sidelined further manhwa growth the following year (Gravett 2009). The setback was short-lived. At the outset of the 2010s, manhwa were climbing to a peak in popularity overseas while losing ground in South Korea itself. The once-dominant Japanese manga and American comic books also experienced significant sales slumps; manga sales dropped by half between 1995 and 2010 (Cain 2010). Cain (2010) felt that as fans

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aged, they preferred the realistic dramas of manhwa over the “gritty postapocalyptic manga for teenagers.” As it had done in 1994 and 1997, the South Korean government lent support again in the 2010s, supporting companies that distribute comics online, subsidizing the translation of manhwa into English, and paying travel and exhibition costs for domestic publishers to participate in foreign book fairs. An outcome was that South Korea’s manhwa-related exports shot up 40% to US$133 million between 2009 and 2011. These stimuli were part of the government’s spreading on Korean pop culture (Korean Wave) more generally, a campaign designed to boost domestic brands, increase exports of appliances and household and fashion goods, and attract tourism4 (Yoshida and Kudo 2013). Manhwa were now treated as a distinct comics form and style, no longer published as though they were a type of manga. As a Business Week article reported, South Korean comics have a “diverse range of genres, from raucous comedies and tense science fiction and fantasy to high-octane adventure, period dramas, and slice-of-life romances” (Welsh 2007, n.p.). Besides their diversity of genre, manhwa also possessed universal traits that made it easier for different countries’ readers to accept, such as their fictional worlds and their characters’ unclear nationalities and familiar look to readers outside of South Korea. The transnational and transmedia scope of manhwa was far reaching. By 2009, manhwa were being exported to Africa, Asia, Europe, Latin and North America, and Oceania, translated into many languages, and splintered off to other media. Hyung Min-Woo’s Priest, a gothic horror comic, was translated into fifteen languages, exported to more than twenty countries, and was the first manhwa to become a Hollywood film. Lee Myung-Jin’s top-selling epic fantasy Ragnarok, the first manhwa to inspire a Japanese anime series, was exported to at least 30 countries. Park So-Hee’s romance story Gung (Palace Story) sold in thirteen countries after a South Korean television version was a hit throughout Asia (Sung 2009), and Kim Dong-Hwa’s Color Trilogy (The Color of Earth, The Color of Water, and The Color of Heaven), the coming-of-age tale of a nineteenth century South Korean girl, appeared in English from First Second Books (an American publisher of graphic novels) and French from Casterman (a publisher of Franco-Belgian comics) (Culkin 2009; Lorah 2009) (Fig. 5.3). Additionally, the number of North American publishers that started manhwa lines steadily expanded, among them, Nantier Beall

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Fig. 5.3 Covers of Kim Dong-Hwa’s Color Trilogy (Source https://firstseco ndbooks.com/books/kim-dong-hwas-color-trilogy/)

Minoustchine Publishing, UDON Entertainment (Canada), First Second Books, and Dark Horse Comics. It seemed as though whatever flourished in South Korea was given a chance on the foreign market. When haksup (study manhwa) became the rage in South Korea, some titles selling in the millions,5 they were then translated and sold in Taiwan, China, and the United States. A Korean Literature Translation Institute report for 2008 showed that of 1,103 types of books exported to twenty-three countries, one-third were haksup. Survival, about the human body and science, sold a million copies in Taiwan and China (Sung 2009). About the same time, the Seoul-based Dasan Books tapped the student market in the United States, setting up branch offices in New Jersey and starting a line of fifty biography manhwa of prominent Americans (Chung 2010).

Webtoons Original to South Korea, webtoons secured the immediate future of the country’s comic art industry, emerging when there was a dip in manhwa sales that had long copied very popular manga styles. Webtoons emerged in the 1990s, a time of the rise of neoliberal ideologies after decades of dictatorial rule since 1945, a surge of new technologies, and the government’s implementation of a program to widely export Korean

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pop culture. Originally, amateurs created webtoons as visual diaries or virtual essays. They were published online free of charge. In 2002, more than half of the newcomer comics artists debuted on internet sites, many doing these diary comics—one-a-day, short pieces on the artist’s feelings. Researchers Kim Nak-Ho (2003) and Park In-Ha (2003) lavished praise on these internet comics, saying they increased the number of amateur cartoonists. “Before, you had to be good to do comics. If you don’t know how to draw, you can still do comics with photos, Internet, digital cameras. It’s a very good phenomenon as ideas are more important anyway.” Researcher Kwon Jae-Woong, who analyzed 151 webtoons (he refers to them as essay cartoons) in late 2004, defined them as being: Managed technologically and financially by non-specialists; do not follow typical manhwa in style, format (most are vertical), or length (almost limitless); normally are cartoonists’ diaries of their lives and opinions; have no fixed parameters for their characters (some are animals or fruits, others completely unreal); do not conform to limitations with respect to letter fonts and colors; have different ways of reaching readers (interactive in real time); and possess the ability to mix and compose different types of images (photographs, illustrations). (paraphrase of Kwon [2005, 322–23] in Lent [2015, 91])

Topics dealt with, according to Kwon (2005, 332–333), were “mental stress, love, friendships from school life and working life, and the relationship with friends, colleagues, and lovers.” Other media picked up some of these early webtoons and made them into printed books, films, or television shows. From Kwon’s description, one can deduce that webtoons were not just scanned versions of print comics. They were created directly online, were free, and “can be created and shared by anyone, and the [the creators] do not need to be trained in advance” (Jang and Song 2017, 175). Webtoon culture spread, catching the attention of not only the larger media companies, but also that of the Daum and Naver portal sites. Its growth was attributable to factors such as being free, having open space, being easily accessed, and benefitting from high internet speed. Yoon et al. (2015, quoted in Pyo et al. 2019, 2164) explained that the open space provided an “alternative to the traditional master-apprentice system of the comic artist ecology and allowed amateur artists to publicly debut

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their work.” The master-apprentice system, similar to offshore production, favors only a few well-established artists, and had been termed labor exploitation. Open space serves both the creator and reader, allowing for expanded stories with capacity for more explanatory or contextual content. Easy access is another positive trait of webtoons—facile because of the elimination of distribution hassles, familiarity with, and preference for, scrolling rather than page turning among the younger generations, the high broadband diffusion rate, and the fast internet speed. Undoubtedly, a number of South Korean technological advances helped push popularity of webtoons: the country being one of the world’s highest penetrations of broadband connections, offering leading internet speeds, and the availability of well-equipped mobile devices. The increased use of smartphones also expanded the webtoon market. Other reasons that have been given are webtoons’ popular content with heightened relatability to everyday life, exceptional artwork, and the growth of a “snack culture,”6 a term reflecting the behavior of “consuming information and cultural content in a short time rather than engaging in deep reading” (Chung 2017, quoted in Jang and Song 2017, 179). Webtoons moved into another domain starting in 2003 when major portal sites provided webtoons on their platforms. Daum was the forerunner, followed by Naver in 2005; their participation changed webtoon publication from a personal space to a public one. As Pyo, Jang, and Yoon (2019, 2165) state, “Whereas early webtoons were mostly uploaded in the personal Web pages of their creators, the webtoon services at major portal sites became a public sphere for webtoons, allowing more convenient access to general Internet users who were not avid fans of specific creators.” These authors saw the early 2000s as a period that displayed the possible entertainment value of webtoons, while the 2010s made apparent the potential of a leading industry forming alongside the technology development. As already mentioned, the widespread use of smartphones sparked change. New webtoons releases jumped 62.2% between 2009 and 2010, part of the increase because of smartphone usage (Yoon et al. 2015). Other platforms joined the webtoon explosion in about 2012, some, such as Lezhin Comics and KakaoPage, solely to provide webtoons. Not subject to ratings regulations, Lezhin became the first platform to offer adult webtoons dealing with sex and violence. In 2013, webtoon-specialized platforms began to seek foreign markets, with Comico: The comic company, opening in Japan; the following year, Line Manga launched services in Japanese, Chinese, and English, and

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later moved into Thailand and Indonesia (Fig. 5.4). By the late 2010s, webtoons were doing very well overseas with five companies dominating: Lexhin, founded in 2013; Naver webtoons, launched in 2004 in South Korea and 2014 in the United States; Daum, started in 2004; Mr. Blue, initiated in 2002, and Toomics, established in 2015. Lexhin has produced popular titles in English, Korean, Chinese, and Japanese, averaging about 250 new titles weekly and pulling in more than US$8.7 million in sales in the American market in 2018. Naver webtoon is the world’s most read digital publisher, surpassing Marvel, DC, and all European and Japanese publishers. Sales in 2018 totaled US$59.8 million (Jung 2020). Throughout the 2010s, the glocalization of webtoons appeared more frequently across the globe. Taking a product that is global-oriented and putting a local touch to it gave webtoons even more leverage in relatability and comprehension (see Doo 2017). Glocalization appeared in the mere translation of webtoons as has occurred in Japan, China, Taiwan, India, Southeast Asia, and many other parts of the world. In Japan, Naver, Line, Kakao, and Comico (a Japanese subsidiary of NHN) have webtoon portals with translated works; in India, Kross Komics, launched in 2020, offers translated titles in Hindi and English; and in Southeast

Fig. 5.4 Official website of Webtoon (Source https://www.webtoons.com/en)

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Asia, Naver and Daum provide local artists with opportunities to create their own webtoons, holding contests to cultivate talent, and Toomics has built a partnership with local platforms. Similarly, in other parts of the world, the “Korean model” of webtoons has inspired local versions, such as the Delitoon, a French webtoon service established by Didier Borg in 2011. Additionally, webtoons have had transmedia or One Source Multi Use (OSMU) benefits, to the extent that South Korean OSMU webtoon products domestically were valued at about US$750 million in 2018 (W. Y Lee 2016). The end results are that South Korean webtoons are consumed transnationally and transmedia, and South Korean webtoon companies adapt the cartoons to fit different cultures while cultivating local artists to create different types of webtoons (Jang and Song 2017). Fraught with obstacles, webtoon transnationalization has had to make adjustments, using more universal topics and avoiding criticism of other countries, yielding to different countries’ modus operandi, rearranging speech balloons to fit different language configurations, and even modifying drawings. Of course, most of these barriers come down when employing local platforms and artists.

Dealing with the Japanese Manga Invasion Beginning in the 1960s, Japanese manga held a heavy presence in South Korea, defying governmental and professional organizations designed to curtail them. Worse yet, the large majority of the manga were illegal and pirated. In 1993, the Korean Cartoonists Association’s president claimed that manga dominated seventy percent of the local comics market and of those, ninety percent were pirated (Comics Journal 1993). Obviously, homegrown manhwa were smothered in that climate. Reasons given for the popularity of manga were their high readability, superior graphics, inexpensiveness (three to four times cheaper in pirated versions than manhwa), emphasis on superheroes, and liberal use of sexual and violent content. They were also popular because of linguistic and lifestyle similarities between the two countries. For decades, manhwa cartoonists imitated manga in drawing style, format, character depictions, and story lines, to the extent that they and their editors were hard pressed to explain distinctions between them, often leaving it at, “the differences are subtle and emotional.” Differences pointed out normally were not tangible, except that manhwa did not include explicit sex and violence as was common with manga. For

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example, one comics critic granted that manhwa characters and cartoon styles were very much like manga, but to be different, manhwa artists had to “draw with a sense of familiarity and originality and touch Korean feelings” (Im 1994, n.p.). Others were no less specific. Japanese professor Sajima Akiko (cited in Kwon 1998) favored manhwa because they had “deep thoughts” that were lacking in manga. A manhwa publisher claimed South Korean comics were “more personal” than the “industrial,” studio style manga (S.Y. Lee 2007), hardly convincing since manhwa used a similar industrial style through their master/apprentice studios. Another writer saw the difference simply as an open/shut case: “[T]he Japanese went their own way after the initial influences from outside but South Korean comics just kept being influenced from outside,” from Japan, Europe, and elsewhere. He said that the Japanese did not import much, that they isolated themselves (Seon 2003, n.p.). Comics researchers Lee Sun-Young and Kim Nak-Ho stated without hesitation that they did not see differences. Lee (2007) said that manhwa “generally looks and reads very much like manga” and that “little distinguishes it in terms of form and content,” while Kim (2003a, b, c) said unequivocally that “[p]ublishers who say Korean comics do not have a manga style are talking trash; you can’t tell Japanese and Korean comics apart.” Kim (2003a, b, c, n.p.) elaborated: Japanese and Korean comics both have an Asian traditional way of drawing—using black and white line, and emptiness between lines and panels. All share the same basic principles. It is not clever to say Korean comics are different from Japanese as they share the same Asian graphic style. The difference is what lies beneath the comics’ style. Mainstream Korean comics use more drama, narrative. Mainstream Japanese manga are more concerned with building up individual characters and personalities. It is a cultural difference. Korea, through its cultural background, emphasizes more the forces of society and history beyond the individual. In Japan, the focus is more on the individual.

The editor-in-chief of one of the main manhwa publishers, Seoul Cultural Publishers, delineated specific differences that he saw between manga and manhwa, saying they were becoming more apparent. Editor Kim MunHwan (1994, n.p.) explained: “The shapes of Korean eyes and faces are drawn more softly than Japanese; Korean comics have round lines while manga have sharper, straighter ones. Korean books are read front to back;

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Japanese from back to front, and Korean comics do not have the blatant violence and sex, bleeding scenes, amputations, and so on.” These contrasting views aside, one certainty remains—that manga have had an enormously huge impact in South Korea, and one difficult question stands unanswered—why did manga continue to thrive in an atmosphere of prohibitive and all-encompassing government legislation, outcries from parental groups and the press, and action on the part of South Korean cartoonist associations? As early as December 1961, some responsible publishers and cartoonists, fearing that the government was about to come down hard on the industry because of the shoddy quality of manhwa stories and the heavy manga presence, did what their colleagues in the United States had done in the mid-1950s—form their own monitoring organization: Hanguk Adong Manhwa Jayulwhoe (HAMJ, Korean Self-Regulation Body for Children’s Cartoons). Artists and writers were requested to register with HAMJ and submit their work to veteran cartoonists for scrutiny. When this tactic failed, the publishers, with government support, effected severe censorship measures. Not yet satisfied, in August 1968, the government replaced the selfregulatory body with Hanguk Adong Manhwa Yuliwiwonwhoe, its own ethics committee with pre-censorship powers. The situation worsened for the industry when, a month later, President Park Chung-Hee ordered the strict supervision of what were called deleterious comics, which the government pigeonholed a year earlier as one of the six evils of society. Cartoonists reacted on October 11, 1968, by forming the Hanguk Association of Children’s Cartoonists (see Oh 1981, 14–20). Throughout the 1970s, the scrutiny intensified as children’s comics books gave way to adult comics that often were full of violent and sexual content. The government now implemented stiff legislation to protect the underaged, and in a 1980 crackdown by the Korean Social Purification Committee, fourteen publishers were arrested and fourteen more were booked without restraint for violation of the Juvenile Protection Law; the authorization to publish was withdrawn for nineteen publishers. Altogether, sixty-one publishers and cartoonists were arrested (AMCB 1980, 17; see also Media 1986, 6). The same year the government’s ethics committee prohibited cruel, vicious, or sensational comics content. Pirated manga circulated freely and widely despite these strictures; a large proportion found their way into the more than 15,000 comics rental shops existing in the mid-1980s. An unusual 1987 government reprieve

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that permitted local publishers registered with the authorities to print anything they wished without prior censorship opened the floodgates for manga. Even more “vulgar” titles than before appeared, benefitting publishers bent solely on turning quick profits. The Korea Ethics Committee on Books, Magazines, and Weekly Newspapers reported that between 1987 and October 1990, thirty-four local publishers imported and published 200 kinds of manga. Only twentyone were for children, the remaining 179 for adults with violent or sports stories (Asian Media Alert 1992, 8–9). One source described adult comics of a historical nature as: “Shot through hanky-panky, flagrant violence, and eerie killing scenes by ‘samurai’ (Japanese errant knights) or ‘ninja’ (Japanese thugs). Blood-and-thunder comics have graphic lines and drawings that detract from the sanctity of human life. Love cartoons can’t do without homosexuality, sexual perversion, and bawdy love scenes” (Newsreview 1991, 28). In addition to the perceived negative effects upon South Korean values and morality, the onslaught of manga also hampered the homegrown manhwa industry. In the 1990s, the Korean Ethics Committee for Book, Magazines, Weekly Newspapers, and cartoonists groups made stringent efforts to curb the sex- and violence-laden Japanese comics. The Committee halted its pre-censorship in 1992, realizing that they were pre-censoring a product that already was banned. The Committee’s only full-time member, Cha Ae-Ock, admitted that the practice was “illogical,” saying, “All Japanese culture of a low type was banned, therefore, to precensor comics meant that some could come in, but this was not the law” (Cha 1994, n.p.). Cha described the structure of the ethics committee and what it looked for in pre-censoring: Comic Books and Advertising is one of three divisions of the ethics committee, the other two being magazines and general books. The others have a chief and three members, but Comics and Advertising has a chief and six members. The entire committee meets monthly, each division every other week. We do pre-censorship of the comic books, meant mainly for the rental market, and post-censorship of comics magazines sold in the bookstores. With pre-censorship, we delete inappropriate materials or ban the books, while with post-censorship, we give two warnings after which we turn the case over to the government for action. We have no punitive capability, although the committee is funded by the government. Besides monitoring and censoring, other duties of the committee are analysis of the comics market and the making of public policy. Policy making involves

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suggesting laws and promotion of cartoonists (but not with money). What we are looking for are cases of obscenity and violent content. Some kisses are all right, but deep kisses are not. Generally, however, kissing is okay. But, there can be no nudity, profanity, stabbings, blood, shootings, amputations, etc. In children’s comics, showing a weapon is allowed, but not its use. In rental shop comics, use of weapons can be depicted because these are not just for children. In Korea, communism is a big, big problem, so artists cannot write about it in the comics. They can talk about North Korea, but they cannot praise the country.

The committee was not very effective, primarily because it was understaffed, but it was expected to pre-censor more than 7,000 comics yearly. Also, it was stymied by changing and often vaguely defined legislation, public sentiment for the gradual liberalization of Japanese cultural products, and pirated manga that was “doctored” so well that the committee unknowingly placed its seal of approval (AMCB 1993, 7). Resistance to manga persisted among some cartoonists, who, in 1992, formed Uri Manhwa Hyophoe (Our Cartoon Association), a body that led a public demonstration that year ridiculing South Korean artists influenced by manga and calling for a boycott of their works (Fig. 5.5). It also issued a newsletter, lobbied the government to curb Japanese comics, mounted an anti-manga exhibition, and encouraged the Koreanization of comics (Park 1992). In the 1990s, there were indications that change was on the horizon as public outcries became louder, calling for resistance to the importation of manga. For example, at a public demonstration in July 1992, South Korean cartoonists thought to be too influenced by the Japanese style were held up to contempt and the public was requested to boycott their works (Park 1992). The Koreanization of comics was encouraged by readers, which resulted in the publication of huge books consisting mainly of South Korean stories told by local cartoonists; the publication of more comics magazines as opposed to comic books; the continued crackdowns on dealers of Japanese lewd comics; and the government’s expanded surveillance of the comics rental business (Roh 1994).

Conclusion As stated at the outset, transnationalism here refers to the movement of products, technology, ideas, and people across national boundaries. This overview of transnationalism and South Korean comic art purposively has

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Fig. 5.5 Longtime cartoonist Park Jae-dong was a strong opponent of the manga inflow and was an organizer of Uri Manhwa Hyophoe. Seoul. August 10, 2018 (Photo by Kim Chunhyo. Permission of Park Jae-dong)

been focused solely on the ways that manhwa met foreign influences, and vice versa, how manhwa were received outside of South Korea. It avoids most of the notions (and they are simply notions, not having advanced to the testable hypothesis, let alone theory, stage) that are or can be related to transnationalism, ideas such as globalization, cultural imperialism, cultural appropriation, hybridity, corporate culturalism, and more, all of which are worthy of additional research. What this chapter indicates is that South Korea, among Asian countries, has had a longer and wider-range relationship between transnationalism and comic art than most other nations, going back to the 1960s while serving as a key offshore workstation for foreign animation, and over the years including also manhwa, graphic novels, and webtoons. Comic art industries have experienced the transfer of some

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skills from headquarter animation studios to South Korean production lines; Japanese manga’s inundation of the South Korean comics market; the construction of a superb manhwa/animation infrastructure that helped to break away from the manga’s impact; and a strong thrust into the international market, first with animation and manhwa and then with indigenously created webtoons. The comic art industries have weathered the American and European exploitation of South Korean animation labor, the manga invasion, severe economic downturns in 1998 and 2008, and the COVID-19 pandemic that began in 2020, meeting challenges head on, in the process, for example, adapting useful parts of manga to their own books, tying in with other media production/distribution systems, and coming up with new comics vehicles, such as webtoons.

Notes 1. Transnationalism played an oblique role in the production of South Korea’s first full-length feature, Hong Gil Dong, produced and directed by Shin Dong Hun. Shin said he had to use unimaginable patience and ingenuity in making this seventy to eighty-minute film, plagued with an untrained small staff, poor weather, and improvised equipment and supplies. Transnationalism, if one can call it that, came when Shin scavenged expired air surveillance film that the United Sta Air Force station in South Korea discarded, which he erased with chemicals and used. When he could not borrow the use of the animation camera at the United States Eighth Army base, Shin sent his cameraman there to measure the stand and duplicate it, from which the two of them designed a handmade camera (Lent 1995, 1997, 25). As for comics, an early example of transnationalism was the work of South Korean emigrant Kim San-Ho, who began working for the American comic book publisher Charlton in 1969, and later, contributed stories to Warrren, Skywald, Iron Horse Publishing, and Marvel. Paul Gravett credited Kim with “single-handedly pioneer[ing] manhwa in America” (Gravett 2009). A truly manhwa story that Kim created was “The Promise” in Ghostly Tales #101, a traditional Korean folktale told in duallanguage narration in English and Korean. Eastern Comics, which Gravett presumed was a South Korean offshoot, made a 1987 attempt to introduce manhwa to the United States. As discussed in the text, the proper moving of manhwa to the United States and into English was early in the twenty-first century. 2. I recall the keen interest generated when a PhD candidate that I supervised, Yu Kie-Un, and I gave a talk and screening of South Korean animation at

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Animeast in 1995. It was the first time that most of the anime fans present had seen South Korean animation and they were interested and curious (see Lent and Yu 1996: 38–41). The first SICAF was held in 1995. I was invited to give a keynote talk and serve on the animation jury. Hallyu (Korean Wave) swept East Asia first but soon blanketed the entire world with nearly every type of popular culture possible: movies, animation, manhwa, webtoons, television series, K-pop, online games, video games, soap opera series, kimchi-flavored noodles, and so on. Already in 2005, South Korean cultural exports topped US$1 billion, a 39% increase over the previous year. That figure was up to US$5 billion in 2016 with expectations to go much higher. However, the coronavirus pandemic that emerged in early 2020 sent South Korean products plunging at their worst pace since the global financial crisis of 2008. The numbers aside, the Korean Wave exemplified a quality high enough to welcome South Korean films and actors to Hollywood and to awarding ceremonies globally, to put a new twist to pop music and soap operas, to add a new culinary menu to the world, and to overtake Japan in the pop culture arena. Concerning the latter point, Euny Hong (2012) gave reasons for South Korea’s conquest: “1. Japan makes stuff mostly for Japan..., 2. Korean culture is puritanical— and for global spread..., 3. Because Americans are seen as the heroes of the Korean War, South Korea had been closely influenced by U.S. pop culture..., 4. K-pop has already conquered Europe..., 5. The South Korean recording industry is run like Hyundai and Samsung.” The magnitude of the study manhwa industry can be gleaned from sales figures of the Why? science series, released with a Korean title in 1989; the first ten volumes sold a million copies by 1998. With an eye to the overseas audience, the publisher, YeaRimDang, anglicized the books’ name in 2001 and published fifty additional volumes that sold more than twenty million copies by January 2010. Why? racked up 1.3 million copy sales overseas between 2001 and the beginning of 2010 (Chung 2010). About twenty years ago, this author coined a similar term, “fast food culture,” meaning a culture that is fast, of lesser quality, and with negative impact.

References Animation. 2003. Korea forms healthy alliances: The country’s original animation pipelines are humming with new co-productions, October. Asian Mass Communication Bulletin (AMCB). 1980. Dirty strips, December. Asian Mass Communication Bulletin (AMCB). 1993. Korean cartoonists fight to regain their market, November–December.

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Asian Media Alert. 1992. Japanese cartoons in Korea. Winter: 8–9. Baik, Sung-Ho, and Sun-Young Choi. 2005. Comic books become major export. Korea JoongAng Daily, February 3. Cain, Geoffrey. 2010. Will Korean manhwa replace manga? PRI’s the World, May 30. https://www.geoffreycain.net/will-Korean-manhwa-replace-manga/. Accessed October 10, 2020. Cha, Ae-Ock. 1994. Interview with John A. Lent, Seoul, South Korea, July 2. Cho, Kwon-Je. 2003. Interview with John A. Lent, Seoul, South Korea, August 16. Chung, Ah-Young. 2010. Comic books hailed as new education tools in Korea. Korean Times, March 19. http://www.koreatimes.co.kr/www/news/art/ 2010/03/135_62659.html. Accessed March 21, 2010. Chung, Ah-Young. 2017. Snack culture. The Korean Times, May 8. http:// www.news18.com/news/tech/s-korea-webtoon-culture-fast-becoming-intern ationalrage-1168835.html. Accessed May 8, 2017. Comics Journal. 1993. Pirated Japanese comics floods [sic] Korea, July. Culkin, Kate. 2009. Colorful Kim Dong Hwa is a big new voice in American comics. Publishers Weekly, April 7. Doo, Rumy. 2017. Korean Webtoon readership growing, themes need diversifying: Report. The Korea Herald, February 5. www.koreaherald.com/view. php?ud=20170205000176. Accessed October 6, 2020. Gravett, Paul. 2009. Make mine manhwa!: Exporting Korean comics. paulgravett.com, September 27. www.paulgravett.com/articles/make-minemanhwa/. Accessed October 6, 2020. Han, Sun-Hee. 2008. South Korean gov invests in content: third stimulus package for local cultural units. Variety.com, November 24. http://variety. com/article/VR1117996414.hmtl. Accessed November 25, 2008. Hankyoreh. 2007. Korean comic books win over European fans, June 29. Hong, Euny. 2012. Why it was so easy for Korea to overtake Japan in the pop culture wars. Quartz, November 16. https://qz.com/21468/why-it-was-soeasy-for-korea-to-overtakejapan-in-the-pop-culture-wars/. Accessed October 6, 2020. Im, Bum. 1994. Interview with John A. Lent, Seoul, South Korea, July 8. Jang, Wonho, and Jung Eun Song. 2017. Webtoon as a new Korean Wave in the process of globalization. Kritika Kultura 29: 168–187. Jung, James. 2020. Top 5 Korean webcomics companies that are giving the audience addictive content. KoreaTechDesk, July 2. https://www.koreatech desk.com/top-5-koreanwebcomics-companies-that-are-giving-the-audienceaddictive-content/. Accessed October 6, 2020. Jung, Wook. 1995. Interview with John A. Lent, Seoul, Korea, August 14.

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Kim, Boyean. 2003a. Interview with John A. Lent, Seoul, South Korea, August 15. Kim, Jae-Jung. 2003b. Interview with John A. Lent, Seoul, South Korea, August 15. Kim, Nak-Ho. 2003c. Interview with John A. Lent, Seoul, South Korea, August 17. Kim, Mun-Hwan. 1994. Interview with John A. Lent, Seoul, South Korea, July 7. Kim, Tayk. 1995. Interview with John A. Lent, Seoul, South Korea, August 16. Kwon, H. 1998. An evangelist of Korean comics, Sajima Akiko. Choson Ilbo, November 21. Kwon, Jae-Woong. 2005. New type of popular culture in the Internet age: An analysis of the Korean essay cartoon. International Journal of Comic Art 7 (1): 320–349. Lee, Chun-Man. 2003. The current situation of the Korean animation industry. In SICAF promotion plan conference, 55–62. Seoul: Seoul International Cartoon and Animation Festival. Lee, Sun-Young. 2007. The Koreans are coming: Manhwa in America. PW Comics Week, January 2. https://www.publishersweekly.com/article/CAC403 518.html?nid=2789. Accessed January 4, 2007. Lee, Woo-Young. 2016. [Hallyu Power] Korean Webtoons make big strides in global comics market. The Korea Herald, August 16. Lent, John A. 1995. Interview with Shin Dong Hun, Seoul, South Korea, August 13. Lent, John A. 1997. Shin Dong Mun [sic], An old warrior in Korean animation. Animation World Magazine (February): 25–27. Lent, John A. 2015. Asian comics. Jackson: University Press of Mississippi. Lent, John A. and Kie-Un Yu. 1996. Overseas marketing: Strategies of Korean animation through Animeast ’95. Animatoon 2 (04–1): 38–41. Lorah, Michael C. 2009. The colors of Kim Dong Hwa—the color trilogy. newsrama.com, April 16. http://www.newsrama.com/comics/040916-Col ors-First-SecondA.html. Accessed April 19, 2009. Media. 1986. It’s not so funny. January. Newsreview. 1991. Japanese cartoons flood Korea. April 20. O, Youn-Hee. 2003. Korean anime lays the golden egg. The Korea Herald, September 17. Oh, Kyu-Won. 1981. The reality of Korean comics. Seoul: Yeolwhadang. Park, In-Ha. 2003. Interview with John A. Lent, Seoul, South Korea, August 17. Park, Jae-Dong. 1992. Interview with John A. Lent, Seoul, South Korea, July 7.

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Pyo, Jane Yeahin, Minji Jang, and Tae-Jin. Yoon. 2019. Dynamics between agents in the new webtoon ecosystem in Korea: Responses to waves of transmedia and transnationalism. International Journal of Communication 13: 2161–2178. Roh, Byung-Sung. 1994. Interview with John A. Lent, Seoul, South Korea, July 2. Seon, Jeong-U. 2003. Interview with John A. Lent, Seoul, South Korea, August 17. Shin, Nelson. 1995. Interview with John A. Lent, Seoul, South Korea, August 16. Sung, So-Young. 2009. Korean comic books find audiences in Africa. Korea JoongAng Daily, March 13. http://joongangdaily.joins.com/article/view/ asp?aid=2902197. Accessed March 13, 2009. Tekeuchi, Shigekazu. 2003. The prospect of Korean animation industry and global business strategy of Aniplex Inc., its investment plan to Korea. In SICAF promotion plan conference, 35–38. Seoul: Seoul International Cartoon and Animation Festival. Welsh, David. 2007. Forget manga. Here’s manhwa. businessweek.com, April 23. https://www.bloomberg.com/news/articles/2007-04-23/forget-manga-dotheresmanhwabusinessweek-business-news-stock-market-and-financial-advice. Accessed April 25, 2007. Yoon, K.H., K.H. Jung, I.S. Choi, and H. Choi. 2015. Features of Korean webtoons through the statistical analysis. Cartoon and Animation Studies 1: 177–194. Yoshida, Toshiyuki, and Taketo Kudo. 2013. Seoul muscles in on manga. The Nation Thailand, December 13. www.nationthailand.com/noname/302 22053. Accessed October 6, 2020. Zhang, Guo Qiang. 2003. Interview with John A. Lent, Seoul, South Korea. August 13.

CHAPTER 6

The Transnationalization of Chinese Comic Books: A Case Study John A. Lent

Introduction One of the goals of many Asian cartoonists is to be published abroad, preferably in the United States or Europe. The remuneration for such work is more lucrative and wider exposure is more likely. A way that the higher pay benefits are achieved is to produce work-for-hire for overseas publishers (e.g., Marvel, DC), similar to the offshore animation production that Asia has been known for since the 1960s. The Asian cartoonists draw or color someone else’s creation, sometimes losing their own voices in the process. A more creatively acceptable approach is to have one’s own creations published abroad. In some instances, Asian cartoonists have

A shorter version of this chapter appeared under the author’s name in 2019 in the International Journal of Comic Art 21 (1): 171–83. J. A. Lent (B) International Journal of Comic Art, Drexel Hill, PA, USA e-mail: [email protected]; [email protected]

© The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2022 J. A. Lent et al. (eds.), Transnationalism in East and Southeast Asian Comics Art, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-95243-3_6

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immigrated to cartoon-friendly countries and continued creating as before (e.g., Ronald Chu and Ao Yu-Hsiang from Taiwan to China). In other instances, cartoonists have sent their published works to be translated and published abroad (e.g., a few recent Korean investigative graphic novelists) or they align with syndicate-like alliances. Chinese cartoonists have used all three of the latter approaches. In many ways, China followed South Korea’s lead at the advent of the new millennium, propelling comic art into a major cultural product and providing a well-built infrastructure to support it. With very generous government funding, animation and manhua (comics) were propped up by an explosion of studios, companies, educational programs, museums, and many very extravagant festivals, all under nine comic art industrial zones. By the 2010s, China outstripped any country in the world in animation production, a large share of which went to feeding the gargantuan programming appetites of an increasing number of television channels. As with South Korea, Chinese authorities and comic artists kept a sharp eye on the international market, working feverishly to gain the outside world’s attention by holding retrospective exhibitions at the Angoulême International Comics Festival and others, participating in co-productions with foreign companies, setting up lavish comicons/festivals across China to which key foreign comic art officials, artists, and academicians were invited, and finding ways to have Chinese creators published abroad.

The Case Study: Total Vision Background: The latter is where Beijing Total Vision Culture Spreads Co. Ltd. (hereafter, Total Vision) makes its entrance in this case study. A private enterprise, former animator Wang Ning started Total Vision in 2004. The company’s main business is the exportation of comic book copyrights, but it is also heavily engaged in allied activities, such as comics creation, production, exhibition, and consulting (Fig. 6.1). Other agents may exist to help Chinese cartoonists to find foreign venues and/or markets, but none has the huge impact of Total Vision. In 2018, the company represented 90% of China’s comics creators whose works are published abroad. Of its total clients, at least 170 are Chinese cartoonists; the other ninety hail from Europe, North and South America, and Australia. Well-known names on the list include: Edmond Boudoin, François Boucq, Nicolas Keramidas, Emmanuel LePage, Coco Wong, Nie

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Fig. 6.1 The homepage of Beijing Total Vision Culture Spreads Co. Ltd. https://totalvision.cn/en/

Chongrui, Zhang Xiaoyu, Lu Ming, Benjamin (Zhang Bin), Zao Dao, and Go Lo. Wang Ning, Total Vision’s founder and general manager, believes that comics are a vehicle to transport culture across national boundaries (Fig. 6.2). He moves culture in various ways: i.e., opening the European market to xinmanhua (new comics) in 2005; sponsoring since 2004, 175 foreign cartoonists to come to China and seventy to eighty Chinese comics artists to visit Europe to become more culturally aware; holding eighty-plus comics activities (workshops, symposia, lectures, exchanges, and exhibitions); and mingling Chinese and foreign comics creators in cross-cultural book collections, an example being the three editions of Regards Croisés (Wang 2018). To finance these events and activities, Wang solicits support from embassies (e.g., the United States, Argentina, and France), the Beijing Animation Association, large corporations, and other sources. Perpetually on the move, Wang spends considerable time abroad and all across China, meeting comics writers and artists, soliciting sponsorship of his many endeavors, meeting with publishers, seeking ISBN (International Standard Book Number) and CIP (Cataloging in Publication)

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Fig. 6.2 Wang Ning, founder and general manager of Total Vision, with Emmanual Lepage (Courtesy of Wang Ning)

numbers, attending/participating in a slew of book fairs and comics festivals, and setting up and conducting various comics creators’ gatherings. An example of the latter is his World Artists, Illustrators China, where he invites foreign comics writers/artists for varying lengths of stay in Chinese cities to observe and sketch local culture, people, and scenes. Completed or scheduled to date include: ten foreign artists for ten days in Beijing, three artists for ten days in Guangxi, five artists for eight days in Nanjing, fifteen artists in Sichuan, and ten to fifteen in Donghuang (Wang 2019) (Fig. 6.3). Operating Procedures: Wang’s cooperation with foreign comics publishers takes various forms, as exemplified in Total Vision’s statement of operating procedures: A. Comic Copyright Authorization:

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Fig. 6.3 French artists in China as part of the exchange between the two countries. Left to right: Michel Suro, Laurent Verron, Emmanual Lepage, and Christian Lax (Photo by Wang Ning. Courtesy of Wang Ning)

● Regarding the finished or published books, Total Vision company transfers the copyright to the foreign publishers for publication after getting the authorization from the artist. ● Regarding the new works under the plan, Total Vision company discusses with the foreign publishers about the publication possibility after getting the comic story and storyboard from the artist. Once the foreign publishing house makes sure about the project and signs the contract, Total Vision company together with the foreign publishers will trace, discuss, and guide the artist about the storyboard, images, and color for the project during the creation until the book is published. B. Comic books: ● After the foreign publisher offers the comic story or text storyboard, Total Vision company will choose the right Chinese comic artist according to the publisher’s requests for the comic creation. ● If the foreign publisher offers the idea or topic of the comic project, Total Vision company will discuss with the publisher

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and Chinese artists about the project details and helps the artists to finish the creation according to the publisher’s request. C. Other cross projects: ● Cover, comic illustration, and advertisement poster: After the foreign publisher offers the creation requirements of the images, Total Vision company will choose the right Chinese artist for the creation according to the publisher’s style request. ● Comic coloring: After the foreign publisher offers the W&B pages, the requirements, and reference of the color pages, Total Vision company will choose the right Chinese artist for the coloring work according to the publisher’s requirement. ● Character and background designs for various computer games: After the foreign company offers the creation requirements of the images, Total Vision company will choose the right Chinese artist for the creation according to the publisher’s style request (Booker.com n.d.). Wang explained that the teamwork that he stresses comes in different combinations. For example, a Chinese artist draws a book, and Wang checks the style and makes suggestions; other times, Wang comes up with a story, writes the storyboard, and invites a foreign artist to draw it. In some cases, such as with Nie Chongrui, the artist writes his/her own story. Recently, Wang found fifteen artists from Argentina, China, the United States, France, Spain, Germany, and Sweden, and invited them to cooperate with famed Chinese author Liu Ci Xin, each to draw a different book in comics format for worldwide distribution (Wang 2018) (Fig. 6.4). Artists are paid according to Wang’s offers (e.g., e750 to e840 or even e1,000 euros per page in Europe; US$400 to US$500 per page in Argentina). To ensure that artists have living expenses along the way, Wang advances them 30% upon signing a contract, another 40% when they finish half of the work, and the final 30% upon completion of the drawings. Wang owns the copyrights to the comic books; he pays royalties of 7% on the first 10,000 copies sold, 8–9% on the next 10,000 to 20,000, and 10% on sales of 20,000 or more copies. Missions/Aims: Wang has carefully thought out what he envisions to be Total Vision’s missions, in addition to those of making a living for

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Fig. 6.4 Drawing by Dong Zhequn while an exchange artist in Paris (Courtesy of Wang Ning and Dong Zhequn)

his clients and himself and broadening the exposure transnationally of Chinese and European cartoonists. These goals include the elevation of storytelling in the creative process, the treatment of comics as art, not just a business venture or cultural form, changing the common belief that comics are just for children, and developing a Chinese-style comic book unique to China’s culture, and less imitative of Japanese, Korean, American, or European comics. Expanding on these aims, Wang (2018) said: In China, before the 1980s, there were only lianhuanhua (palm-size picture books). Then in the mid-1980s, manga came here and opened windows to readers. Comics creators learned how to write comics from the Americans, Europeans, and Japanese. We must change that. The Chinese

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creators have thought the art is important, not the story. I think the story should be first in priority. For decades, I read manga with their characters with big eyes, stars over their heads, and so on. I found that the Japanese thought of manga only in business terms, printing on low-grade paper, etc. for purposes of cost. I also felt that U.S. comics are [hero-focused and] tied to culture, but Europeans think of comics as art. I don’t want the Chinese people to have only one style, that of manga. I want different styles and types of comics creation. It’s like food; the same taste over and over becomes boring.

To create artful comic books takes time, Wang cautioned, pointing to his father-in-law Nie Chongrui, who devoted three years to finishing his 576page Judge Bao.1 He added that forty years ago, while his parents earned CNY60 per month, Nie made CNY2,600 monthly as a lianhuanhua artist. “Lianhuanhua artists had enough money and time in those days to produce high-quality work, not possible now, because everything moves too quickly,” Wang (2018) said. Obstacles/Problems: Despite his enormous success, Wang still encounters obstacles, one of which is beyond his ability to overcome— government control. He commented that “In China, we have no rights to publish books on our own. All of my books must be approved by the Propaganda Ministry. It takes time to obtain approval. One Total Vision book of 116 pages took two and one-half years to be approved. What we do is to have many comic book projects going simultaneously; that is how we can survive” (n. p.). The elevated costs and bureaucratic scrambling to obtain government approval is both prohibitive and exhausting. In 2017, the Chinese government implemented a new law that reduced by 30% the number of ISBN numbers that one entity could purchase from a publisher, and in 2018, by another 40%. For example, if one had a 1,000 ISBN allotment, the first cut reduced it to 700, the second, to 420. Wang said that before 2017, Total Vision could purchase an ISBN number for US$300; in 2018, the cost was US$12,000, forty times more expensive (Wang 2019). The results were that the government increased its control over publishing and limited the number of books on the market, requiring publishers to be much choosier in selecting titles to publish, and enriching the government at the cartoonist’s expense. Wang (2019) said that when he has to pay US$10,000 or more for one ISBN, he is shelling out five times the royalty that he pays an author over a seven-year period.

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To make matters worse, the hassles begin even before applying for an ISBN, in the process of obtaining a CIP number from the government. The forms for a CIP number require official stamps from eight government offices. How does one get around such bureaucratic constraints? By having a friendship with someone in government, Wang replied, adding that the “government never says you cannot publish something; they don’t have to, because they have less noisy ways to control” (Wang 2019). Of course, there are occasions when the government delays or refuses to sanction a project. Wang told of the government’s rejection of Total Vision’s request to republish in China its French-language La Bataille de Yashan 1279, an account of the Mongolian destruction of the Song Dynasty. The rationale for the denial was, “We don’t want to create problems with Mongolia” (Wang 2018). After a two-year wait, during which time the PRC State Bureau of Religious Affairs and the government publication department screened the book, the Yashan battle story was finally published in China. The first French comic book that Wang published in China was Emmanuel LePage’s Muchachu, in 2013. The story, set in revolutionary Nicaragua, involved a gay boy who had gained skills to paint churches. With the help of a friend in government service, Wang was able to bring out the book, retitled Revolutionary Road, in an unbelievable span of only three months, including the time expended to obtain CIP and ISBN numbers. Though the book sold out within two years, the government refused to permit a second Chinese edition because it touched on topics of sex, politics, and religion.2 Wang is also thrown off by the negative business attitudes of many Chinese publishers: “When I am in Europe [he usually is abroad about half of the year], I become excited thinking about all the things I want to do for China’s comics. But, when I am in China, I am so lost. I keep hearing publishers say, ‘No, we cannot publish that. It won’t sell’ and other pessimistic views” (Wang 2018). In another interview, Wang said that this type of mindset is discouraging, citing an example where he tried to find a publisher “for a comic book published by a Chinese artist whose books had already been published in France. [I] approached three publishers; all refused [me]. The first rejected the books because they were not in the popular Japanese style. The second refused them on the grounds that they were not geared toward children.3 The third said Chinese readers didn’t like this style and the high quality of the images would only add costs” (Li 2013). The

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book was then published by Joint Publishing Co. International, another major transformer of China’s comics after it introduced graphic novels by Taiwanese cartoonists Jimmy and Tsai Chih Chung to the mainland. Favored Formats and Genres: Wang deliberates long and hard on matters concerning the use of comics formats and genres that he deems appropriate for different geographical regions. “Format is important,” he said, “for both the book and page must be uniform for each region’s comics” (Wang 2018). His conclusions about favorite genres are: “For the European market: the history of China, stories about real Chinese people, and some autobiography. Traditional stories such as The Monkey King are too far removed for readers. For the U.S. and Latin American readers: stories of Chinese heroes are the most popular themes. How to cook Chinese food is also a popular comic book theme in the U.S. and Europe” (Wang 2018). Chinese readers favor stories by European comics creators that deal with history, science fiction, and famous people and those of “the walking dead type” (Wang 2019). Total Vision’s best-selling European transplant was Blacksad (Juanjo Guarnilo, artist; Juan Diaz Canales, writer), which had a print run of 150,000 copies. Moebius’ Attack also sold well in Chinese translation (2019). There is no doubt that the Chinese comic art scene has been totally transformed in the last quarter century. Before the advent of xinmanhua in the mid-1990s, there were lianhuanhua and cartoon/humor magazines in China, neither of which could legitimately be defined as comic books. Xinmanhua introduced formats and styles closer to European, American, and Japanese conceptions of what constitutes a comic book. Wang Ning and Total Vision, with Zhang Zhijun and Joint Publishing Co. International, tweaked the xinmanhua style a bit, but did a formidable job of introducing Chinese comic books and graphic novels to foreign markets through various collaborative forms of writing, drawing, production, marketing, and exhibition.

Notes 1. Six books, each of ninety pages, make up the Judge Bao series. Wang Ning published four of the books. Early books in the series were not popular with French readers. At Wang Ning’s urging, Nie went to France to study readers’ preferences, after which his stories had a warm reception (Wang 2019).

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2. In a 2009 interview with Agence France Presse, when Total Vision books merited display on the guest of honor stand at the Frankfurt Book Fair, Wang said that in China, “You can publish everything except sex, Tibet, and Xinjiang,” the latter a restive ethnic region of China (Independent 2009). 3. Wang, in interviews with Zhang Yuchen (2016) and with the author, emphasized that the Chinese people’s common belief that comic books are just for children is at the core of the limited market. He encourages comics creators to develop more adult stories.

References Booker.com. n.d. Beijing Total Vision Culture Spreads Co., Ltd. http://www. inbooker.com/member/cc600. Accessed March 2, 2019. Independent. 2009. Chinese comics strip sex to reach readers. October 16. https://www.independent.co.uk/arts-entertainment/books/news/chinesecomics-strip-sex-to-reach-readers-5503643.html. Accessed March 2, 2019. Li, Jingjing. 2013. Comic swap. Global Times, February 2. Wang, Ning. 2018. Interview with John A. Lent, Beijing, China. July 25. Wang, Ning. 2019. Interview with John A. Lent, Drexel Hill, Pennsylvania, United States. May 8. Zhang, Yuchen. 2016. China’s comic book artists big hit in Europe but struggling at home. Global Times, June 7. http://www.globaltimes.cn/content/ 992683.shtml. Accessed March 2, 2019.

CHAPTER 7

The Embryonic Stage of the Transnationalizing of Mongolian Comics John A. Lent

Transnationalism can be applied to Mongolian media, and by extension to their cartoons, during one of the periods when outside forces occupied the country. Over the centuries, Mongolia had been under Chinese (Manchu and Qing dynasties), Japanese, and Soviet rule. After the Mongolian Revolution of 1921, which led the establishment of the Mongolian People’s Republic in 1924, Mongolia became a socialist country under the Soviet Union’s (USSR) strong influence. This was evident in the names of newspapers and magazines that included Mongolian equivalents of Pravda (truth; Unen) and Krokodil (crocodile; Matar), and in their restrictive nature, ruling out drawings about the Mongolian government, Genghis Khan, and other entities and issues. Veteran political cartoonist Samandariin Tsogtbayar (Satso) (Fig. 7.1)

J. A. Lent (B) International Journal of Comic Art, Drexel Hill, PA, USA e-mail: [email protected]

© The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2022 J. A. Lent et al. (eds.), Transnationalism in East and Southeast Asian Comics Art, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-95243-3_7

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Fig. 7.1 Samandariin Tsogtbayar (Satso) in Drexel Hill, PA, U.S. May 8, 2019 (Photo by John A. Lent. Permission of Samandariin Tsogtbayar)

remembered how, before the USSR’s collapse in 1990, “We could not draw Genghis Khan, because he was known as a cruel man, a murderer. In the past decade or so, he has been re-imaged, for improving the postal system, giving women the right to divorce, and other advancements. So, many things carry his name now—the airport, banks, huge statues, etc.” (Tsogtbayar 2018). All of these newspapers and magazines, including Namyn amdral (Party Life), the organ of the Communist Party founded in 1923, Ulaanod (Red Star), the Army periodical, and Zaluuchuudin unen (Youth’s Truth), both started in 1924, imitated the Soviet press in orientation. They and their cartoons propagandized for the Mongolian People’s Revolutionary Party and the USSR, called for unity among workers and peasants, and attacked common enemies of socialist governments worldwide. They, like the Soviet print media, tended to be text-rich and visuals-poor, the exception being Zaluuchuudin unen (Erdenebal 2017, 150) (Fig. 7.2). The transnational influence on Mongolian media and cartoons that turned the country predominantly into a receiver of another country’s infrastructure and objectives began to change in the twenty-first century

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Fig. 7.2 Zaluuchuudin unen (youth’s truth) propagated messages of the Mongolian people’s revolutionary party and Soviet Union. This World War II front page cartoon shows the USSR stopping Germany. (Courtesy of Dan Erdenebal)

after the earlier collapse of the USSR, and as a comic book presence developed. The first local comic book appeared in 1993. Created by political cartoonist Satso, The Adventures of Borkhuu, Odkhuu, and Tumurkhuu ushered in a period from 1993–2005 when other titles also appeared, mainly adventure stories about historical Mongol warriors (Fig. 7.3). Among these adventure storytellers was Erdenebayar Nambaral (Fig. 7.4), who debuted in 2005 with The Suppression of 300 Taichiud, an epic story of nine heroes who overcame three hundred enemies. Nambaral worked feverishly to bring out a twenty-part Chinggis Khaan and a threepart Batkhaan (with E. Temuun), both in 2006. For these and his other accomplishments, the Ministry of Foreign Affairs named him a “Cultural Envoy of Mongolia” in 2018, an honor bestowed on only thirty individuals.

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Fig. 7.3 The adventures of Borkhuu, Odkhuu, and Tumurkhuu, (created in 1993, by Samandariin Tsogtbayar, was Mongolia’s first comic book. Permission of Samandariin Tsogtbayar)

All of these books were meant for a domestic audience, primarily children, until Nambaral started Nomadic Comics in 2004; he was determined to tap the foreign market. The company is a modest operation. In 2018, it occupied one long, divided room with four employees in production and seven in administration. Its main product is the comic book Bumbardai, which became the company’s entry into the outside world. Planned for 108 different books, Bumbardai is the continuing adventures of a five-year-old-boy who learns the travails of living a nomadic life. Bumbardai was Nambaral’s idea, offered in 2007–2008, because he thought nomadic life should be introduced to the world. His reasoning is, “this is the last nomadic lifestyle left in the world, and it will become extinct. We want to preserve the culture and knowledge of these nomads” (Nambaral 2018). Nambaral researches nomadic life for his stories by

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Fig. 7.4 Erdenebayar Nambaral. Nomadic comics. Ulaan Baatar. July 27, 2018. (Photo by Xu Ying. Permission of Erdenebayar Nambaral)

“talking to experts in all fields who study nomads and talking to people in the countryside.” He said that he has lived with nomads for weeks at a time (Nambaral 2018). Perhaps he and the other Nomadic Comics personnel saw a glimmer of hope to go transnational when the very first issue of Bumbardai was awarded the grand prize at the 8th International Manga Awards in 2013, competing with 317 comics books from forty-six countries. After this recognition, Nambaral and Dan Erdenebal, Nomadic Comics producer and director, became internationally inclined, publishing Bumbardai digitally on eBook Japan, the country’s largest online book market, and signing an international publishing contract with Japan’s Wedge Holdings Co., Ltd. to promote and publish in international markets, in 2015 and 2017, respectively. Other language editions of Bumbardai soon appeared. By 2018, issues one and two were published in English, but with poor translations; issue one was also translated into Japanese and Vietnamese, the latter as an introduction to a collaboration with the Japanese for

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Fig. 7.5 Bumbardai is a Mongolian comics series (Written and illustrated by Erdenebayar Nambaral)

an Asian audience. Japan’s Showa Company launched Asia’s Creator’s Village as a gateway to introduce comics of underdeveloped Asian countries to the world (Erdenebal 2018). As an indication of its advance outwards, in a year’s time, 2017–2018, Bumbardai sold 4,000 copies to Inner Mongolia (Fig. 7.5). Though Bumbardai sales figures may seem miniscule comparatively— e.g., 40,000 for the first six numbers—seen in the context of the Mongolian economic situation, they are nothing to be ashamed of. Nambaral (2018) explained: “There is no comics industry here, actually, no industry at all. We are trying to build one. The comics series ‘industry’ is just a few years old. I am the most veteran doing series at thirty-four years old. I started doing comics series when I was eighteen or nineteen, when no one knew of comic books. Two others who earlier on drew comics went bankrupt” (n. p.). He said that one other comics company exists besides Nomadic, which is Mongol Content LLC, publisher of Nogun, to which Nambaral contributed his work to seven of the first nine issues. In 2015, Nomadic Photo Storytelling Foundation, under Nambaral’s leadership, signed a cooperation agreement with Mongol Content LLC to promote Mongolian comic art domestically and internationally. Nomadic

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Fig. 7.6 Dan Erdenebal and Erdenebayar Nambaral with copy of Bumbardai in Nomadic office. (Photo by Xu Ying. Permission of Dan Erdenebal)

Comics continues to seek outside recognition through participation in international exhibitions and competitions (Fig. 7.6). Exhausting the meagre help afforded domestically, Nomadic Comics has looked for advice and funding from the Japanese. For example, in 2018, the company had a young Japanese male as a consultant to help promote Bumbardai abroad and another as an artist. On at least one occasion, in 2019, Nomadic partnered with the Japanese Embassy in holding a comic strip competition as part of the Japan Manga Festival. As Mongolian comics are still in their embryonic stages of national development and international exposure, they offer an instructional case study on the problems that smaller, less-developed countries face when trying to enter the already-gutted global arena, where those that have nestled there the longest and strongest dominate.

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References Erdenebal, Dan. 2017. Comics in an unexpected place: Mongolia. International Journal of Comic Art 19 (2): 148–162. Erdenebal, Dan. 2018. Interview with John A. Lent and Xu Ying, Ulaan Baatar, Mongolia, July 27. Nambaral, Erdenebayar. 2018. Interview with John A. Lent and Xu Ying, Ulaan Baatar, Mongolia, July 27. Tsogtbayar, Samandariin. 2018. Interview with John A. Lent and Xu Ying, Ulaan Baatar, Mongolia, July 31.

PART II

Southeast Asian

CHAPTER 8

Cambodia’s Emerging Digital Hybrids John Weeks

Introduction Like many vernacular cultural environments, comics in Cambodia exist in dialogue with larger national and international comics genres. To some degree, influences on Khmer comic narratives reflect mainstream and popular international tastes, primarily drawing from European bande dessinée, American comics, and Japanese manga. By examining the perspective, output, and styles of representative Khmer comics creators (both local and in the post-Cambodian Civil War [1968–1975] diaspora), Cambodian comics can be seen to partake of and reinterpret diverse global styles for local consumption and larger international audiences. It is important to note that comic illustrators in Cambodia almost universally do not view their work as segregated by genre or art form. Most do not explicitly identify as comic artists, and have frequently alternated between illustration, sketching, portraiture, plastic arts, and comics, often with little distinction between them. This fluidity is largely due to pragmatic economic needs. They often give priority to the most profitable

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work, given past shifts in the economic and political situation, and artists’ historically low wages in general. The creation and publication of narrative comics in Cambodia can be generally segmented into three separate economic and political contexts: prewar (mid-1960s to 1975), postwar (1979 to 1993), and the present era (1994 to 2020) (for overviews of Cambodian comics history, see Weeks 2011a, b; Lent 2014, 2015). Following a diverse prewar tradition of newsprint cartooning, Khmer comic books emerged in the mid-1960s during Prince Norodom Sihanouk’s post-independence regime, and also he was deposed during the following Lon Nol era (1970 to 1975). From the 1960s until Cambodia’s revolution in 1975, creators such as Uth Roeun, Hul Sophon, Im Sokha, and many others created newsstand comics. Most were in A5 (148 × 210 mm or 5.8 × 8.3 inches) format with color covers and blackand-white interiors, a popular and easy to print format in Southeast Asia. Topics included romance, horror, comedy, and film adaptations. Output slowed to a trickle as the civil war with the Khmer Rouge intensified and ceased after Vietnam’s capital, Phnom Penh, fell in April 1975. During the 1975–1979 communist Khmer Rouge era, the only publications in print appear to have been a tiny number of government propaganda magazines, pamphlets, and books. Many trained artists found their skills pressed into service in exchange for their survival under the new regime. Seminal 1960s artist Uth Roeun found his skills put to use drafting communal agricultural plans. The 1980s-era artist Em Satya recalls doing simple caricatures for food. The government fell quickly after the neighboring Vietnamese invaded in late 1978. From 1979 through 1989, the Vietnamese-aligned People’s Republic of Kampuchea governed Cambodia. It took a more moderate (MarxistLeninist) approach as the country rebuilt from mass deaths, starvation, and extreme poverty. While the state (with Vietnamese military assistance) continued to fight against the Khmer Rouge (primarily in northeast Cambodia), the government permitted basic markets, a limited return of Buddhism, and a rudimentary press. By the mid-1980s, the Ministry of Information authorized creators to screen print self-published comics in the familiar prewar A5 format. Uth Roeun led the way with an adaptation of Torn Chey (see Lent 2011). In a development that echoes Japan’s 1950s postwar comics boom, 1980s Cambodia was keen for cheap entertainment, resulting in a brief flourishing of local newsstand comics through the early 1990s. Titles that

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the government considered safe were adaptations of traditional legends and romance and ghost stories. Comic rental shops/private libraries were common and provided additional circulation and exposure for creators. Artists found that after an initial printing, they could sell their printing screens to a “middleman” who would then continually reprint the works, with ownership of the printing screens functioning as ad hoc copyright. These reprints continued decades later, wholesaled in markets and resold at newsstands and bookshops. In 1989, the Vietnamese army withdrew from Cambodia and the ruling Cambodian People’s Party announced that it would pursue “Free Market Orientation” and liberalized markets as the new “State of Cambodia” (1989–1993). This transitional government served to accommodate the United Nations Transitional Authority in Cambodia, a transitional multinational peacekeeping force that oversaw the 1993 elections and the monarchy’s return under now King Sihanouk. The new economy allowed the importation and establishment of printing presses and the number of newspapers and other publications rose dramatically. While comic creators found new markets in newspaper cartoons and commercial illustration, the “cottage industry” of narrative comics suffered from both middlemen’s reprints and increasingly, overall print competition. Some artists (such as Em Satya) recall shelving plans for new comics due to the lack of customer enthusiasm and market dynamism (Weeks 2007). The state of Cambodia formally became a multiparty constitutional monarchy (Kingdom of Cambodia) in 1994, at which time it continued to pursue international economic ties and legal standards. With the fall of the final Khmer Rouge resistance in 1998, the government reclaimed all former rebel-held areas, and the reach of national print culture (and the internet) was expanded. Foreign media in the form of music, films, television, and radio continued to grow, and in the late 1990s, Cambodia’s first internet connection was established. In the 2000s, comics creators continued to create work for commercial clients, and a small but consistent new genre of nonprofit “outreach” comics for growing numbers of nongovernmental organizations (NGOs) emerged. Reprints (almost exclusively made in the capital) continued to be popular at newsstands and markets throughout the country. Reprints of 1980s and 1990s newsstand comics slowly declined and in the 2020s, only a few reprints are available from wholesale venues. In their place, bookstores retail cheap translations of Thai vernacular comics. A small number of nonprofit educational comics are printed, and consistent

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growth for Khmer writing and comic art is now seen online. Most of this is increasingly manifested on social media networks, and less present on traditional websites. While Cambodian youth showed particular interest in independent online media such as weblogs in the “aughts,” they have been absorbed by social media’s ease and functionality, particularly via smartphones, which have come to dominate online interaction in the past decade. Cambodia’s comics culture bears strong relation to the composition of its broader media culture, which in turn reflects global trends. Prewar, the language of commerce and diplomacy was French, and Francophone bande dessinée was available in bookshops and libraries. Cambodia’s new language of international commerce (and the internet) is English, and a growing local awareness of Anglophone comics (and international comics) is increasingly being demonstrated. While this influence continues, the broad appeal of Japanese manga has increased in popularity as Cambodians have been exposed to translated reprints and globalized Asian culture. FRANCOPHONE COMICS AND BANDES DESSINÉES Cambodia was integrated into the French colonial union in 1887, and had a strong Francophone cultural influence up until its independence in 1949. Cambodia’s print culture included Khmer-language newspapers and magazines, and in addition, Francophone publications—including hardbound comics—were readily available. This persisted after independence up until the 1975 revolution, although the use of English started to become more frequent. Local Cambodian comics artists specifically took inspiration from French comics available in shops and libraries. Francophone organizations in Cambodia (such as the French Cultural Center) have traditionally been more supportive of Khmer-language literature than other nationalities, funding translations, publications, book events, and research. For Cambodian artists making bandes dessinées, possibly the most acclaimed is Phousera Ing, widely known by his pen name, Séra. The artist was born in Phnom Penh to a French mother and a Khmer father in the 1960s, and attended Lycée Descartes in Phnom Penh. Séra’s (2020, n.p.) enthusiasm for comics started young: “There were three libraries (in Phnom Penh during my childhood) where we could buy or rent comics per week, they had everything: such as Tintin weekly

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magazine, PIF , Corto Maltese, Moebius, Pilote, Asterix, etc. Reading these comics kept me from going crazy.” At the age of eleven, the author was evacuated and lost his father. As a youth in France, he encountered the seminal anthology Metal Hurlant and American comics. The author trained at the Sorbonne in the 1980s and joined the ranks of commercial comics artists in France. “Ever since I was a child, I have wanted to become a graphic novelist. Bandes dessinées (comics) is something that I have always wanted to do. As soon as I was able to do it, I wanted to use it as a medium to express my experiences as a child growing up in war-torn Cambodia” (Sok 2019a, b).1 The creator has returned regularly to Cambodia, for research and to teach a new generation of Cambodian artists. He began teaching classes on comics and art to Khmer students in 2005 at Phnom Penh’s French Institute and in other locales, notably engaging with issues of history and memory. These efforts included working with survivor and painter Vann Nath to teach young students in The Memory Workshop (2008–2013) as well as on the design, funding, and installation of the Cambodian Tragedy Memorial Project’s statue, located at Tuol Sleng Prison. Séra has worked to meticulously research and document the sweeping scope of contemporary Cambodian history in historical narratives, beginning with Impasse et Rouge (Impasse and Red) (1995), L’eau et la Terre (Water and Earth 2005),2 Lendemains de Cendres (Remnants of Ashes 2007), and the most recent, Concombres Amers (Bitter Cucumbers 2018) (Fig. 8.1). The artist’s efforts on Cambodia draw from memory and extensive personal research, and often skew toward photo realism for historical accuracy, displaying a masterful knowledge of period details and styles. In the service of his stories, the creator employs careful use of panel/page composition and masterful use of restrained colors for contrast and emphasis. The 311-page Concombres Amers is the outcome of more than six years of work, with the title invoking the gardener king Ta Trasak Paem, known for his sweet cucumbers, a heritage which in a time of conflict has become sour and bitter. French creator Jaques Tardi, who also addresses issues of conflict, tragedy, and history with a strong anti-war bias in his works, prefaces the volume; he also prefaced the first edition of Impasse et Rouge. Séra notes: “Jaqcues Tardi worked a lot on the memory of World War One, the book Trenches (1982) was a revelation. His work made me think there is also

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Fig. 8.1 Cover and verso of Concombres amers: Les raciness d’une tragédie Cambodge 1967–1975. Graphic novel by Séra. Marabulles, 2018 (Source https:// www.bedetheque.com/BD-Concombres-amers-Tome-1-347055.html)

an opportunity for me to express myself through images, comics on such tragic and difficult subjects.” In Concombres Amers, the artist serves the functions of designer, researcher, and documentarian. “In order to preserve an aesthetic consistency, apart from a few pieces such as a newspaper announcing the creation of the Republic of Cambodia, I undertook the work of reappropriating documents through drawing. I didn’t want the reader to experience a break in the visual continuum of images” (Sok 2019a, b, n.p.). Accordingly, the artist incorporates redrawn photographs, newspaper headlines, maps, diplomatic cables, and other historical artifacts, reworking and accentuating key details. The book chronicles the war’s broad sweep from 1968 to the point of the fall of Phnom Penh on April 17, 1975. Séra’s work continues on in another tome, L’âme au Bord des Cheveux, which will pick up from the conclusion of the last volume, drawing on a more personal experience. Phnom Penh think tank Future Forum recently employed Séra’s signature style to illustrate its Cambodia 2040 by Deth et al. (eds.) (2019) publications, on or by Séra (see Lefait

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2019; Melikian 2018; Payen 2018; Séra 1995, 2005, 2008, 2018, 2020; Southeast Asia Globe 2019). Khmer-French artist Tian Veasna (pen name Tian) also traverses the Khmer Rouge era in his most recent comics. Born in 1975, just after the fall of Phnom Penh, his family left Cambodia for France in 1980. As a youth, he was an avid reader of classic Francophone comics such as Lucky Luke, Asterix, The Smurfs, and Tintin. He also read American Marvel comics and developed his own comic stories with friends. In his teens, Katsuhiro Otomo’s Akira and the fanzine Anime Land were strong influences. As a student at École supérieure des arts décoratifs Strasbourg, Tian was an avid reader of books published by L’Association, a French publishing house which publishes comic books, such as la Revue Lapin. Tian was also one of the founders of the imprint Institute Pacome, an alternative comics collective whose publications were featured in a number of “off” sessions of the Angoulême International Comics Festival (see Artisans Angkor 2017). His first return visit to Cambodia was in 2001 to teach comics with colleagues (Sylvaine Moizie-Rondet, Lucie Albon, and Lisa Mandel) at NGOs Krousar Thmey (Siem Reap) and Phare Art School (Battambang). The teachers produced “zine” style photocopied comics of art from young students that they taught (Lakhorn Kou) and also published extensive comic diaries of their time in the country, both on the web (via the Coconino-World website) and as a print compilation of a number of comics from Coconino-World plus originals, Sept mois au Cambodge (Seven Months in Cambodia).3 This initial visit provided a foundation for further research. Tian notes that as a child, “I didn’t know where Cambodia was…I have some memories, and sometimes my parents would tell me about my childhood, but never all the history…These themes of memory, displacement, occupied me” (Townsend 2015, n.p.). After extensive research on Cambodia and interviews with his family, Tian’s three-volume L’année du Lièvre (The Year of the Rabbit 2011) was published by Gallimard in France, with an introduction by filmmaker Rithy Panh. The story adapts his extended family’s experiences during the Khmer Rouge era, and their subsequent journeys as refugees as “a little story in history.” Tian draws in an impressionistic “cartoony” style using a simple color palette, which nonetheless derives its scenes from extensive use of period reference. The artist thanks Lewis Trondheim, a French cartoonist and one of the founders of the independent publisher

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L’Association, in his first volume. Each chapter begins with a small digression on the story’s time period—diagrams, maps, and lists—that provide greater context. Volumes Two and Three (2013, 2016) follow the family’s experiences through the Vietnamese invasion to escape to a refugee camp in Thailand, and ultimately, their present-day existence in the Cambodian diaspora. Following their initial French publication, Phnom Penh NGO Sipar translated the volumes into Khmer and published them in 2015 and 2017. Following this, Canadian publisher Drawn and Quarterly issued a collection in English of all three volumes in 2020. The series was nominated for a Harvey Award for Best International Book in September 2020. The artist documented the production, publication, and promotion of the book on a longrunning Weblog of the same name (L’année du lièvre) from 2011 to the present day (Tian 2010–2021), including autobiographical sketches, photos from his visits to Cambodia, reflections on the ongoing processes of translation (into Khmer and English), and notes on additional, new comics and publications following this work. In addition to this comprehensive work, the creator also developed the story Kanya and Rithy (2018) with Artisans d’Angkor to profile their organization’s work, and has worked with theater company Aurora to develop a shadow puppet show, Sovann, la petite fille et les fantômes, (Sovann, the little girl and the ghosts ) (2018) about a young Khmer refugee in France who sees ghosts. Tian is currently working on a new volume, Le piano de Leipzig (The piano of Leipzig ). In-country Cambodian artists have also produced narratives very close in style, length, and format similar to bande dessinée. Sao Sreymao is one of a handful of independent comics creators working in Cambodia; she is known for her evocative brushwork and wash tones. Sreymao, who graduated from Phare Ponleu Selpak’s School of Visual and Applied Arts, observed: “Phare has a lot of French comics. I could not read them, but I also read Khmer comics” (Sreymao 2019, n.p.). Sreymao also joined Phousera Ing’s comics training sessions and developed art for an exhibition of student work. Following an exhibition at the French Cultural Center that included her work, the Jacques Chirac Foundation funded Sreymao’s trip to France’s Angoulême International Comics Festival in 2011. There she received the Heart Award for her exhibited work. In addition to regular freelance work, Sreymao developed a “graphic novella” with American Andy Gray for the book Home, which was published concurrently as a print publication and e-book in English

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in 2015. The comic story and accompanying print text both focus on changing perceptions around models of “orphanages” in Cambodia, which frequently separate children from poor families. The book advocates for family unification and community aid in secular and faith-based communities. Sreymao also worked with Kdei Karuna, a politically neutral peacebuilding NGO in Cambodia, to develop a ninety-page comic publication, My Story, Your Story (2016) (Fig. 8.2). The Extreme Chambers of the Court of Cambodia (ECCC) provided funding for the project, which served as part of the Court’s reparations for civil parties. Based on six months of interviews and research, the narrative documents charges of genocide that the Khmer Rouge committed against the Cham Muslim community as well as the Vietnamese in Cambodia, concluding by explaining how the ECCC are addressing the charges. Kdei Karuna published 2,000 copies in the Khmer language and printed a small number of copies in English. The art created for the project was featured in a mobile exhibition to inform the Cambodian public as a part of the Chamber’s outreach process

Fig. 8.2 The narratives end with proceedings at the ECCC, from My Story, Your Story. Art by Sao Srymao. 2016 (Courtesy of Kdei Karuna)

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(Muong 2016). Sreymao is attempting to develop My Story, Your Story into an e-book to expand its reach. Phnom Penh’s Nhek Sophaleap also demonstrates a strong bande dessinée influence. Born in 1975, he grew up reading local and foreign comics. He immersed himself in one volume that had survived the Khmer Rouge years in a local library and located by his father: an edition of Jacques Martin’s Alix adventure series, specifically volume eight, Tombeau Etrusque (Casterman 1968), which he believes was acquired in 1979. Martin is considered one of the classic originators of the ligne claire (clear line) style, and worked with Hergé (pen name of Georges Prosper Remi, best known for creating the Adventures of Tintin) assisting on Tintin prior to developing the long-running Alix series.4 Of contemporary visual artists, Sophaleap may come the closest to indigenizing ligne claire style, depicting contemporary Cambodian environs in detail, with meticulous attention to figure, composition, and perspective. Sophaleap studied art at the Royal University of Fine Art in Phnom Penh, and lent his distinctive style to publications such as long-running children’s anthology Mom and Mab, and educational editions from NGO SIPAR and Heritage Watch. He served as penciller for Life’s Choices, an educational comic from NGO publisher Our Books in 2006. In 2007, he joined one of Séra’s Phnom Penh workshops and had his art featured in an exhibition and hardcover collection, [Re]Genénérations. In the same year, Sophaleap was invited to have his art featured at Angoulême International Comics Festival in France. The artist was pleased to go, and fulfilled a lifelong ambition by visiting three comics publishers, including the offices of Casterman, the publisher of the Alix series. Nhek Sophaleap currently works primarily as an instructor at Norton University, teaching architecture and storyboarding. He continues to contribute to exhibitions, work as an art freelancer, and develop his own characters and designs (Sophaleap 2019).

American Genre Invocations While the United States does not have a strong cultural footprint directly in Cambodia, it does have great international influence, aided by the rapid adoption of English as an international trade lingo and the country’s unofficial second language. Overall, the most visible American comics influences are Disney cartoon characters, superhero imagery, a

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smattering of ‘zine culture, and online gag comics. While these images are widespread, they are also diffuse and often without much depth, aspirational signposts of Cambodia participating in global culture. Unauthorized cartoon figures grace the walls of kindergartens; children sport the latest apparel from popular films such as Frozen or The Avengers, originating from the country’s garment factories. Advertising and outreach occasionally involve American-style superheroes as seen in advertising: print advertisements, television spots, and NGO outreach art. While a small number of Cambodian characters have appeared in American comics (primarily the superhero genre), they have not been featured prominently nor marketed to Cambodia.5 While Cambodia is a member of the World Trade Organization (WTO), intellectual property rights have not been rigorously enforced, as with many other countries in Southeast Asia. A local appetite for bootleg DVDs and music is slowly succumbing to streaming as well as the slow but consistent establishment of chains showing international cinema and retail chains. Cambodia experiences Disney characters as generic, globalized signifiers of youthful play. While the country joined the WTO in 2004 (and worked to address its Intellectual Property rules), it’s quite rare for copyright violations to be enforced. As much as unlicensed copies of Microsoft products blanket the country’s software users, copyright holders may see the widespread use of their characters as cultivating familiarity in a market that may grow more lucrative over time. From 2004 to 2006, Phnom Penh’s Fantastic Planet Books & Comics sold new and used books, including American comics. Nearly all of the books were in English, which skewed toward popular culture and fringe culture. An American English teacher and his Taiwanese partner ran the bookstore, which was staffed by Cambodians. The shop was originally located near the riverside, then relocated to the Boeung Keng Kang area. The comics were primarily mainstream American comics that were photocopied and bound in black-and-white volumes. As was common practice with bookstores in Cambodia, books that could not be ordered cheaply or new were photocopied and bound, which were greatly cheaper than ordering from outside the country. Local books were sold on consignment. The shop accepted trades and exchanges. It also offered a “reading lounge” with soft drinks and coffee. While some Khmerlanguage comics were sold, the clientele was largely expatriates and English-fluent Cambodians. After roughly two years of operation, the

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proprietors closed the bookshop and advertised to sell their remaining stock in 2007. Since the 1990s, one of the most consistent funders for narrative comics has been NGO outreach. These have frequently been messagebased polemics for information, communication, and behavior change. As one small example, the child protection and advocacy organization Friends-International (Phnom Penh) in 2008 commissioned a promotional campaign featuring two superhuman figures, Naga Man (focused on drug abuse prevention) and Migration Girl. For Naga Man, this included a small color comic leaflet and prominent display in Friends branding. American comics creators and figures have also visited and worked in Cambodia for training and education. John Weeks, a former staffer at Eclipse Comics and Dark Horse Comics, founded the nonprofit association Our Books in 2006 with locals Lim Santepheap (formerly an editor at Sipar) and Chinn Piseth. In addition to teaching, exhibitions, and archiving, the organization published a number of nonprofit outreach comics, aiming to make comics accessible for a readership not always familiar with idiomatic comics conventions. The organization also regularly celebrated and promoted international 24-Hour Comics Day (Our Books 2007; Our Books/Pact Cambodia 2007; Phnom Penh Post 2010). Many of its online profiles of Khmer comics creators were used as source material for additional writeups (such as Lambiek Comiclopedia and Wikipedia). The organization closed its doors due to lack of funding in 2016.6 American cultural critic and artist Anne Elizabeth Moore made a series of visits to Cambodia (2007 to 2014) to conduct research and teach on international popular culture and comics. This included facilitating teaching for Cambodian students to make Western-style ‘zines’ and small press-style comics (many in English), and the results of her final class were archived at Pannasastra University. Moore also published a number of books writing about her experiences: Cambodian Grrrl, New Girl Law, and Threadbare (see Moore 2011, 2013a, b, 2016). In 2015s Captain Cambodia, creator Patrick Samnang Mey deploys the superhero genre to address the country’s challenges with inequality and injustice, particularly with regard to contemporary concerns. The titular Captain is an avatar of Krishna, fighting an incarnation of greed and aggression (Mister It) and his ensorcelled army of Red Eyes in three eras: Angkorean times, the 1970s, and 2015 (Fig. 8.3).

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Fig. 8.3 Captain Cambodia. Illustration, story, and text by Patrick Samnang Mey. Cover and page 1. 2015 (Source https://www.facebook.com/patricksamna ngmey/photos/419096574926761)

In this work and Mey’s debut Eugenie (2012), the style draws from European comics, manga, and American creators, which the author explicitly credits. In his earlier graphic novel, Eugenie, Mey thanks a wide range of international creators: Masami Kurumada and Shingo Haraki (Saint Seiya) and Jiro Taniguchi (Distant Neigborhood). From the United States, he thanks Chris Claremont, John Byrne, and Jim Lee (XMen) as well as creators/theorists Scott McCloud, Will Eisner, and Art Spiegelman. Mey initially expressed enthusiasm for working in U.S. comics, prior to opting for self-publishing. “I sent a letter to a big comics company in America when I was 18 years old because I wanted to draw for them. They replied that my drawing wasn’t good enough, and told me to read a few books related to comics drawing. [I read] not only a few, I read a lot of books regarding drawing and novels and, finally, I decided to have my novel self-published” (Lim 2013).

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The self-published Captain Cambodia follows Eugenie and also employs Mey’s hybrid art style in full color, aptly using the narrative conventions and bright color palette of superhero comics to invoke “real world” conflicts. Mey drew the story while working in Cambodia at Lycee Sisowath, and invokes many contemporary concerns. The hero faces a giant robot, a transforming demon, and concludes with a fight at the Independence Monument. Issues touched on include the 2012 death of forest activist Chut Wutty, which the book honored in its release date three years later. The story also invokes contemporary concerns of illegal logging, evictions, corruption, censorship, political violence, and impunity, woven into the villain “Mister It” and his “Red Eye” minions. Mey aimed to be didactic, noting: “You have a level for children–the good guys and the bad guys—then you have the second level, which has to do with Cambodian politics” (Cambodia Daily 2015). The 62-page story was published online as an e-book after it was refused by local print publishers: “At first, it was published by a national newspaper – in Lift, the Khmer youth pullout of the Phnom Penh Post. But, after page four, they decided to stop publishing it. They didn’t really explain why” (Hutt 2016). The digital publication of Captain Cambodia underscores the persistent challenges faced by media in contemporary Cambodia. Published works critical of corruption—or that which even simply dispute the ruling party’s narrative of economic success—find they are challenged and frequently blocked, or even banned. The hesitancy of Cambodia’s most prominent English-language newspaper to publish a topical story, and local printers to engage with a paying customer, shows the degree to which media self-censor. Following August 2017s crackdown and outlawing of the opposition Cambodian National Rescue Party, there are far fewer independent media outlets in Cambodia. With the advent of cheap smartphones and mobile wifi as well as the propagation of Khmer Unicode for online script, Facebook quickly took prominence as the premier social network in Cambodia. The 2013 election was noted for the opposition Cambodia National Rescue Party’s use of social media, which the Cambodian People’s Party quickly matched. Businesses, NGOs, and governments working in Cambodia prioritize Facebook outreach and engagement numbers, sometimes above their own institutional websites. Utilizing this social networking platform almost exclusively, Kjel Comic (Lazy Comic) is a cartoon series developed by digital media artist Pen

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Uddam and three partners: Vong Lina, Sopheak [“Tyl”] Kan, and Ngel Kim Cheng. Cartoons are drawn on a digital tablet and collaboratively finished by the team, who are recent university graduates who develop art in their free time. The cartoons (usually one page, generally no more than three) are posted exclusively on the Kjel Comic Facebook page, which also sells merchandise: stickers, buttons, badges, posters, and t-shirts. Per the page’s 2019 introduction: KJEL in English Lazy or Slacking off. It was co-created by a group “ of 4 like-minded people with stale jokes and horrible sense of humor in KJEL only creates duo2014 as a small project.” … “Over the years, language based comics and merchandises on a seasonal basis. Because we are lazy. Our goal is to bring entertainment and share laughter in under the pretense of laziness and also hopes to inspire people to be creatively lazy.”

While this introduction serves as both a disclaimer and a warning, the comics share both Cambodia-specific and more generic humorous tangents. The very short (often four panel) strips revolve around simply drawn unnamed characters with simplified bodies and exaggerated round heads. The style is joke-centric: the figures are relatively non-specific and the colors are simple and flat, with details largely serving delivery of the punchline, reminiscent of English-language internet gag comics. As a youth, Uddam Pen read Khmer children’s magazines Mom and Mab and Tam Tam, and watched animation shows such as the Powerpuff Girls, Dexter, Cow and Chicken as well as Sailor Moon and Super Saiyan. He sought out and read Thai humor comics (translated into Khmer) primarily from Opsok Books: Opsok Tlok and Kleang Somnouch (Repository of Lust ),7 and the translated Japanese manga Crayon Shin-chan. As a university student he read many webcomics, favoring Cyanide and Happiness (Rob Den Bleyker, Kris Wilson, Dave McElfatrick, United States), Domics (Dominic Panganiban, Canada), Extra Fabulous (Zach Stafford, USA), and The Little World of Liz (Liz Climo, USA). Uddam Pen notes particular enthusiasm for the animated series Adventure Time and Stephen Universe and their creators Pendleton Ward and Rebecca Sugar, for which he paid particular attention to facial expressions. After initially incubating the comic’s ideas as students at Zaman University, its mix of slice-of-life comedy mixed with wordplay and puns

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premiered in 2014. The creators credit the team’s diverse skills and interests as part of its appeal. Despite largely having an online presence, Kjel has taken full advantage of Facebook’s platform, using their page’s Shop option to sell merchandise. The team has also appeared at events: pop-up booths at Psar Art (Plantation, Phnom Penh) and at Exchange Square Mall. While it would be a disservice to label these creators as exclusively American or American-influenced artists, it would also be a mistake to discount the strong influence and appeal of American characters and particularly brands. The invocation of American properties may have reached an ironic height in 2018 when representatives announced a new US$1 billion joint venture between China’s AMC International and Malaysian company SV International to develop 65 hectares in the coastal port of Sihanoukville into ‘Wisney World’. This was sold as a casino resort with a shopping complex, a nature park, a cultural park, and temples (Hin 2018). The project’s visuals invoke a castle very similar in design to Disney’s iconic Cinderella’s Castle, and the invocation of the Disney brand is clear in press coverage. The project was slated to open its doors partially in 2022.

Manga on Mobile International transcultural enthusiasm for Japanese manga and anime (and its cross-cultural variants) has not skipped Southeast Asia. East Asian commercial and cultural exports are well known in Cambodia. Japan established itself as a prominent aid partner to Cambodia in the postwar 1980s, and currently is the country’s third largest trading partner, rivaled recently by fast-growing Chinese ties. From the early 2000s, Cambodian youth expressed interest in the Hallyu wave of Korean music, culture, and style. Bookstores featured legal (and bootleg) translations of Korean romance fiction with Manhwastyle covers. Japanese institutions would frequently have piles of manga. However, anime (aside from popular bootlegged international films) was much less available. Enthusiasm for manga and anime has largely correlated with the uptake of the internet in Cambodia. It has increased the availability of access (via pirated manga sites and film torrents) and also allowed fan culture to emerge (largely via groups on Facebook). Cambodia has also seen a number of Japanese entrepreneurs, aficionados, and artists attempt to establish commercial and artistic toeholds, with

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varied degrees of success. What remains consistent is a growing base of enthusiastic fans and local amateur artists, networked on social media. In the early 2000s, visitors found Yonkoma format comics drawn by Makiko Sawaki in the tourist magazine Nyonyum (2019–2020). The artist also self-published two travel doujinshi (also romanized as d¯ojinshi, is the Japanese term for self-published print works) about her visits to Cambodia.8 Both NyonYum and later Krorma magazine have catered to Japanese-speaking tourists and published numerous humor and tourism short comics. Cambodia has featured as a setting and topic in a number of manga comics. In 2006 Mitsurin Shonen (Jungle Boy) premiered, relating the story of a former child soldier and deminer. The two volumes tell the story (from childhood to the present day) of Aki Ra, who served as a conscripted Khmer Rouge child soldier and then as a member of the new Cambodian army (Kampuchean People’s Revolutionary Armed Forces or KPNLF) fighting the Khmer Rouge (Aki Ra who derives his Japanese nickname for his efficiency at clearing mines, likened to the Akira brand of machinery). The manga relates his growth to adulthood, his career/vocation of landmine removal, and the overall issues of landmines/unexploded ordnance as embodied in his Siem Reap-based Landmine Museum. Of particular note are the simple discussions that artist/writer Akira Fukaya has with Aki Ra, relating his initial discovery of the Landmine Museum, humorously relating his observations, and reminding the reader that this text is told by a secondary narrator. Fukaya also includes some general authorial commentary and inserts information pages on historical context, largely geared for a Japanese readership (Fig. 8.4). The first volume was followed by a second and final volume in 2007. Both volumes were republished in 2009 in French by Editions Delcourt, including an introduction by Séra. Currently, there is no English edition. But, in an example of how enthusiastic manga fandom is, this comic has been ‘scanlated’ partially into English (complete with side notes on internecine squabbles between rival scanlation groups), and the first volume is readable via sites specializing in online manga. In 2007, two issues of an unlicensed translated Khmer-language Doraemon comic were published in Phnom Penh. These were followed by an authorized version that Krorma Publications published in 2008. The estate of Doraemon’s estate authorized the translation, and it was expanded to feature the popular Crayon Shin-Chan character. Korma

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Fig. 8.4 Enfant Soldat. By Akira Fukaya/Aki Ra. Delcourt, 2009 (Courtesy of Delcourt)

Publications continued publishing Crayon Shin-Chan through 2016, in Khmer, English, and in bilingual editions. Some archived videos appear to show broadcasts of the Doraemon cartoon translated into Khmer. In 2020, the publisher and their staff left Cambodia, presumably due to a lack of tourism in the time of coronavirus pandemic. On the outskirts of Phnom Penh, in the warehouses of the Phnom Penh Special Economic Zone, the Japanese-owned Haru Phnom Penh Comic Center employs roughly a dozen local workers to refurbish used manga volumes. The Center takes shipping containers full of used manga volumes and cleans, restores, and refurbishes them for resale to a network of internet cafes, beauty salons, and comic rental shops in Japan. Its estimated volume of turnover (as of 2014) is 100,000 books per month. While none of the Center’s volumes ship to Cambodia, it shows how international the scale of even used manga is, resulting in outsourcing from Southeast Asia. As of 2020, the Center was still quietly operating.

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A particularly visible manga fan in Cambodia is Prince Nikko Sisowath, who cites video games and cartoons as formative influences: “I used to look up the names of the artists and animators that came on as credits at the end of the [video] games. I soon realized all my favorite artists came from Japan” (McCormick 2017, n.p.). He briefly studied graphic arts at Bangkok University via a government scholarship but is largely selftaught via online tutorials. He began commercial artwork for overseas employers, and also has participated in a Kickstarter comics campaign. He notes that his comic role in the present day is largely inactive, but he retains enthusiasm for the art form. In 2016, a new comic volume under the rubric Manga Khmer titled That Dream, appeared on Phnom Penh bookshelves. The new comic by the largely self-taught Son Sophea Panha sold out relatively fast and was followed by a second volume in 2017. Both volumes were approximately 250 pages in length, drawn in a clear manga style. The story is a romance involving two students in a Phnom Penh high school. The artist selfpublished his comics (with the aid of a financial backer) and is an avid fan of manga and anime. He notes: “I usually go to exhibitions of cosplayer” (Panha 2019). Volume Three (2017) and Four (2018) followed, and were also reprinted in a combined volume. The story was concluded in 2019 with a fifth volume. Panha notes that he was self-taught by reading manga and viewing YouTube videos. His process is to draw the characters by hand, then finish/colors in Clip Studio using an art tablet. He originally gained basic art training as an architectural student at Norton University, where he studied under Nhek Sophaleap. Panha was particularly inspired by Naruto and Orange, and also cites editor Stan Lee as an inspiration (see Suryakan 2020). He currently works at Lizard Animation, assisting in making animated videos for the Japanese and Korean markets. The artist is now working on a new comic, which he is serializing directly on Facebook, titled “Who was I?” (2019–2020). Pteah Manga (House of Manga) (2018–2021) is an informal artist brand/collective based in Phnom Penh. The group is composed of visual artists and manga enthusiasts. The unregistered group made their first foray into manga by publishing a soccer manga, Famous 3, on Facebook. They followed with The Present of Past Girl, featuring art by Khieu Sothina (a graduate of Phare Art School, Battambang) and Ith Channareth (Setec school), the latter an avid cosplayer of Japanese anime characters. Director Hui Seng confirms that the organization employs

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seven full-time artists and has been increasingly branching out into animation. Seng fondly recalls reading translated Thai comics: “I would buy whenever they printed it,” and is particularly fond of One Piece. He is working on a Japanese style light novel, Special Soul. Seng notes that his understanding of comics was largely self-taught: “It took two years to learn to do proper comic. I threw away chapter one three times” (Seng 2019, n.p.). The studio has done 2D animated spots and outreach materials for nonprofits, TV stations, and the Ministries of Environment and Tourism. Cambodia’s capital is also the home to a number of Japanese expatriates, and this is reflected in a series of manga and anime-themed establishments. In 2012, Moepara maid café/bar was established on one of the main “expat” pub streets near the Tonle Sap riverside. It closed in 2013, and one of its founders went on to sell an autobiographical Japanese-language e-book of its operation. In a similar vein, a Khmer national and his Khmer wife opened Cosplay Bar Pirate in 2016, and then closed in 2017. The duo was arrested for trafficking ten Cambodian women to Japan under false pretenses. The woman contacted the Cambodian Embassy in Japan and the couple were charged. They were found guilty in 2018, sentenced to prison time, and ordered to pay US$120,000 in compensation to the victims (see Phearun & Paviour 2017a, b). In 2013, Kenji Hozawa (from Fukuowa, Japan) set up the Manga Samurai Café in the Golden Soriya street mall. Hozawa left a clerical job in Japan and wanted to establish Cambodia’s first manga café: “You know, in Bangkok and Ho Chi Minh City, there are already manga cafés. This is the easiest country in Southeast Asia to open a business, and this will be the first!…A manga café is like a library: you come in and pay $2.50 for one hour of reading, $2 for students, and $3 to watch an anime movie” (Knox 2013, n.p.). While Cambodia had comics rental via street libraries in the 1980s, the manga café was likely a new concept for most postwar “baby boom” youth born after 1979. Manga Samurai featured translated English-language manga, a pragmatic way to engage local youth. Hozawa also expressed support for the local cosplay community. However, the café was located adjacent to Phnom Penh’s Street 51, its busiest pub street catering to foreigners, and possibly not the most conducive atmosphere for reading. Manga Samurai closed in 2013 after just a few months, but appears to have made an impression on local youth (Travel-Budget-Asia.com 2013).

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In March 2019, café/bar PNH48 opened in Phnom Penh’s central Boeung Keng Kang district. The café/bar showcases an enthusiasm for all things Japanese, with a strong focus on anime in particular. It has a Japanese owner, but is run by manager Sopheara Rith. The bar is regularly staffed by two to three servers who usually wear cosplay outfits. In its presentation, PNH48 also appears to draw on the ideas of Japanese maid cafes. The establishment offers a wide range of rentable outfits for cosplay and a stage for photographs. There is also a small selection of popular manga available. The staff note that “almost all customers are Japanese,” though some Cambodians have come by. PNH48 staff are chosen (in part) for their knowledge of cosplay and some come from local fan groups (PNH48 2020–2021). The practice and celebration of costume play or cosplay, almost exclusively in the context of celebrating Japanese anime, has grown in visibility in Cambodia. While it is difficult to conclusively assign a “first,” one of the most prominent and visible public events celebrating cosplay was the Phnom Penh Kizuna Festival that the Cambodia–Japan Cooperation Center (CJCC) hosted in 2012. It provided an opportunity for enthusiasts to take their interests from internet fandom to broader interests. Participants interviewed noted that interest grew from an estimated seven cosplayers to over one hundred. Following the event, interested participants formed an informal cosplay association online. By 2013, standalone cosplay events began to be held at the CJCC and other locales. In 2019, the CJCC hosted the sixth iteration of a “Let’s Cosplay” event. Cosplay events have regularly raised funds for charitable causes, such as materials for rural schools (see Cann 2013; Ean 2018; Phantoms Cosplay 2019; Srey 2019). The physical events are a manifestation of an ever-growing online enthusiasm for anime, with clear reference to manga as well. Despite the lack of easily accessible anime DVDs, fans exchange torrented files, bootleg DVDs, and the occasional authorized copy. Aficionados of cosplay and Japanese culture in general have almost exclusively found a home on Facebook. Some of the key online communities are KH Anime, Khmer Otaku Club (2021), Narutail Cosplay Guild (2021), Phantom, and Dark Fantasy (2020). The latter has produced inexpensive video podcasts using Facebook Live, while a growing number of individual cosplayers share character photos on Facebook fan pages and Instagram.

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Anime and manga enthusiasts in Cambodia regularly repost scanlations of manga, often copied from prior scans in Japanese or English9 (Fig. 8.5). Anime series are overdubbed with Khmer summaries replacing Japanese. These are overwhelmingly circulated via Facebook, often as direct posts on translation circle/brand Facebook pages (i.e., Kougami Sensei 2019–2021, 2021, Miley Manga Toon 2020) that include contact phone numbers, emails, and phone payment app transfer details. There appears to be little apprehension that the Intellectual Property law will be enforced in Cambodia. Some fan communities have expressed concerns about sharing pirated materials and do have anti-piracy policies. Anime and manga fandom manifests almost exclusively on Facebook in Cambodia, in part due to a nationwide shift to mobile internet use from the 2010s onward. This mutable social media space is less dependent on traditional websites and is correspondingly harder to track. If a page or account is deleted, another may take its place. The majority of internet users in Cambodia connect via a smartphone; desktop and laptop use is prohibitively expensive for many. This growing trend suggests that

Fig. 8.5 Miley Manga, Khmer unlicensed comics scanlation portal (Source https://www.mileymangakh.com/)

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new comics will be created directly on mobile devices for viewing also on mobile devices, potentially skipping hard-copy printing in legacy formats entirely. This is a pragmatic, low-cost utilitarian approach, but it excludes the very poorest on the other side of the digital divide. In a country where many still live on one to two dollars a day, newsprint comics were an eminently more affordable model.

Digital Hybrids From the early days of Cambodia’s French-inspired local comics to the present day when fans read translated manga on their smartphone, Cambodia has seen a high degree of change in its media environment. International comics are invoked colloquially with fondness, in Phnom Penh where a Doraemon shop marquee is just a few streets away from a Tin Tin hotel, and a One Piece Café can easily be found (Fig. 8.6). As with many of its neighbors, modern-day Cambodia is expanding its trade, finance, and communication links. The construction of new buildings and skyscrapers is contrasted by rural debt issues that have caused a wave of labor migration, with over one million Cambodians working abroad. As the country embraces many visible aspects of internationalism, globalism, and modernity, its leadership casts a watchful eye on media. As a result, a relatively small number of songs and publications are censored for language discussing social issues and political dissent. These leaders have remained largely unchanged, the CPP has remained in power since

Fig. 8.6 Doraemon and Tintin: One Piece imagery adorns Phnom Penh marquee (Courtesy of John Weeks)

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1979, and it outlawed the major opposition party in 2017. One medium for culture that cannot be strictly regulated is the internet, which is now accessible to over half the country that possess smartphones. In keeping with its laissez-faire attitude toward intellectual property, one of the most popular local sites for fans is Khmerload, originally a pirating download site that has acquired startup funding and a veneer of respectability. The dominant platform remains Facebook, which has seen explosive growth concurrent with the rise of mobile phone use, and which many mobile carriers prioritize. Government-sympathetic internet providers informally block a number of small number of websites, including Cambodia Daily. As these new venues rise in popularity, the hand-drawn and screenprint comics of the 1980s and 1990s have disappeared. The main source of these publications—wholesalers in Orussey market—stopped selling these classics after over thirty years, largely due to lack of newsstand demand. Many contemporary artists are not fully conscious of this rich heritage. Son Sophea Panha of Manga Khmer notes: “I do not know about Khmer comics, most of them are from abroad.” Uddam Pen of Kjel Comics observes “I couldn’t find many comic books in Cambodia. I remember 15 years ago when I was still young, there are some comic books but they were written in a foreign language. I think, if there are comic strips or books made in Cambodian language available for every Cambodian, it will be good” (Weeks 2019). Many local creators produce their work parttime, finding space for art between school and multiple jobs. There is little time available to conduct research on archival (and frequently ephemeral) art history. For diasporic artists raised within the context of a national comics culture (i.e., French, American, Japanese), most do not create comics exclusively for it, and none of the artists profiled desired to be labeled or confined to these cultures, seeking broad transmission and distribution of their stories, in multiple languages, and in diverse formats. If an argument can be made those transnational influences are cultivating Khmer creators’ hybridized practices, a key contention would be that while the creators profiled are influenced by international genres and approaches, their full bodies of work cannot be easily slotted into a French, American, or Japanese approach. Many take their influences directly from online sources, and often are producing work for online consumption due to utility or necessity.

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One notable example of migration to online publishing is Patrick Samnang Mey’s Captain Cambodia. His initial work aligns much more closely with French BD in content and style, and his second work was planned as a print volume. He notes: “I tried to publish it with a printing house in Phnom Penh, but they decided not to print it unless I got a letter of authorization from the Ministry of Information. That would have meant I had to modify my work…that’s why I went with an e-book. Again, I understand those decisions. The printing house is a company with 30 workers, so it was risky for them. They have to make a living” (Hutt 2016). To address contemporary concerns of social justice, Mey fluidly adapts both his story to the superhero genre, as well as its delivery mechanism to an online model (Amazon Kindle), in order to share politically sensitive material. Tian also produced bande dessinée format volumes, but has taken a utilitarian approach. The artist facilitated ‘zine’ style student comics, workshopped stories online, and extensively blogs about his ongoing efforts both to promote existing work and develop new projects. Like many Khmer comics artists, Kjel Comics’ Uddam Pen considers himself primarily a digital artist working in comics: “Comics is not my main specialty, it’s a part of my art journey.” He has also branched out into concept art and portraiture as “Penkuro.” As the signature artist on Wapatoa site, he has diverged from the simple format of meme and jokebased short comics into longer comics, and more referenced, detailed full palette art. Séra has produced commercial bande dessinée work, but is also highly conscious of global comics. In 1993 and 1995, he published two long stories in the Japanese weekly Morning, published by Kodansha, and provided an introduction for the translated volume of Fukaya/Aki Ra’s Jungle Boy (2006), Enfant Soldat (2009). His workshops for local students have resulted in their colloquial and innovative work, some of which can be seen in the collected volume Re:Generation (2007) as well as additional volumes Our Hearts (Nuong Sakal ) and In The Beginning (Chea Sreyroth). Another one of Séra’s students, Sao Sreymao, produced a limited edition bound comic that is reminiscent of bande dessinée style, but targeted very specifically at a Cambodian audience; she is pursuing online distribution. It seems clear that while comics in Cambodia have consistently been unprofitable, online works have low entry costs but a wide reach, resulting in contemporary artists producing a high degree of online work. Work

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is produced direct-to-digital via tablets and computer input as opposed to traditional pen and paper. Historic Cambodian comics information is regularly revisited on websites and social media. In this current era of publishing, it is unlikely that a comic does not have a digital edition, or at least a digital footprint, often in multiple languages. An increasingly literate and demographically youthful population is already absorbed by communicating in words and pictures. Khmer comics creators seek their interests online and recapitulate their creations largely online as well, mirroring shifts in consumption overseas. Drawing on a broad inflection of influences, the stage is set for Khmer comics artists to continue to develop personal and unique multicultural comics creations for an increasingly international readership.

Notes 1. Eleonore Sok assisted with queries to Séra and Tian in French, and also provided content summaries and clarifications for these two creators. Emiko Stock also assisted with French communication for art permissions. 2. Water and Earth was translated in 2007. To my knowledge, there is no effort to translate Séra’s works into English. 3. Mandel and Moizie-Rondet followed 2001’s teaching with additional workshops at Phare, facilitating the bilingual student publication Histoires de fantomes qu’on rencontre la nuit in 2003, which was published as a fullcolor comic in English and Khmer in 2005. Tian participated in some efforts of the Institut Pacome publishing collective. 4. I am grateful to Moeu Diyadaravuth for arranging meetings and assisting with numerous interviews in Phnom Penh (Pteah Manga, Manga Khmer, Kjel Comics). Meas Samros also facilitated communications and logistics for interviews. 5. Some U.S. comics have found their way to bookshops in Cambodia. One of the few bookshops that sell imported international comics in Phnom Penh is Monument Books. 6. Our Books’ website went offline in early 2021. The site remains accessible and may be redirected to an archive domain in the future. See https:// web.archive.org/web/20200809235413/http://siewphewyeung.org.kh. 7. Translated Thai humor comics (i.e., Opsok Tlok, Khleang Somnouch) are a small but consistent presence in Cambodia, usually in A6 format with a color cover. Some of them appear to have liberally borrowed cartoons from online sources. Thai comics were also occasionally reprinted in Khmer in A5 format. Thai comics are not included as a strong influential trend in this chapter due to lack of direct emulation of style by local Khmer artists.

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8. The full background of Krorma and Nyonyum is particularly worthy of further exploration. While it is difficult to find print copies of Sawaki’s work in Phnom Penh, some artifacts of her comics exist online. 9. Scanlated Khmer comics are less frequently scanned from print and more copied and digitally edited from online comics’ websites. These include manga-style comics that are popular, including a growing amount of Chinese manhua. Frequently the translation is from English to Khmer.

References Artisans Angkor. 2017. Interview with Tian Veasna—Cambodian artist. http:// www.artisansdangkor.com/beauty-25-167-interview-of-tian-veasna-cambod ianartist.php. Accessed January 21, 2021. Cann, Chloe. 2013. Cambodians all dolled-up for Japanese cosplay craze. Phnom Penh Post, July 21. Accessed January 21, 2021. Danaparamita, Aria. 2015. Graphic novels illustrate family’s Khmer Rouge survival story. Cambodia Daily, December 10. https://english.cambodiad aily.com/news/graphic-novelsillustrate-familys-khmer-rouge-survival-story102639. Accessed January 17, 2021. Deth, Sok Udom, Bradley Murg, Virak Ou, and Michael Renfrew, eds. 2019. Cambodia 2040 Economic Development. Phnom Penh: Future Forum. https://www.futureforum.asia/programs/cambodia-outlook/ cambodia-2040/. Ean, Monileak. 2018. Digital art + cosplay: Sticking with passion. Khmer Times, July 20. https://www.khmertimeskh.com/513630/digital-art-cos play-sticking-with-passion. Accessed January 21, 2021. Fukaya, Akira, and Aki Ra. 2009. Enfant Soldat (Tome 1–2). Paris: Delcourt. Hin, Pisei. 2018. We’re going to Wisney World! Phnom Penh Post, June 21. https://www.phnompenhpost.com/business/were-going-wisneyworld. Accessed January 12, 2021. Hutt, David. 2016. The politics of imagination: Patrick Samnang Mey. Southeast Asia Globe, January 13. https://southeastasiaglobe.com/patrick-samnangmey-comic-cambodia-southeastasia-globe. Accessed January 23, 2021. Karuna, Kdei, and Sao Sreymao. 2016. Your Story, My Story: Experiences of Ethnic Cham and Vietnamese during the Khmer Rouge Regime. Phnom Penh: Kdei Karuna. Khmer440. 2007. Business stock for sale: Fantastic Planet. https://www.khm er440.com/chat_forum/viewtopic.php?t=6278. Accessed January 21, 2021. Knox, Claire. 2013. 7 questions with Mr. Kenji Hozawa. Phnom Penh Post, June 7. https://www.phnompenhpost.com/7days/7-questions-mrkenji-hozawa. Accessed January 29, 2021.

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Lefait, Philippe. 2019. Anne-Laure Boch & Séra: la chirurgienne alpiniste & le dessinateur peintre #575. France24, January 22. Lent, John A. 2011. Uth Roeun, the “first” Cambodian comic book author: An interview. International Journal of Comic Art 13 (1): 59–61. Lent, John A. 2014. The swerving status of Cambodian comic art. In Southeast Asian Cartoon Art, ed. John A. Lent, 105–121. Jefferson: McFarland & Company. Lent, John A. 2015. Cambodia. In Asian Comics, ed. John A. Lent, 119–130. Jackson: University Press of Mississippi. Lim, Meng Y. 2013. Patrick Samnang Mey. Asialife, January 2. https://www. asialifemagazine.com/cambodia/patrick-samnang-mey. Accessed January 20, 2021. McCormick, Eileen. 2017. Please call me Nikko and not Preah Ang. Khmer Times, December 29. https://www.khmertimeskh.com/98521/please-callnikko-not-preah-ang. Accessed January 20, 2021. Melikian, Laurent. 2018. Séra (‘Concombres amers’): Le Cambodge, en tant que personnage.... ActuaBD, December 26. https://www.actuabd.com/Sera-Con combresamers-Le-Cambodge-en-tant-que-personnage. Mey, Patrick Samnang. 2015. Captain Cambodia. Kindle. Phnom Penh: Selfpublished. Miley Manga KH. 2020. Miley Manga KH. https://www.mileymangakh.com. Accessed January 29, 2021. Moore, Anne Elizabeth. 2011. Cambodian Grrrrl: Self-publishing in Phnom Penh. Portland: Microcosm Publishing. Moore, Anne Elizabeth. 2013a. Independent youth-driven cultural production in Cambodia. https://web.archive.org/web/20120703015715/http://iydcpc. wordpress.com/. Accessed December 2, 2020 and January 29, 2021. Moore, Anne Elizabeth. 2013b. New Girl Law. Portland: Microcosm Publishing. Moore, Anne Elizabeth. 2016. Threadbare. Portland: Microcosm Publishing. Muong, Vandy. 2016. A graphic depiction of horror, tolerance. Phnom Penh Post, December 30. https://www.phnompenhpost.com/post-weekend/gra phic-depiction-horror-tolerance. Accessed January 7, 2021. Our Books/Pact Cambodia. 2007. Life’s Choices. Phnom Penh. http://www. lifes-choicescambodia.net/. Panha, Son Sophea. 2019. Interview with John Weeks (Manga Khmer), April 23. Panha, Son Sophea. 2019–2020. “Who was I?” Facebook. https://www.fac ebook.com/WhowasI619. Payen, Cyril. 2018. ‘Concombres amers,’ le récit d’une tragédie cambodgienne. France24, December 7. https://www.france24.com/fr/20181216-lentretiensera-khmers-rougescambodge-genocide. Accessed January 25, 2021.

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Phantoms Cosplay. 2019. Phantoms Cosplay. https://compiled.social/phanto mscos. Accessed January 7, 2021. Phearun, Chhorn, and Ben Paviour. 2017a. Alleged traffickers worked at “cosplay” Japanese bar in Phnom Penh. Cambodia Daily, February 8. https:// english.cambodiadaily.com/news/alleged-traffickers-worked-at-cosplay-jap anese-barin-phnom-penh-124753. https://www.phnompenhpost.com/lifest yle/cambodians-all-dolledjapanese-cosplay-craze. Accessed January 21, 2021. Phearun, Chhorn, and Ben Paviour. 2017b. Facebook plea saves women trafficked to Japan for sex. Cambodia Daily, January 17. https://english.cam bodiadaily.com/news/facebook-pleasaves-women-trafficked-to-japan-for-sex123608. Accessed January 29, 2021. PNH48. 2020–2021. PNH48. Facebook. https://www.facebook.com/pnh48/. Accessed January 29, 2021. Post Staff. 2010. The best of 24 hour drawing day. Phnom Penh Post, October 13. https://www.phnompenhpost.com/lift/best-24-hour-dra wing-day. Accessed January 22, 2021. Pteah Manga. 2018–2021. Pteah Manga. Facebook. https://www.facebook. com/Pteahmanga/. Seng, Hui. 2019. Interview with John Weeks (Pteah Manga), April 23. Séra. 1995. Impasse et rouge. Paris: Rackham. Séra. 2005. Eau et la terre. Paris: Editions Delcourt. Séra, ed. 2008. [Re]Generations—La nouvelle bande dessinee Khmère. Phnom Penh: VALEASE. Séra. 2018. Concombres amers. Paris: Hachette Livre (Marabout). Séra. 2020. Email correspondence to John Weeks, September 29–October 3. Sok, Eléonore. 2019a. Personal interview with Séra. Phnom Penh, March 17. Sok, Eléonore. 2019b. Interview with Tian Veasna. Phnom Penh, May 7. Sophaleap, Nhek. 2019. Interview with John Weeks, Phnom Penh, April 29. Southeast Asia Globe. 2019. Ing Phousera (Séra). Southeast Asia Globe, December 4. https://southeastasiaglobe.com/ing-phousera-sera. Accessed January 29, 2021. Srey, Kumneth. 2019. A colorful celebration of Japanese cosplay. Khmer Times, December 27. https://www.khmertimeskh.com/50674471/a-colourful-cel ebration-of-japanese-cosplay/ Accessed January 20, 2021. Sreymao, Sao. 2019. Interview with John Weeks, April 22. Suryakan. 2020. Three main reasons why Son Sophea Panha became a novelist. Poraman, April 26. https://www.poraman.com/content/social/ 5036. Accessed January 20, 2021. Tian. 2010–2021. L’année du Lièvre (weblog). http://lanneedulievre.blogspot. com. Accessed January 29, 2021.

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Townsend, Emily. 2015. A new hero. Cambodia Daily, March 14. https://eng lish.cambodiadaily.com/lifestyle/a-new-hero-2-79806. Accessed January 23, 2021. Travel-Budget-Asia.com. 2013. The first manga Samurai Cafe in Phnom Penh, Cambodia (Now Defunct). https://youtu.be/ZWiLbhQ89xQ. Accessed February 2, 2021. Uddam, Pen. 2019. Interview with John Weeks, May 10. Va, Sonyka. 2019. From laziness to creativity. Khmer Times, February https://www.khmertimeskh.com/582526/from-laziness-to-creativity. 28. Accessed January 20, 2021. Weeks, John. 2007. About the artist. In Flower of Battambang, ed. Em Satya, 95–100. Phnom Penh: Our Books. Weeks, John. 2011a. Economics and comics: Khmer popular culture in changing times. International Journal of Comic Art 13 (1): 3–31. Weeks, John. 2011b. Contextualizing Cambodian Manga. Presented at the Women’s Manga Beyond Japan: Contemporary Comics as Cultural Crossroads in Asia conference, Singapore, February 21–23.

CHAPTER 9

Indonesian Comics: Zig-Zagging Between Indigenousness and Transnationalism John A. Lent

Comics Under Colonialism Known as Netherlands East Indies, Indonesia was colonized in varying degrees until August 17, 1945, by the Dutch, except for when the Japanese occupied from 1942 to 1945. Naturally, transnationalism played a prominent role in the story of comics in the islands. In the beginning of the 1930s, there were print media comics of foreign origins translated into Bahasa Indonesian, others drawn locally by Dutch and American artists, and one created by a Chinese-Indonesian, “Put On,” considered the first indigenous comic. Translated American comic strips, such as “Flash Gordon,” and subsequently, “Rip Kirby” and “Tarzan,” appeared in De Zweep magazine early on. Other pioneering comic strips in the 1930s “responded to the diversity of the ethnicities in Dutch Indies,” encompassing various genres—romance, gag/humor, legend, and historical (Gunawan 2013b,

J. A. Lent (B) International Journal of Comic Art, Drexel Hill, PA, USA e-mail: [email protected]; [email protected]

© The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2022 J. A. Lent et al. (eds.), Transnationalism in East and Southeast Asian Comics Art, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-95243-3_9

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100). Dutch-language media in the colony carried strips drawn by resident Dutch artists; for example, the children-oriented “Flippie Flink” by Clinge Doorenboi, first published in De Java Bode in 1938. A few Westerners worked for local publishers in the 1930s, one of whom, American Billy Cam, created a comic strip “CAMouFLAGES” for D’Orient Magazine from 1935 to 1940. Gunawan (2013b, 101) reported that the comic strip was about “the life in Batavia during the Dutch colonial era in Indonesia [the Netherlands East Indies], from a western point of view.” He said, “CAMouFLAGES” was designed for the Dutch audience or Indonesians who understood Dutch. The first indigenously drawn comic strip, “Put On,” created by a Chinese-Indonesian trader, Kho Wang Gie (aka. Sopoiku), in 1931, obliquely had foreign roots. Kho became interested in drawing after seeing a comic strip while opening a food wrap from abroad.1 Published in the Chinese-language daily Sin Po, “Put On” reflected the daily life of a young, single, middle-class man and his never-ending problems and foolishness while living in Jakarta (Fig. 9.1). Darmawan (2009) described “Put On” as presenting “a view from ‘down under’ about the roaring and razing urbanization.” The four-panel strip, which lasted about thirty years, inspired the creation of other strips in Star Magazine (1939–1942) and other Bahasa Indonesian and Chinese newspapers.2 During the three and a half years of Japanese occupation (February– March 1942–August 1945), cartoons and poster art were often propagandistic in content. Strip characters shared wall space with resistance slogans. Ben Anderson (1978, 292), in his research on cartoons in Indonesia in the 1940s, reported: Under the Occupation, cartoons and posters were widely used, but they appeared exclusively under the aegis of the military authorities. The targets of the cartoons were typically outside society--the Dutch, the British, and the Americans.

More than one hundred Japanese artists were sent to Java to promote Japanese wartime ideology. Chief among them was Saseo Ono (1905– 1954), who was in Jakarta from 1942 to 1946. Ono arrived in Indonesia on March 1, 1942, as part of Propaganda Groups (Sendenhan) of 16th Division Imperial Japanese Army. Sendenhan included 87 conscripted intellectuals, three of whom were labeled cartoonists—Ono, Yokoyama Ryuichi, and Kitaharu Takeo. Others were poets, music composers,

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Fig. 9.1 Cover of Put On, created by Kho Wang Gie. 1931

artists, movie directors, writers, and critics. A graduate of Tokyo Fine Arts School, Ono was a celebrated caricaturist cartoonist, illustrator, and painter, influenced by American jazz and films, and fashion, and fond of drawing glamorous women. In Indonesia, he served in multiple capacities, drawing a four-panel comic strip, “Papaya Pa’chan” (Pi’chan), in

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the daily newspaper Kana Djawa Shinbun, beginning in 1944,3 introducing stop motion animation and mural painting to Indonesian artists (Antariksa 2015, 16–20), and acting as one of three supervisors of Keimin Bunka Shid¯osho (KBS) (Institute for People’s Education and Cultural Guidance). Founded in April 1943 as an auxiliary of Sendenbu (Propaganda Department), KBS sought to “promote traditional Indonesian art, to introduce and disseminate Japanese culture, and to educate and train Indonesian artists,” through exhibitions, training sessions, and publications (Antariksa 2015). Ono’s strip, “Papaya Pa’chan,” which Gunawan (2013b, 101) said could be the “first manga (style) ever published in Java,” featured a “smart energetic, naughty, and brave little girl…[who] always wears a hair bow and short skirts.” Her companion was a small boy adorned in a Malay cap, striped t-shirt, and short pants (Gunawan 2013b, 101) (Fig. 9.2). Ono, known as a propaganda painter, has been one of the “most frequently referenced figures” relative to an increase of racial stereotypes in comics/cartoons, a charge challenged by art historian Gen Adachi. Gen (2013) thought Ono’s cartoons while in Indonesia should be viewed in three ways: First, Ono was not limited to militaristic messages in his work, but rather portrayed styles of the period with humor and fancy, inspired in part by jazz, Western films, and fashion. Second, Ono continued to produce erotic images of women even during the war, under the pretense of providing comfort for soldiers; almost all of these women were depicted as vamps who tempted or threatened men. Third, in Indonesia, he was interested in local art and established relationships with local Indonesian artists; something quite unusual at the time. There was mutual influence, but he never depicted the dark side of the war. These three points help reveal the paradoxical motives and multiple significance of Ono’s manga works in the wartime period. (Gen 2013)

At the time, Indonesian artists (likely, cartoonists included) thought of their style as contemporary, not Western. They saw Japanese art in Indonesia as unique, nationalist committed, and focused on Indonesian themes that were learned from Indonesian artists. Indonesian artists also appreciated the structure the Japanese applied to the country’s fine arts, in the process, advancing it to a new destination and positioning (Antariksa 2015).

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Fig. 9.2 “Papaya Pa’ chan” by Saseo Ono. Kana Djawa Shinbun. Jakarta. In 1944 or 1945 (Courtesy International Journal of Comic Art )

Propaganda remained a major use of comic art for most of the rest of the 1940s as independent Indonesia battled the Dutch who wished to continue to rule. Apparently, cartoons did not play a major role in the revolution as posters and graffiti. When cartoons did appear, invariably, they were in the Dutch press in Jakarta and supported the continuation of colonial rule. This was confirmed by Anderson (1978, 292), who, in his research, found that:

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Of forty newspapers and magazines I have checked from that period, only eight carried cartoons at all; even these cartoons appeared irregularly, and at rare intervals. Doubtless part of the explanation lies in the technical problems caused by shortages and disorders of those years. But the fact that the bulk of these cartoons were printed in papers published in Dutchoccupied Jakarta, not in towns held by the Republic, suggests that the full answer lies as much in the political-cultural as in the technical realm.

Yet, revolutionist Sukarno (born Kusno Sosrodihardjo), Indonesia’s first president, knew the possible impact of cartoons and comics, and once stabilized in power, let it be known that he considered comics as “garbage,” banned cartoons that criticized authority or took an oppositionist view, and did not permit himself to be caricaturized.4

American Comic Books; Indonesian Clones It was in the late 1940s and early 1950s that United States strips such as “Tarzan,” “Johnny Hazard,” “Rip Kirby,” “Phantom,” and others, found regular space in dailies and weeklies. In short order, these imported/translated strips spurred indigenous look-alikes that were bound together to become comic books, locally called cergam (picture stories). As in the United States and many other countries in the early 1950s, increasing protests occurred, as educators and parents claimed Western comics were a bad influence on Indonesian youth (Luft, n.d.; see Lent 1999). Government bodies implemented bans on certain comics coming from a Western outlook that lasted until 1967, and cartoonist Ganes TH and several colleagues practiced self-discipline, volunteering to submit their works to the police before publication (PACCM 2016). The period was antithetical for comics. While searching for a modern Indonesian identity, traditional national culture forms were being presented in comics in various ways, often adapting Western characters and genres. As Luft (n.d.) pointed out, “These sources ranged between Chinese folktales, Malay history, colonial warfare, and local superheroes and heroines adapted from Javanese, Minahasan, Minangkabau, or Sudanese legends, among others, or local adaptations of Western characters narrated in Indonesian language.” Exemplifying this confluence of influences was R.A. Kosasih (1919– 2012), often called the “father of Indonesian comics.” A fan of American comics, Kosasih transferred characteristics of “Wonder Woman” and

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“Superman” into his superheroine, “Sri Asih” issued in 1953 as Indonesia’s first comic book. Outfitted in a strapless wrap-around sarong, Sri Asih had the ability to transform herself into a superheroine by uttering “Dewi Asih” (Goddess of Compassion,) could fly, stop an ultra-speed locomotive, deflect bullets, or turn a plane in flight into a spinning object, all in pursuit of eradicating evil (Fig. 9.3). After Sri Asih’s success, other superheroes appeared, such as Kosasih’s Siti Gahara and John Lo’s Nina Putri Rimba; all three superheroines were published by Melodie in Bandung. Kasasih was also one of the originators of wayang cergam,5 comics based on traditional puppet show stories and characters. His first wayang cergam was Burisrawa Merindukan Bulan in 1952; others followed, such as Ramayana and Mahabharata, based on ancient Indian epics often adapted to wayang. Gartenberg (2011) claimed that in the early 1950s, President Sukarno urged Kosasih to create comic books with “indigenous themes and values suitable for the new state”; perhaps, Kosasih’s wayang cergam were for that purpose. Other genres took their cue from American comics in these formative years. Besides Sri Asih, Melodie published other superhero comics, such

Fig. 9.3 R.A. Kosasih’s Sri Asih, Indonesian heroine akin to Wonder Woman

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as “Kapten Kilat,” “Putri Buintang,” and “Garuda Putih,” all by John Lo and all out by 1954, as well as jungle adventure characters such as Nina and Djakawana in 1952. In Semarang, the bookstore and independent comics production house, Toko Buku Liong (TBK) brought out, in 1956, Wiro si Anak Rimba (Wiro, the Jungle Boy), an imagining of a “local Tarzan travelling across the archipelago, a teenage white-skin Javaborn Indonesian boy named Wiro” (Luft, n.d.). TBK operated through collaborations with various artists and writers, directed by the married couple Lie Djoen Liem and Ong King Nio.6 Ong had a major role in TBK’s operations; in addition to her chores handling a large family, she produced food and fashion publications under the name Eleonora and helped in the creation of the comics, including Wiro si Anak Rimba. Unheralded, she was the first (or among the first) female heavily involved in Indonesian comics (Luft, n.d.) Romance cergam, which appeared initially in comic strips in 1954, played up a “lifestyle that identically represented the western—clothes, mini-skirts, hairdo, man and woman relationships, etc.” (Gunawan 2013b, 113). These stories were mainly oriented to young females with upward mobility aspirations. Gartenberg (2011) said money and accruements, such as “fancy houses, expensive cars, electric musical instruments, discothèques, European fashions, and Western décors, ‘were dominant, serving up’ hermetic worlds of fabricated modernity divorced from the realities of Java in the late 1960s” and adjustable to “any modern city in the world.” In these comics, and those of some superheroine and horror stories, women are depicted as buxom, baring cleavage and plentiful leg exposure seemingly inappropriate for the world’s largest Muslim population. Some stories were said to border on pornography, and, as mentioned earlier, government restrictions were put into effect. It was obvious that American comics’ sexualized portrayals of women found favor among Indonesian creators of jungle adventure comics in the 1950s and 1960s, such as John Lo and his Nina the Jungle Girl, Zam Nuldy (inspired by European and abstract art) and Luana the Jungle Girl, Delsy Sjamsumar and Damila, and Taguan Hardjo and his 1962 graphic novel, Morina, and romance comics, such as Jan Mintaraga and Tjinta Jang Salah or Zaldy and Kabut Dihudjan Desember (see Darmawan 2018). Silat comics featured female warriors sexualized to the degree of being naked except for very brief shorts. Darmawan (2009) found non-Indonesian elements repeated in the romance comics, such as “stylistic” (western) names of characters, titles derived from western and Indonesian pop music, featured

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American hairstyles and mini-skirts, use of visual references (films, foreign comics, posters), fully drawn backgrounds and urban architectural styles. Detective cergam also had a significant Western connection in that they started when James Bond movies were released in Indonesian theaters. Besides wayang cergam, two other comics genres had an indigenous feel: folktale/legend and silat (Indonesian traditional martial arts) cergam. Folktale/legend cergam emanated from different Indonesian regions and their ethnicities, all brimming with old tales. As pointed out earlier, a major Bandung publisher, Maranatha, created an “HC Andersen”7 series, though foreign-oriented in content, occasionally included Indonesian folklore. Silat cergam “may or may not have been influenced by manga or manhua” according to Gunawan (2013b, 111); however, he believed Medan silat was rooted in local folktale, and not adapted from Japanese samurai stories (Fig. 9.4). For much of the 1960s and 1970s, cergam thrived and their creators lived comfortably. Comics were adapted to the movie screen, examples being, Gundala, Jaka Sembung, Mandala, Si buta dari Gua hantu, and

Fig. 9.4 Hikajat Dewi Kembang Melati, an example of silat cergam. 1960

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others, and they became more accessible with the blossoming of comic rental kiosks throughout Java (Berman 2001, 20). The climate for local comics chilled at the approach of the 1980s, blamed on an existing colonial mentality that anything local cannot compare with the foreign variety, as well as denouncements of the Indonesian comics industry coming from strong forces (Berman 2001, 21). As indicated in endnote 2, nearly everyone had a reason for the downfall of Indonesian cergam and the popularity of Western comics.8 Gunawan (2013b, 118–119) added to the list: television becoming the main entertainment medium, new videocassette movies rental shops taking away customers of comic rental stores, advertising agencies absorbing cergam artists, and the deteriorating of the former harmonious relationship between publishers and artists. Again, American and European comics rushed in, taking over the place where local and Chinese legends ruled briefly. The sad state of Indonesian comics then was revealed by Berman when describing the comic Musuh dalam Selimut (Enemy in a Blanket, 1982): While the comic was sold as a western import in translation, often it concealed an indigenous (illegal) copy inside. In my issue of Musuh, behind the cowboy story I was surprised to find Tigra (a Marvel title), a local adaptation of the western superhero genre. Tigra contains Indonesian bad guys, caucasian good guys, and a superhero who is female, young, beautiful, wild, mute, a great kung fu fighter, very responsive to (caucasian) handsome men, and wears very skimpy clothing. (2001, 21)

HumOr magazine cartoonist Mahtum (1992) said the huge influx of comics in the second half of the 1980s, was first from the United States and Europe, and then from Japan and Hong Kong. He said foreign comics along the lines of those of Disney and some from France were issued usually twice a month by publishers Media Pustaka, Eres, Indira, and Gramedia. To sum up the first sixty years of comics in Indonesia is to emphasize the transnationalism that was nearly always present, whether from the West (United States and Europe) or the East (Japan and China), whether with its full potency as in the case of unadulterated translated foreign comics or in a diluted form as stylistic influences on local cergam genre. The window for Indonesian comics, such as wayang cergam and silat cergam, was open only briefly in the 1960s.

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The Manga Invasion The pioneer of manga publishing in Indonesia is Elex Media Komputindo, established in 1985 as a publisher of electronic and computer books. As an arm of Kompas Gramedia Group, Elex nearly from its start considered publishing manga, bringing out Akira in 1989, which failed because the market was not ripe. Subsequently, the company triumphed with Kungfu Boy, Candy Candy, and Doraemon, and other firms followed suit, many increasingly releasing pirated manga. The establishment of private television stations fed to manga’s popularity through the airing of anime programs. In 2005, Elex set up an adult manga imprint, Level Comics, and four years later, the Romic (European comic) line, that published titles such as Lucky Luke, Spirou, Smurf , and Michel Vaillant. Elex and m&c Publishing, also a part of KGG, are the two largest comics publishers in Indonesia. m&c primarily publishes sh¯ oj¯ o manga (girls comics). The company in the mid-2010s, released one hundred new titles monthly; eighty-five percent were manga, the remainder split among South Korea, Taiwan, and Hong Kong. The process of choosing and translating titles was explained in a Daily Jakarta Shimbun post: In general, the Japanese publisher or agent will sent [sic] a catalog of its titles which are no longer serialized. This process is different for works whose serialization is ongoing. After the request for a work from that catalog has been submitted, the work begins. Editors then forward a copy of the original Japanese manuscript to external staff responsible for translation of the speech balloons and the other text. The document is then printed and the galley proof is reviewed. Cover design is submitted to the Japanese side in order to verify the balance and color of the title and cover image. The completed work hits the shelf two months after the original manuscript is received. A minimum of 5,000 copies are printed for the first edition, and the number can reach as high as 80,000 copies for more popular titles. (Daily Jakarta Shimbun 2014)

Well into the second decade of the twenty-first century, manga controlled 90% of Indonesia’s comics market. Piracy of manga still exists even among some legitimate publishers, and younger cartoonists adopt or adapt manga styles, stories, and concepts just as their predecessors had previously copied American and European styles. Because manga are readily available and relatively inexpensive, thus, affordable, much of

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indigenous comic art is also done in manga style. This includes religious cergam published by Mizan. When Mizan comics did not compete favorably with foreign titles in the 1990s, those in charge decided to convert manga icons to Islamic values, for example, having Japanese characters such as Doraemon and Nobita fasting during Ramadan (Lent 2014, 20). This was followed by a hybridized genre, wayang manga, pioneered by Indonesian artists Is Yuniarto (1981) and Hendranto Pratama Putra (1986), who based their comics on traditional wayang stories while using Japanese aesthetics. Yuniarto’s first two comics were nearly totally manga style; in 2009, he published the first of four volumes of the successful Garudayana (Tale of Garuda), which he called a wayang carangan, locally invented wayang stories not in the Ramayana or Mahabharata. Over the centuries, indigenous Indonesian wayang characters had been added to better connect stories with local audiences. Yuniarto’s lead character, Kinara, was created to attract female readers to male-dominated wayang comics; Pratama’s wayang manga, Prajurit Dewa: Hero after Death, is also a hybrid, for example, using Javanese script to discuss anime-style characters. Downes (2015, 14) said of readers of these comics: “The majority of users see the hybrid form of ‘wayang manga’ as a way to fulfill their simultaneous cosmopolitan and nationalist desires to consume both trendy foreign products (manga) and local cultural content (wayang)” (Fig. 9.5). Sihombing (2021) stated that style (gaya) varied over generations— American, followed by European, and then Japanese—and when readers wrote their own comics, they mimicked the gaya they were familiar with and sought out publishers favorable to that style. Besides Yuniarto and Pratama with their wayang manga, other Indonesian cartoonists drew their works in manga gaya. As publisher Edi Lim (2004) said, normally he could not sell Indonesian comics, but once we convert them to Japanese style and change the names, “the books sell.” Japanese style was taught in Indonesia, an example being a program developed by famed Japanese shojo manga artist Machiko Satonaka in Jakarta (Gunawan 2013a). Downes (2015, 16) shared her views on why Indonesians (and other Southeast Asians) switched from Western popular culture to that of East Asia, citing factors such as cultural proximity and shared sensibilities. She also stated that “hybrid products are valued more highly than either foreign products or local copies” (17), pointed out that similarities exist between the 1960s and 2000s in that local artists copy foreign comics

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Fig. 9.5 A wayang cergam starring Petruk and Gareng. Cover of Dagelan Petruk-Gareng. Credit: Indri Soedono, artist. Courtesy of Lambiek.

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and hybridize them with wayang stories and aesthetics, and reminded that “new or ‘emerging’ forms are often part of wider historical cycles” (19–20).

Transnational Labor As is true with nearly every Asian country, Indonesia is actively engaged in comics offshore production, both on the individual and corporate level. Willing to accept lower payments (yet, comfortable by Indonesian standards), some Indonesian artists work on assignment or by contract with American contract publishers. An example is Ardian Syaf, a Javanese artist who hired himself out to DC Comics, Marvel Comics, and Dynamite Entertainment and worked on significant titles, until it was discovered that he had inserted hidden anti-semitic and anti-Christian messages into drawings. Among others have been Rizki, who illustrated for Shoto Press in Japan, Erufan, artist of Archen, published by Digital Webbing (U.S.), and Chris Lie. Caravan Studios in Jakarta is an example of corporate outsourcing. In 2013, 90% of Caravan’s work was outsourcing for companies in the United States, Japan, Australia, and Europe. Founder and director Chris Lie (2013) said he has varying arrangements for clients—“different comics, different cases.” For example, Caravan will research a story and “do everything,” but the company commissioning the comic will print and distribute the book. Lie (2013) said his company has done a series of children’s comics called Baratayuda, commissioned by Unima, a French group with branches worldwide. The arrangement, according to Lie (2013), is: The copyright is mine, but the publishing rights in Indonesia are Unima’s. Unima does not promote the comics. They do pay part of the production costs. They get all the profits from the book sales, but I have the rights for the movies and other adaptations if there are any.

The studio has worked for global and Indonesian companies, including Archie, Tokyopop, G.I. Joe, Boom, and Archaia, on an assortment of projects. Lie (2013) said Caravan does everything in the production of comic books, but only designing relative to producing toys and video games. To encourage local cartoonists, at the same time making a profit from the company’s characters, Lie publishes a ten times yearly comics

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magazine, Re-On (Revitalize), meant for thirteen- to eighteen-year-olds. His thinking is to provide a venue for up-and-coming cartoonists, offering them payment, copyright ownership, and a percentage of any licensing generated, at the same time, profiting from product placement using Caravan characters in stories and advertisements. Other small companies have collaborated with overseas firms, such as Text and Picture Studio in Jakarta that worked with Kumaresh Publications in Singapore. Is the appropriating and mimicking of foreign comics abating in Indonesia? In recent years, there have been attempts to Indonesianize the medium through a new genre or two, hybridization, and the reprinting of more indigenous titles from the 1950s and 1960s. However, alongside these attempts have been new twists [for Indonesia] to the importing of foreign comics and their adaptations. One relatively new approach is the Webcomic, originally Korean, but increasingly Indonesian—made, understandable in that Indonesia is among the world’s leaders in broadband connections. A second indicator that the imitating will continue was the recent creation of an Indonesian superhero cinematic universe along the lines of the Marvel Universe. Called the Bumilangit Cinematic Universe, the venture was started by U.S.-educated Bismarka Kurniawan, whose company owns more than 1,000 characters and publishes dozens of comic book series annually. Kurniawan took advantage of the skyrocketing of the Indonesian movie industry since 2015, and chose the local comics superhero, Gundala (created in 1969), to be the subject of Bumilangit’s first film (Motamayor 2019).

Conclusion Transnationalism has been a part of Indonesian comics since their beginnings when the Dutch ruled the island nation. A bit later, American comics were dominant, clones of which were among the first books drawn by pioneering Indonesian artists. These were superseded by manga in more recent decades. Except for its wayang genre, Indonesia is hard pressed to boast of an indigenous comics tradition.

Notes 1. Similar exposure to foreign comic art has been recorded. Indian political cartoonist R.K. Laxman was inspired by David Low’s cartoons in London’s Evening Standard that he saw as wrapping paper on overseas shipments;

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Lat (Mohd. Nor Khalid) of Malaysia says that seeing parts of the UK’s Beano and Dandy as wrapping paper had a positive effect on his career choice. Genres were being added to the strips. Gunawan (2013b, 101) cites a local legend strip, Mentjari Poetri Hidjaoe (In Search of the Green Princess) by Nasrun A.S., published on February 1, 1939 in Ratoe Timoer magazine. The story concerns a modern Batavian man, who, with his sister, goes into a dangerous search for a legendary princess thought to be alive. The sister is portrayed as a helpless woman depending on her brother. Ono reportedly also drew for the most important illustration of the occupation, Djawa Baroe (New Java), which existed from January 1943 until August 1945 (Horton 2020, 16). These actions were taken despite (or because) Sukarno and his followers heavily used propaganda cartoons and posters in their drive for independence. Sukarno has even been considered Indonesia’s first indigenous political cartoonist for a 1935 cartoon that he drew for the opposition newspaper, Fikiran Rakyat, in which an Indonesian points to Dutch colonialism and orders it to leave. Wayang manga were also called wayang keren (cool wayang) and wayang cyber. In the 1950s, comics production and printing were in the hands of Indonesian artists of Chinese descent, e.g., Kosasih, Lo, Siauw Tik Kwie, Lie Ay Poen, Kam Seng Kioe, Ly Djoen Liem, Kwik Ing Hoo, Kong Ong, and others. Their ethnicity likely influenced the path of cergam. As Gunawan (2013b, 110) explains: “At first this label showed but the stories published were really HC Andersen’s, but from time to time, the local folktales and legends also made it under this line of publishing. This ‘HC Andersen’ label ensured the parents that the comics they bought for their children were good and had educational aspects.” J. Rio Purbaya, whose major works were silat, drew HC Andersen children’s comics for a while. He says: “For a children’s comic to be accepted, it was almost the seal of approval that HC Andersen was identified with it.” There were other reasons for readers’ preference for Western comic books: (a) Older artists had not passed down their skills to the next generation; (b) Older cartoonists failed to catch up with the trends and changes (Ahmad et al. 2006, 74–75); and (c) Publishers’ lackadaisical attempts “to encourage artists’ regeneration of local comics, many of them only seemed to care for profit rather than public benefit” (75). Putranto and Purwanti (n.d.) add: (d) Failure to use an “uncommon angle and perspective” for narrative story lines; (e) Insufficient encouragement to explore new, especially cinematographic, aspects;

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Lack of marketing network; The blind adoption of foreign practices and themes; Neglecting “unique local cultures”; and Wrongly assuming that the public only wanted entertainment from comics.

References Ahmad, Hafiz, Alvanor Zpalanzani, and Beni Maulana. 2006. Martabak: histeria! Komikita. Jakarta: Elex Media Komputindo. Anderson, Benedict R.O.G. 1978. Cartoons and monuments: The evolution of political communication under the new order. In Political power and communication in Indonesia, ed. Karl D. Jackson and Lucien W. Pye, 283–321. Berkeley: University of California Press. Antariksa. 2015. Cross-cultural counterparts: The role of Keimin Bunka Shidosho in Indonesian art, 1942–1945. In Tsuyoshi Ozawa, the return of painter F , ed. by Keiko Toyoda and Fumi Toyoda, 16–20. Tokyo: Shiseido . Berman, Laine. 2001. Comics as social commentary in Java, Indonesia. In Illustrating Asia: Comics, humor magazines, and picture books, ed. John A. Lent, 13–36. Honolulu: University of Hawai’i Press. Daily Jakarta Shimbun. 2014. Manga in Indonesia, July 21. https://tinotes.wor dpress.com/2014/07/22/the-daily-jakarta-shimbun-manga-in-indonesia/. Darmawan, Hikmat. 2009. The Naïve City: Sketches of the ‘60s and ‘70s’ Jakarta in romance comics. Karbon, February 5. http://karbonjournal.org. Darmawan, Hikmat. 2018. Images of women in Indonesian comics. Presented at the International Workshop on Transnational Cultural Flows, Diaspora and Identity in Asian Comics, Hong Kong, May 12. Downes, Meghan. 2015. Hybridities and deep histories in Indonesian wayang manga comics. Situations 8 (2): 5–26. Gartenberg, Gary. 2011. Evil and wealthy. Inside Indonesia 104. https://www. insideindonesia.org/evil-and-wealthy-3. Gen, Adachi. 2013. A Japanese manga artist in Occupied Indonesia: Ono Saseo and modern painting in East Asia. Presented at the University of California, Los Angeles, United States, March 1. Gunawan, Iwan. 2013a. Interview with John A. Lent, Jakarta, Indonesia, June 16. Gunawan, Iwan. 2013b. Multiculturalism in Indonesia comics. International Journal of Comic Art 15 (1): 100–126.

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Horton, William Bradley. 2020. Shifting communication: Language learning during the Japanese occupation of Indonesia. Akita University Memoirs of Faculty of Education and Human Studies 75: 11–19. Lent, John A. 1999. Pulp demons: International dimensions of the post-war anticomics campaign. Madison and London: Fairleigh Dickinson University Press and Associated University Presses. Lent, John A. 2014. Cartooning in Indonesia: An overview. In Southeast Asian cartoon art: History, trends and problems, ed. John A. Lent, 6–38. Jefferson: McFarland. Lie, Chris. 2013. Interview with John A. Lent, Jakarta, Indonesia, June 11. Lim, Edi. 2004. Interview with John A. Lent, Petaling Jaya, Malaysia, September 12. Luft, Adelina. n.d. The making of a body, the multifarious body of work. https://tokobuliong.com/the-making-of-a-body/the-multifarousbody-of-work/. Mahtum. 1992. Interview with John A. Lent, Jakarta, Indonesia, July 28. Motamayor, Rafael. 2019. Indonesia has an answer to the Marvel Cinematic Universe. https://www.polygon.com/2019/9/25/20883800/gundala-bum ilangit-cimematic-universe-marvel-cinematic-universe-for-indonesia-comics. Accessed February 15, 2021. PACCM. 2016. Comics in Indonesia. Paccm.com.my/comics-in-indonesia/. Accessed February 12, 2021. Putranto, Sugathi, and Nita Purwanti. n.d. Indonesian alternative comics from Yogjakarta, Indonesia. SEAsite Indonesia. http://www.seasite.niu.edu/ind onesian/kartun/apotik/apotik_bkgrnd.htm. Accessed February 12, 2021. Sihombing, Febriani. 2021. Blurring the boundaries of comics classification in Indonesia through Wanara. Kyoto Review of Southeast Asia 29. https://kyotoreview.org/issue-16/blurring-the-boundries-of-comics-cla ssification-in-indonesia-through-wanara/.

CHAPTER 10

A Historical Overview of Transnationalism in Malaysian Cartoons Muliyadi Mahamood

Introduction Transnationalism has been occurring ever since cartoons were first published in Malaysia in the 1930s. This was shown by John A. Lent in his keynote address, “The Multiple Dimensions of Transnationalism and Asian Comic Art,” which was given at the Chinese University in Hong Kong on May 12, 2018 as part of the conference “Transnational Cultural Flows, Diaspora and Identity in Asian Comics.” In his talk, Lent revealed how the world of comics and cartoons had transcended international borders and cultures ever since the beginning of the art form, with the current situation witnessing media owners and the corporate world influencing published cartoons’ style and form. Aside from cartoons and comics, the corporate world’s control also influences other forms of culture such as sports, music, and museums and exhibitions. Corporate

M. Mahamood (B) Faculty of Art and Design, Universiti Teknologi MARA, Shah Alam, Malaysia e-mail: [email protected]

© The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2022 J. A. Lent et al. (eds.), Transnationalism in East and Southeast Asian Comics Art, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-95243-3_10

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entities that are global and transnational contribute to shaping cultural products that transcend cultural and national borders. Several important factors have given rise to transnationalism in Malaysian cartoons, namely British colonization, media policies and ownership, government policies, globalization, digitalization, and the internet. They are all related to the country’s economic and socio-political development from the pre-Independence era, throughout Independence, and up to the present era. Under British rule, local cartoonists were introduced to Western cartoons through the publication of English cartoons in The Straits Times newspaper, and later through the publication of strip cartoons obtained from international syndication distribution. Western comics and cartoons such as Tarzan, Flash Gordon, James Bond, Nancy, and Ferd’nand were not only published in English, but also translated into the national language of Malay for the local readership. In addition to the availability of Western cartoons through international syndication, the good relationship between publishers in Malaysia and in England also facilitated transnationalism. Hence, the English cartoon, The Gambols, was adapted in Malay under the title Keluarga Mat Jambul, altering its humor and characters to suit the local culture. In other words, transnationalism in cartoons has been occurring in Malaysia since before the country’s independence, along with the local appropriation of cartoons. In addition, the situation reveals the local media’s new interest in the modernization theme, reflecting the spirit of the newly independent country that desired progress and modernity, and was in sharp contrast with cartoons depicting traditional themes and rural society. The emergence of Western, and particularly British, cartoons took place in several ways. They appeared in newspapers and magazines which could be bought in shops, as well as on the paper used to wrap groceries, as witnessed by pioneer cartoonist Nora Abdullah who learned drawing by copying the Western comics and cartoons that she would find on the paper wrapping groceries bought from the sundry shop (Mahamood 2017). According to John A. Lent, transnationalism also occurred as a result of the comics and magazines left behind by the British army after the end of the colonial era (2018). Such Western comics and cartoons as Dandy and Beano inspired local cartoonists to produce works around the theme of children. This can be seen in Lat’s first comic in 1964, Tiga Sekawan Menangkap Penchuri

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(Three Friends Catch a Thief ) and in his popular series, Keluarga Si Mamat (Mamat’s Family), published in the weekly paper Berita Minggu since 1968. It can also be seen in Nan’s comic strip Din Teksi (Din Taxi) published in Mingguan Malaysia in the 1980s. In this context, cartoonists and comics creators can be seen as transnational agents, to quote Lent’s words. Indeed, “Mat Jambul” reflects the “depiction and representations of transnationalism in comics and cartoons,” (2018) through its characters, themes, and storylines. Beyond style, form, and meaning, this reflects changes in a new culture, which evolved from traditional to modernism. The pinnacle of transnationalism in Malaysian cartoons was the publication of Gila-Gila magazine in 1978. The name of the magazine is a direct translation of Mad, which illustrates one of the “aspects of transnationalism” highlighted by Lent, namely “transnational comic book titles and characters” (2018). The publication of Gila-Gila also reflected the strong influence of American cartoons on Malaysian ones, replacing the British influence before and after Independence. Creative Enterprise, the publisher of Gila-Gila, also had a children’s magazine entitled Bambino at the same time, the title of which also reflects transnationalism in the context of cartoon titles. Despite being based on the format and approach of Mad, Gila-Gila focused on local themes, characters, and stories. In addition to answering a lack of entertainment in the form of cartoons at the time, the success of Gila-Gila was also supported by government policies which emphasized the use of the national language through its education policies, and the emphasis on content based on the national identity and culture which was recommended in the National Cultural Policy (1971). The 1990s witnessed the emergence of Japonisme in Malaysia and in the rest of the world. The unique style and stories of manga, their definite appeal and strong popularity, and their commercial value, formed part of the catalyst for the emergence of the manga style in Malaysian cartoons, in particular through the publication of Gempak magazine by Art Square Creation. The Malaysian government’s Look East Policy indirectly supported the popularity of Japanese culture through its aim for the country to emulate Japan as model of a successful modern Asian country. Amidst manga’s extremely strong influence, local cartoonists made various efforts to inject elements into their works, whether from the aspect of style or narrative. This can be seen as a glocalization approach, or the localization of manga, with several Malaysian artists winning manga

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awards in Japan. The most prominent of these are Gempak Starz and PTS Publication’s comics. One of the most significant artists is Ben Wong with his work entitled Atan. From another perspective, Wong’s work shows Japan’s success in using manga as a cultural ambassador. Overall, cartoons in Malaysian have undergone the process of transnationalism from three main sources, namely Britain, the United States, and Japan. However, this happened within the scope of processes that enabled the occurrence of glocalization and internationalization, with local artists becoming recognized abroad. Lat’s Kampung Boy has a strong influence in Southeast Asia due to common cultural values and nostalgia for an idealized rural life. In this context, the three aspects of transnationalism and comics mentioned by Lent, namely “comic creators as transnational agents, depictions, and representations of transnationalism, and transnational comic book titles and characters” (2018) do appear in the Malaysian cartoon scene, although in general it must be said that this country is more influenced by transnationalism rather than influencing other countries. Consequently, this chapter will discuss in detail and chronologically the various aspects of transnationalism by studying three consecutive periods: the Pre-Independence Era (1930–1957), the Post-Independence Era (1958–1990), and the Contemporary Era (1991–2018).

The Pre-Independence Era (1930–1957) The British colonization of Malaya (now known as Malaysia) marked the beginning of transnationalism in the history of cartoons in this country through the publication of illustrations and caricatures of politicians and athletes in the English-language newspaper the Straits Times in Singapore1 in the 1930s. The influence of British illustration can be seen in the editorial cartoons published by the Malay-language newspaper, namely Warta Jenaka, especially in the works of S. B. Ally that illustrate Western-like human figures, resembling those found in the illustrations of advertisements published in newspapers of that time. In line with the policies and ownership of nationalist and anticolonialist newspapers Ally’s cartoons criticized the British and reminded the locals of colonization’s negative effects and the impact of Westernization on their lives and culture as well as on their current and future economic and socio-political status. Ally’s cartoons merged the style of British cartoons with local traditional literary traditions through the use of

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proverbs in expressing meaning and messages. In this context, the visuals were Westernized while the text was local. In addition to Ally’s works, the Utusan Zaman published editorial cartoons by Ali Sanat and Abu Bakar Mohd Nor, which dealt with global issues, especially the Second World War and Adolf Hitler’s expansion of power in Europe. These cartoons basically criticized and satirized Hitler’s ambition to conquer Europe and the world. In a very neat style of drawing, their works illustrated a good understanding and command of visual treatment at that very early stage of the development of local cartoons. This can also be seen in their skill in caricaturing Western political figures such as Joseph Stalin, Hitler, and others. Sanat and Nor also had a very good understanding of a cartoonist’s armory, such as the use of contrast, metaphor, stylization, and caricature in expressing their ideas. Besides editorial cartoons, the influence of British cartoons can also be traced in M. Salehuddin’s pre-independence cartoon strip, Jenaka (Farce) (Fig. 10.1), which Utusan Zaman published in the 1940s. The jokes in Jenaka evolved around the daily activities of the main characters: Pak Ngah, Mak Ngah, Pak Long, and Mak Long. Stylistically, Jenaka’s format and composition resembled that of Pop by John Millar Watt (1895–1975) (Fig. 10.2); it is known as “Britain’s first comic strip for adults” (Bryant and Heneage 1994, 232, in Mahamood 2004, 66). The similarities can be seen in the treatment of the visual characters, which were drawn continuously regardless of the separation of panels or frames. In addition, as in Pop, the captions never appeared in balloons. Based on the fact that Watt created Pop in 1921 and it was syndicated worldwide, there is a possibility that Salehuddin derived his ideas from that strip when he created Jenaka. During the Japanese occupation of Malaya from 1942 until 1945, most of the newspapers were transformed into Japanese propaganda tools, and so were the cartoons. Abdullah Ariff’s cartoons, which the Penang Daily News published, were anti-British (Che Cob 2018). However, British cartoonists like David Low and Vicky were very much influenced by his style. After the Japanese occupation ended in 1945, most of the editorial cartoons in Malay newspapers switched their focus to nationalism and the search for independence from the British. This can be seen in Saidin Yahya’s works, which Majlis newspaper published at the end of the 1940s. Even though most of Yahya’s works are symbolic in expressing his messages, such as through the use of long texts based on pantun 2 (proverbs) and poems, his neat drawings illustrated his understanding of the treatment of visual language. In Tegakkan

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Fig. 10.1 M. Salehuddin’s “Jenaka.” “Pak Ngah Inspects A Battalion,” published in Utusan Zaman on August 28, 1949

Fig. 10.2 John Millar Watt’s “Philosofist,” published in Pop Annual 1: Nearly 100 cartoons reproduced from The Daily Sketch

pendirian bangsa dengan kaki sendiri (Let’s strengthen the position of the nation by ourselves) (Fig. 10.3), Yahya’s portrayed Onn Jaafar, the Malay political leader, as a superhero hoisting the United Malays National Organization (UMNO) flag with a rope labeled with the word pelajaran (education), reminding one of the American superheroes, Superman. Jaafar is portrayed as a muscular man, whereas in reality, he was quite thin. The cartoonist’s attempt to introduce an international flavor in his cartoon demonstrates characteristics of transnationalism through an early influence of Western comic characters on Malaysian cartoons. Malaya achieved its independence from the British on August 31, 1957. Two months prior, the newspaper Berita Harian started publication on July 1, 1957.3 With the motto Dahulu Dengan Berita (First

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Fig. 10.3 Saidin Yahya’s “Let’s strengthen the position of the nation by ourselves,” published in Majlis on January 27, 1948

with the News), the paper promoted cartoons and comics as major attractions from its inaugural issue. It claimed that it had the largest number of comics among newspapers in Malaya at that time. Among others, the paper published such imported comics from the West as Tarzan, Mandrake, and several humorous cartoons translated into Malay. In addition to these translated comics, Raja Hamzah, who was Berita Harian’s regular cartoonist and comic artist, was assigned to draw a cartoon series entitled Keluarga Mat Jambul (Mat Jambul’s Family)

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Fig. 10.4 Raja Hamzah’s “Keluarga Mat Jambul” [Mat Jambul’s Family], published in Berita Harian on July 1, 1957

(Fig. 10.4), the life story of a husband and wife adapted from the popular British cartoon strip The Gambols by Barry Appleby. According to Berita Harian’s editor, the adaptation was realized because The Gambols 4 humor was too typically English and not suitable for local readers. The editor added that this was done with the Daily Mirror’s consent, and thus illustrates the fact that transnationalism is not only confined to creativity, but also involves copyright. Some examples of these pre-independence cartoons clearly illustrate that the influence of the British style of cartooning was quite significant in the early development of Malaysian cartoons. The characteristics of transnationalism can be seen in the treatment of narrative, composition, characters, and style—the fundamental characteristics of a comic that Will Eisner (1985) describes. In this context, aspects of transnationalism in the history of early Malaysian cartoons can be seen in the creativity, style, and copyright aspects of works produced during this period.

The Post-Independence Era (1958–1990) During the Post-Independence Era (1958–1990), Malaysian newspapers, including Berita Harian, Berita Minggu, Utusan Malaysia, Mingguan Malaysia, and New Straits Times continued to publish Western cartoons and comics series. These publications were in stiff competition to attract and retain readers. In addition to the universal nature of humor and style, the affordability of internationally syndicated comics strips meant that their publication contributed to transnationalism’s development in the Malaysian cartoon scene.

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Among the cartoon and comics series from the West published in Malaysian newspapers between the 1950s and the 1970s were: Ferd’nand by Mik; Tok Misai (Grandpa Moustache) by Rousen; Si Panjang (The Tall Guy) by Rae; Wak Aksi (Uncle Show-off) by Guy Bara; Nancy by Ernie Bushmiller; Moonraker by Ian Fleming; and Batman by Bob Kane in Berita Minggu; Tarzan by Edgar Rice Burroughs in Berita Harian; and Flash Gordon by Alex Raymond and Tarzan in Utusan Zaman.5 Depicting daily life and using slapstick humor, most of these cartoons were published mainly for their humorous qualities and because they were established strips which could be purchased inexpensively through worldwide syndication. On the other hand, such comics strips as “James Bond,” “Tarzan,” and “Batman” featured lots of action scenes and the characters possessed extraordinary characteristics that appealed to the readers. Apart from illustrating the phenomenon of transnationalism in Malaysian comics and cartoons, the publication of these imported cartoons and comic strips encouraged the development of local cartoons that were rooted in local identity and iconography. For instance, Raja Hamzah’s cartoon strips—Dol Keropok dan Wak Tempeh (Dol Keropok and Wak Tempeh)—were published in Utusan Melayu and Utusan Zaman in the immediate pre-independence era. The series revolved around the main characters Wak Tempeh, his wife Mah, and his best friend Dol Keropok, describing events of their lives and their relationships with others. Even though the story usually ended in one issue, it sometimes ran over several issues.6 Unlike Dol Keropok and Wak Tempeh, which was set in a rural background, Hamzah’s Keluarga Mat Jambul (Mat Jambul’s Family) series, drawn for Berita Harian and Berita Minggu, captured the life of a husband and wife in an urban environment. This is perhaps to illustrate the new spirit of the country, which had just gained its independence, apart from the fact that the series was adapted from the British cartoon strip The Gambols. This is certainly an indication of the transnationalism process in the early development of local cartoons after Independence. The publication of many cartoons and comics series from the West encouraged cartoonist Lat to publish works illustrating the local culture and surroundings. In his autobiography, Lat 30 Years Later, he wrote: “I sent off five pieces of ‘Keluarga Si Mamat’ to Berita Minggu saying it would be good to have more local cartoons. They were using lots of foreign cartoons at that time like ‘Ferd’nand.’ Raja Hamzah was at that time working for Berita Harian, and he was drawing a series called

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‘Mat Jambul,’ which was actually ‘The Gambols’ translated” (Lat 1994, 18). Berita Minggu first published Keluarga Si Mamat (Mamat’s Family) (Fig. 10.5) in 1968. According to Lat, the title “Si Mamat” was based on his younger brother’s name, Mamat, who was five years old at the time (Lat 1994, 17). Unlike Hamzah’s Dol Keropok and Wak Tempeh or Keluarga Mat Jambul whose stories evolved around their main characters’ domestic lives, Keluarga Si Mamat carried a larger range of subjects by bringing more contemporary social issues to light. Characters in realistic dialogues and situation broached topics as varied as music, polygamy, technology, unemployment, and the loafing culture. Lat’s fascination with the depiction of family life and children’s behavior can also be attributed to his admiration for Hamzah’s works as well as various imported cartoons. Lat also mentions that toward the end of 1965, he was “very much influenced by ‘The Flintstones,’ ‘The Jetsons,’ ‘Huckleberry Hound’ and

Fig. 10.5 Lat’s “Keluarga Si Mamat” [Mamat’s Family], published in 1979 (Courtesy of Lat)

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‘Yogi Bear’ which were famous on TV” (Lat 1994, 14–15). Lat’s Keluarga Si Mamat is suitable for any level of readership. Its subjects and humor, which are based on family life and children’s behavior, enable everyone to identify with the series. In some series, Lat concentrated on universally appreciated slapstick humor. In this sense, Lat’s cartoon itself demonstrated a form of transnationalism through the cartoonist’s admiration of global cartoons and entertainment despite his interest in projecting local narrative, values, and identity by depicting local subjects. As for editorial cartoons, local newspapers such as the Straits Times and Berita Harian published from time-to-time cartoons by significant British cartoonist David Low. According to A. Samad Ismail, the former editor of these papers, their ability to publish many of these imported cartoons was due to “the good relationship between the Straits Times and newspaper companies in Great Britain” (Mahamood 2004, 152). When it was first published, Berita Harian was the Malay version of The Straits Times. Consequently, both newspapers shared similar materials for publication. The Straits Times Press Ltd. in Singapore published Berita Harian and the Malay Mail Press Co. Ltd. printed the eight-page daily. The paper’s contents covered local and international news. Unlike most pre-independence newspapers that concentrated on uplifting the spirit of Malay nationalism, Berita Harian was more comprehensive in its approach, aligned with the spirit of a new nation, especially after independence.7 The fact that its target audience and the paper’s contents were more comprehensive paved the way for the inclusion of various types of cartoons, including imported titles. Unlike strip cartoons that had appeared continuously in newspapers since 1957, editorial cartoons gained popularity only in the 1980s through the works of Lat, Nan, Zoy, Zunar, Reggie Lee, and Rossem, even though such a tradition had appeared in Berita Harian with Peng’s works between 1957–1958, and in several issues of Utusan Zaman in 1963, featuring Rahim’s works. According to Ismail, the emergence of more editorial cartoons in the 1980s can be attributed to the increase in Malay newspaper readership as a consequence of the government’s National Education Policy (Dasar Pendidikan Kebangsaan), which made Malay the medium of instruction. An increased interest in cartoons was also considered as one of the new social phenomena of the 1980s that emerged from the country’s economic stability (Mahamood 2004, 182). Berita Harian published Peng’s editorial cartoons every Saturday in 1957 and 1958 in a weekly column called “Berita Harian Hidangan

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Hari Sabtu” (Berita Harian’s Saturday Column). Translated from English, these cartoons were originally drawn for the Straits Times Saturday Forum in the Straits Times. Sometimes, Peng’s cartoon was replaced by one by the famous English editorial cartoonist David Low, translated into Malay, which appeared at the same time in both newspapers (Fig. 10.6). This phenomenon accounts for an early exposure of the Malay readership and cartoonists to Low’s cartoons, which had sporadically appeared in the Straits Times from the late 1930s. In fact, Peng’s approach and style resembled that of Low in terms of the former’s treatment of human figures and editorial cartoon visual language. Peng’s works documented and reacted to contemporary social, political, and economic issues, such as the independence of Malaya, communism, the acceptance of Malaya into the Commonwealth, the Thomas Cup badminton tournament, the University of Malaya’s formation, Singapore’s cleanliness campaign (Fig. 10.7), the local elections, and the relationship between Malaya and Singapore. In terms of approach, Peng’s tended to document, rather than criticize or satirize, his subjects.8 Even though the New Straits Times Press introduced editorial cartoons in Berita Harian in 1957, the form was not really developed until the mid-1970s when Lat launched Scenes of Malaysian Life in the New

Fig. 10.6 A David Low cartoon published in Berita Harian on August 10, 1957

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Fig. 10.7 Peng’s Berita Harian, published on October 4, 1958

Straits Times. After the disappearance of Peng’s cartoons from Berita Harian in 1958, editorial cartoons were not a regular feature in Malaysian newspapers until Lat’s emergence in the 1970s. Lat’s Scenes of Malaysian Life, which regularly appeared in the New Straits Times, started as a cultural documentation series, rather than as an editorial cartoon.9 In 1975, Lat transformed the column into an editorial cartoon after returning from a study trip to London; the New Straits Times had sent him to England to study figure drawing at St. Martin’s School of Art at Charing Cross. For Lat, it was a great opportunity to learn about European culture, and especially to be exposed to the rich and prolific tradition of English cartoons and caricatures. Lat was fascinated with the development of English newspapers and their editorial cartoons. It was in London that Lat developed his interest in editorial cartoons. When he returned home, he began to produce works that commented on contemporary social and political events. In depicting such themes, Lat also demonstrated his caricature skills. In this context, the effect of transnationalism in editorial cartoons also emerged from cartoonists’ experiences of living and studying abroad—England, in Lat’s case.10 In fact, Lat’s approach and sensitivity to his surroundings could be

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compared to the works of significant British cartoonist, Ronald “Carl” Giles (1916–1995). Peng’s cartoons styles and Lat’s experience as well as earlier adaptions of narratives and characters of cartoons and comics series, indicate that the British tradition of editorial and strip cartoons has had a strong influence on Malaysia. On the other hand, the influence of other cartoon traditions, specifically American and Japanese, is clearly visible in the contemporary era, especially in the publication of humor and cartoon magazines that dominated the readership and market from the late 1980s to the early 2000s.

The Contemporary Era (1991–2018) The emergence of humor magazine Gila-Gila in 1978 marked a new era of success for Malaysian contemporary cartoons. Since its first publication, Gila-Gila (literally translated as Mad) has played a very important role in developing the industry of Malaysian cartoons and has become one of the most important magazines that portray the Malaysian identity in cartoons. The Malaysianness of Gila-Gila’ s cartoons can be seen in their themes, characters, story line, humor, and drawings. Forty years later, Gila-Gila is still being published and has many loyal fans and followers. Since its creation on April 1, 1978, Gila-Gila (Fig. 10.8) has obtained various historical achievements in the development of Malaysian cartoons and in the publishing world by becoming a pioneer, catalyst, and trendsetter for other cartoon magazines. In addition, it has also produced many new talented cartoonists, and most importantly, has uplifted the status of cartoons and comics in the country. In other words, GilaGila is now an iconic magazine for the genre of humor and cartoons in Malaysia. As mentioned by Nan, one of the most popular cartoonists of the 1980s: “Only after the existence of Gila-Gila did cartoonists have a place to showcase their talents and get paid reasonable sums in the process” (Mahamood 2004, 132). Gila-Gila was born at an auspicious time as the country did not have any publications based on cartoons, comics, and caricatures. Molded by global formalistic cartoon concepts, such as those found in American popular magazine Mad, with Malay humor, and social and entertainment ideals in the background, Gila-Gila’s birth created a new phenomenon in the local cartoon and comic scene. The adaptation of concepts that Mad magazine developed, for instance, the transformation of popular movies

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Fig. 10.8 Gila-Gila, 40th Anniversary Issue, published in April 2018 (Courtesy of Jaafar Taib)

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by local film stars P. Ramlee and A. R. Badul into cartoons, or the imitation of Mad magazine’s Sergio Aragones’ humorous sketches, successfully attracted readers. In addition to movie parodies, the influence of Mad on Gila-Gila cartoons can be seen in the works of Jaafar Taib and Aza who were influenced by Sergio Aragones’ Marginal Thinking cartoons. Inspired by daily life scenes, their cartoons are humorous and entertaining. Without any captions, most of their cartoons rely on the characters’ actions, which are often based on the approach of the humor of surprise. Taib’s cartoons were published in an anthology entitled Laugh with Jaafar Taib (1991) while one of Aza’s anthologies is called Aza’s Jokes (1994). The success of Gila-Gila inspired many cartoonists and encouraged the publication of new humor and cartoon magazines, such as its leading competitors at the time, namely, Gelihati and Mat Jenin. In addition, the style of Gila-Gila’s cartoons and format of presentation also influenced many magazines for quite a long time until the emergence of Japonisme in local comics and cartoons in the 1990s. Hamedi Mohd Adnan stated in his study (2003) that since the birth of Gila-Gila in April 1978, fifty new humor magazines in Malay, including those adapted from foreign languages, were published in the country. Gila-Gila’s success illustrates the positive side of transnationalism. Based on the tradition of American humor and cartoons projected by Mad that have been localized, Gila-Gila continues to receive a good response from the public and has been able to stay in the market for more than forty years, by maintaining its emphasis on local contents and themes amidst the emergence of Japonisme in the 1990s. Currently, even though it has to compete with the popularity of social media and a change of taste among readers, its long success is admired. Gila-Gila also proved that universal elements in cartoons, such as shown by Mad, can be accepted and appreciated by a multicultural audience. Just like Punch magazine’s influence in Commonwealth countries, Mad magazine is the phenomenon of the 1980s and the contemporary era. During the 1990s, the wave of Japonisme created a new dimension of transnationalism in the Malaysian cartoon and comic scene, especially through the publication of Gempak magazine and the flood of manga in the local market. This is the new phenomenon that marked the new millennium. The global popularity of Japanese art cannot be denied, as evidenced by Japonisme’s emergence in Europe in the second half of the nineteenth

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century. Leading Western artists working in Paris, Vienna, and London at the time, adapted Japanese style and subjects in their works, such as can be seen in impressionists and post-impressionists’ works. Consequently, one can also say that Japonisme has arrived in Malaysia, but in the form of cartoons and comics. In Malaysia, the search for a new style and identity as well as the commercial value of manga were identified as two major factors that boosted the influence of Japanese style in Malaysian comics and cartoons. In the early 1990s and toward the new millennium, cartoonists and comic artists whose works appeared in magazines such as Gempak, Utopia, Ujang, Apo?, and Blues Selamanya, adopted the Japanese style in their work. Meanwhile, Kreko published Japanese entertainment news and manga in the format of a cartoon magazine. As stated earlier, Western magazines were the model for Malaysian cartoon magazines in their early development. Mad influenced Gila-Gila. The latter’s success led to the emergence of many other cartoon magazines with a similar concept in the 1980s and 1990s, such as Gelihati, Mat Jenin, Batu Api, Komedi, Warta Jenaka, Toyol, Humor, Telatah, Flipside, Geli Geli, Relek, Gelagat, and Jenakarama. Apart from Gila-Gila, all of the other magazines ceased publication due to low readership, the economic turndown in the late 1990s, and their tendency to be repetitive in form and content. This phenomenon has encouraged publishers to search for new approaches in expression including adopting the Japanese style. The shift from the Western to the Japanese style as a new source of reference and inspiration may have indirectly sprouted from the Look East Policy, which the Malaysian government launched in 1982. The emergence of Japan and South Korea as new prosperous industrialized nations as compared to the declining conditions in the West influenced the policy’s formulation. Its main objectives were to elevate the country’s managerial and developmental achievements based on positive values from Japan and South Korea, with an emphasis on modern technology, work ethic, and management systems. Consequently, the government sent Malaysian workers and students to be trained and further their studies in Japan (Dasar-dasar kerajaan 1990, 51–62). This approach certainly contributed to exposing Malaysians to the Japanese culture, including manga. Consequently, the Japanese style is very familiar to Malaysian cartoon and comic enthusiasts as manga and anime are available in the local

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market. Since the mid-1980s, manga have been sold locally, either in their original form or in translated or pirated versions (Mahamood 2003, 197). Terence Choi, managerial director of Art Square Creation Sdn Bhd, the publisher of Gempak and Utopia, agreed that the flood of pirated manga in the local market has helped cartoonists and fans alike to know and understand more about the Japanese style (Mahamood, 2003, 197). He added that the government’s lack of policy to promote local comics as well as the superiority and commercial value of manga have encouraged local cartoonists and comic publishers to borrow from and adapt Japanese styles in their work. Choi’s approach has proven to be successful as Gempak (Fig. 10.9) was able to increase its circulation from 50,000 copies an issue in October 2001 to 70,000 in March 2003. In November 2002, the company launched Utopia, a new magazine with a similar concept of comics and cartoons as Gempak, which reached 45,000 copies in March 2003. Apart from the fact that local readers have already been exposed to the Japanese style through manga and anime, skillful drawings and illustrations by cartoonists such as Apoh, Kenny, Taufan, Zint, and Slaium certainly helped to boost both magazines’ popularity and sales. In addition to the already popular Japanese style of comics and cartoons, the success of Gempak and Utopia is also attributed to the magazines’ contents, which publish news on the entertainment world, games, movies, and comics. Stylistically, most of the cartoonists whose works are published in these two magazines closely follow the visual approach of Japanese manga, such as the linear treatment of images as well as the use of flat color and tonal values. It is even sometimes difficult to differentiate between their works and the original manga. In addition to Gempak and Utopia, other magazines that illustrate the Japanese style are Ujang, Apo? and Blues Selamanya. Moy Publications Sdn Bhd published all three magazines bimonthly. Among these titles, Blues Selamanya displays the strongest Japanese influence. As most of its cartoons illustrate the Japanese style, it can be seen as a competitor of Gempak and Utopia. However, there is one important aspect that differentiates between the three—additional efforts among Blues Selamanya’s cartoonists to localize or incorporate the Japanese style with local themes, subjects, and characters. Ujang, with a total circulation of about 80,000 copies per issue, was the highest selling cartoon magazine in Malaysia in the early 2000s (Mahamood , 2003, 198). As the first cartoon magazine that the company

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Fig. 10.9 Gempak, published on July 15, 2012

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published, Ujang gained more followers than the others, especially among teenagers and college students. As far as style is concerned, its cartoons and humor are generally created to suit local readers by depicting ordinary daily life themes and subjects. This approach is quite similar to Apo?, which has a circulation of 50,000 copies per issue. The emergence of many more cartoon magazines in the new millennium has certainly created stiffer competition among publishers and cartoonists to attract readers and buyers. This competition is getting even tougher with the emergence of foreign comics from Hong Kong, Taiwan, and Japan, and the sale of pirated comics on the local market. In addition to the factors discussed earlier, local artists and readers’ acceptance of the Japanese style can be attributed to the universality of form, content, and values of the art form. This indicates the process of transnationalism of Japanese manga culture in the local industry. This phenomenon has certainly added color and enriched the style of comics and cartoons in Malaysia. Apart from indicating the shift from the Western to the Japanese style as a new source of reference and inspiration, this situation illustrates Malaysian cartoonists and comic artists’ continuous efforts in their search for a new style and identity as well as a new avenue for marketing their products. However, the heyday of Malaysian cartoon magazines has ended; only Gila-Gila is still in the market. The rest, if they are not being published online, have since ceased to be published. Gila-Gila’s circulation has dropped sharply to about 15,000 copies, as compared to 150,000 to 200,000 copies an issue in the 1980s and 1990s. A random survey among a few publishers and cartoonists indicates that the advent of digital technology and the popularity of social media as well as the problems of distribution, are among the significant factors that have contributed to this sad situation. We must also account for the realities of the public’s increased access and online entertainment choices as compared to the printed media. In this digital era, the process of transnationalism takes place on a larger scale as compared to the period when comics and cartoons were only produced in printed form. This situation has broadened a new creative space for Malaysian cartoonists to be recognized globally; a few are now working for international companies such as Marvel and DC. Among them are Tang Eng Huat and Sheldon Goh. As for contemporary editorial cartoons, Malaysian cartoonist Zunar has achieved global recognition through his receipt of various prestigious

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awards. His critical cartoons have depicted various scandals and instances of corruption within the former Malaysian government and by its prime minister that attracted tremendous public attention due to their sharpness and bravery. They also serve as a medium of protest and weapon to express public dissatisfaction about the system and the government. Consequently, the previous Malaysian government banned some of his books and cartoons. Zunar’s approaches are very universal in that a global audience can appreciate and understand them—his works comprise visual languages that are both representative and symbolic (Fig. 10.10). He derives his metaphors from daily life, ordinary objects, popular culture, and puns that are related to the issues that he depicts. His bravery and sharp criticism have earned him the status of the most important Malaysian political cartoonist of the new millennium, one who has been able to convince the public that cartoons can be used as an effective political weapon and protest medium. Under the new Malaysian government, all of his formerly banned books are sold openly in bookstores across the country.

Fig. 10.10 Zunar’s “Ketawa Pink Pink,” published in 2018 (Courtesy of Zunar)

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In this era of a new Malaysia, it is hoped that there will be more space and freedom for editorial cartoonists to create and express their views on any issues. The emergence of more direct and critical editorial cartoons in the new millennium indicates a renaissance of Malaysian political cartoons.

Conclusion The good relationship between local media companies and their international counterparts paved the way for the emergence of transnationalism in the Malaysian cartoon scene, and local newspapers in the pre-independence era published many Western cartoons and comic strips. This was facilitated by the reasonably inexpensive cost of these cartoons via international cartoon syndication. In addition to appearing in local newspapers, Western cartoons influenced the local ones in terms of style, creativity as well as the adaptation of narratives and characters. The historical development of transnationalism in Malaysian cartoons can be viewed chronologically, with the influence of British cartoons dominating the pre-independence era (1930–1957) until the 1970s. This was due to the British rule of Malaya until independence in 1957. The 1980s saw the influence of American cartoons, especially Mad magazine, on the first local humor magazine Gila-Gila. Its success—it is still being published and sold in the market in the 2020s—indicates the positive side of transnationalism through the transfer of knowledge and cartooning methods. The government’s policy to emulate Japan’s success as an industrialized nation and its work ethic and culture through the Look East Policy exposed Malaysians to manga and anime. This led to Japonisme’s emergence in Malaysian comics and cartoons that was evident from the 1990s to the new millennium. In addition to the interesting styles and narratives, local cartoonists and comics artists admired manga and anime for their commercial value; this potential encouraged them to borrow, imitate, and adapt the manga style. The advent of digital technology and the internet have accelerated the globalization of culture, including cartoons and comics, which indirectly opened the door for transnationalism, not merely from the perspective of creativity and style, but also in creating opportunities for cartoonists and comic artists to work for international publications, and more importantly to be recognized globally.

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It can be concluded that transnationalism has encouraged the emergence of various styles in Malaysian cartoons, which are pluralistic in nature. Malaysian cartoonists’ glocalization of British, American, and Japanese manga has paved the way for the emergence of the hybridity of styles in Malaysian cartoons, while maintaining the depiction of local themes, characters, and narratives alongside the universal ones. This diversity and hybridity of styles and themes is not a sign of confusion but rather a reflection of changes in attitude, perspective, mode of expression of one’s opinion and principles as well as creative approaches among contemporary cartoonists. This echoes the attitude of a society that has become more open as a result of change in the current socio-political climate in addition to the opportunities that the information gateway and the upsurge of technology, globalization, and transnationalism provide.

Notes 1. Singapore was part of Malaysia until August 9, 1965 when it left Malaysia to become an independent and sovereign democratic nation. 2. Pantun is a Malay form of traditional literature. According to Mohd. Taib Osman (1965, 211): “The pantun can be considered as folk-ditty; it is used on almost all occasions in Malay life: at festivals, weddings, betrothals, in courtship, or whenever an occasion arises where poetic expression can add lustre to the occasion. The pantun is a quatrain and is unique in structure. The first two lines are usually meaningless except to provide the rhyming scheme for the last two lines which actually convey the message. The message, often disguised in metaphors and similes, can be anything: an expression of love, a riddle, a reflection of one’s mood or fate, or just a wise saying about the ups and downs of human life”. 3. In that initial issue of July 1, 1957, Berita Harian published on the front page: “And finally, we present our collection of comic pictures—the largest collection to be found in a newspaper in Malaya. You will enjoy seeing Mat Jambul and his wife Gayah, a popular couple, which has been created especially for Berita Harian. You will be delighted by the adventures of Tarzan, Mandrake, and the Saint, and by the humorous stories of Si-Kechil (The Small One), Tok Misai (Grandpa Moustache), Gadis dan Teruna (Girl and Boy), and Pelukis Ajaib (The Magic Artist). That’s not all. We promise that every day this week Berita Harian will publish a new story which is wonderful and interesting” (quoted in Mahamood 2004, 117). 4. Describing the adaptation of The Gambols into Malay, editor A. Samad Ismail mentions that “the series was adapted with the Daily Mirror’s

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5.

6.

7.

8.

9.

10.

consent. The rationale was that the humour of that comic strip was too typically English” (Mahamood 2004, 154). A. Samad Ismail said that apart from the cheap price of the strips, the choice of these cartoons was also based on the suitability of the themes with the taste of the readers. Tok Misai by Rousen was chosen for its simple humor without dialogue. He added that the publication of these imported cartoons solved the problem of the lack of local cartoons, since there were so few local cartoonists at the time. Hence, cartooning had not yet developed as a source of income for Malay cartoonists (1996 interview in Mahamood 2004, 121). According to A. Samad Ismail, the termination of the series Dol Keropok and Wak Tempeh might be related to the changes in Utusan Zaman’s policy, which intended to change the readers’ taste from cartoons with a village theme (kartun kampong ) to science fiction ones. It could also be that Dol Keropok and Wak Tempeh did not have a strong impact on the readers. Moreover, at that time, Utusan Zaman was beginning face a strong challenge from Berita Harian, which published many imported cartoons due to the relationship between the Straits Times and newspaper companies in Great Britain” (Mahamood 2004, 150–52). Sommerlad (1966, 17–18) wrote: “In colonial times the newspapers catered for communal interests, but since independence there has been a distinct trend toward a national type of newspaper, and in line with Government policy, the press is playing a part in uniting Malaysians of all racial groups”. According to A. Samad Ismail: “The demise of Peng’s cartoons was due to the fact that their themes and subjects were centering around Singaporean life and values, which no longer suited the taste of Berita Harian’s readers who mainly lived in villages. Moreover, since Berita Harian had moved to Kuala Lumpur, it was difficult to communicate with Peng who lived in Singapore. In addition, Peng was not concerned with the Malay way of thinking” (1996 interview in Mahamood 2004, 119). According to Lat: “The New Straits Times invited me to draw. They created this series called ‘Scenes of Malaysian Life’ which was to appear on the editorial page. That was something very innovative at the time. There was no precedent to putting a cartoon on the editorial page. They wanted me to draw about culture, tradition, weddings, people in the street, eating habits, anything at all in the life of ordinary Malaysians. I thought that was a bit odd because the editorial page usually carried political comments and articles of that kind…. But then it was a beginning for us, for the Malaysian cartoon world. People began to pay attention to our work. The column was immensely popular” (Lat 1994, 25 in Mahamood 2004, 213). Lat said: “Being in London, I got to know how the newspapers were run. It was amazing. There were morning newspapers, evening newspapers.

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You could pay attention to news. And news gave ideas to editorial cartoonists. There were so many of them, in every newspaper. It was really fun. You could draw anybody, the Queen, Idi Amin, Prince Charles, judges…” (Lat 1994, 30 in Mahamood 2004, 213–14).

References Adnan, Hamedi Mohd. 2003. Penerbitan majalah di Malaysia: isu-isu dan cabaran [Magazine publication in Malaysia: Issues and challenges]. Shah Alam: Karisma Publications Sdn Bhd. Che Cob, Saiful Akram. 2018. Propaganda visual pada era penaklukan Jepun (1942–1945) [Visual propaganda during Japanese occupation 1942–1945]. Kuala Lumpur: ITBM. Dasar-dasar kerajaan [Government Policies]. Third Edition. 1990. Eisner, Will. 1985. Comics and sequential art. Tamarac: Poorhouse Press. Nik Hassan, Nik Ahmad. 1963. The Malay Press. Journal of the Malayan Branch Royal Asiatic Society, May. Lat. 1994. Lat 30 years later. Petaling Jaya: Kampung Boy Sdn Bhd. Lent, John A. 2018. The multiple dimensions of transnationalism and Asian comic art. Presented at the International Workshop on Transnational Cultural Flows, Diaspora and Identity in Asian Comics, Chinese University Hong Kong, Hong Kong, May 12, 2018. Mahamood, Muliyadi. 2003. Japanese style in Malaysian comics and cartoons. International Journal of Comic Art 5 (2): 194–204. Mahamood, Muliyadi. 2004. The history of Malay editorial cartoons (1930–1993). Kuala Lumpur: Utusan Publication and Distributors Sdn Bhd. Mahamood, Muliyadi. 2017. Sepetang bersama Nora Abdullah [An evening with Nora Abdullah]. Gila-Gila. January, 46–47. Osman, Mohd. Taib. 1965. Trends in modern Malay literature. In Malaysia: A survey, ed. Wang Gungwu. London: Pall Mall Press. Sommerlad, E.L. 1966. The press in developing countries. Sydney: Sydney University Press.

CHAPTER 11

Wife, Child, Illegal: Static Representations of Filipinos in Japanese Manga Karl Ian Uy Cheng Chua and Benjamin A. San Jose

Introduction Lent (2013) mentions that “depictions of transnationalism in comics often focus on a locale—on how it, and issues associated with it, are represented.” According to 2019 Government of Japan statistics, there are 2,933,137 residents with foreign nationalities comprising around two percent of the total population. While the number seems insignificant, one should be aware of Japan’s aging population and decreasing birthrate, which have been resulting in a negative growth rate of −0.27%. When considering the population pyramid of Japan (Fig. 11.1), one can notice how the foreign population becomes relevant as it comprises roughly the same number as a single Japanese age group and gender.

K. I. U. C. Chua (B) Department of History, Ateneo de Manila University, Quezon City, Philippines e-mail: [email protected] B. A. San Jose Japanese Studies Program, Ateneo de Manila University, Quezon City, Philippines

© The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2022 J. A. Lent et al. (eds.), Transnationalism in East and Southeast Asian Comics Art, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-95243-3_11

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Fig. 11.1 Population pyramid of Japan circa 2019 (populationpyramid.net 2019)

Migration trends tend to encourage movement from areas of higher fertility to areas of lower fertility as well as the flow from relatively poor to relatively richer areas (Skeldon 2013). In case of low fertility, migration from the Philippines to Japan is seen as a solution to the aging population—to fill labor force vacancies and contribute tax revenues meant to support the increasing number of retired people. Nonetheless, international migration cannot reverse long-term trends in population decline unless the migrant population is extremely large (Skeldon 2013). This is not yet the case in Japan, however, the Japanese population has had

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to deal with a surge in migrants within their communities. This includes issues of Japanese language acquisition and education for adult and child migrants, local businesses’ awareness of changes in their customer base or even the simple concept of interacting with a migrant neighbor. Popular culture, particularly manga, has been employed as a tool for such effective information dissemination. However, this becomes a problem when such information presents the phenomena of migration as a static object, which can lead to misunderstandings related to this transnational issue. Thus, the aim of this chapter is to first briefly discuss the modern history of Filipino migration into Japan. This is followed by case studies of manga circulated in Japan that represent this transnational issue. The chapter concludes that Japan still has a long way to go in terms of narrating such issues to its nationals, despite the existence of foreign representation.

Explaining Migration between the Philippines and Japan One of the most established theories in explaining the movement of people is the push-pull theory of migration. This theory explains that people move due to various push factors—those that “push” migrants to move away from their home country and “pull,” which refers to the reasons that attract or pull migrants into a particular destination country (Castles and Miller 1998). In the case of the movement from developing countries to economically developed countries, the push factors are often emphasized in academic or policy papers and mass media. This is particularly true in explaining the case of Filipino migrants to Japan. The Philippines is one of the top migrant-sending states in the world. Unlike other states with high outbound migration rates, such as China, India, and Mexico, which could be explained by population size and historical and geo-political factors, the Philippines became a top migrantsending state by virtue of its policy of exporting migrant labor. During the 1970s, the Philippines economy was at a standstill due to the economic mismanagement of then President Ferdinand Marcos’ regime. This, together with the economic pressure that global oil shocks brought on led the Philippines to face a balance of payment crisis, a stagnant economy, and high unemployment in the context of an increasing population (Guevarra 2009; San Jose 2018). During this time, Gulf States, flush with petrodollars, faced an infrastructure construction boom and

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needed skilled foreign workers. Taking advantage of this demand, then President Marcos instituted a policy of migrant labor export wherein the state recruits and deploys workers to various labor migrant destination in the Middle East and East Asia. Initially established as a stopgap measure to address its balance of payment problems and rising unemployment, this policy gradually became more institutionalized in the passing years as the state became more dependent on migrant remittances, opportunities for employment, and the economic benefits for these migrants’ families. While the government deployed male workers as engineers and construction workers to the Middle East in the 1970s, feminization of Filipino migration began in the 1980s with the deployment of women as nurses to the United States and the Middle East, and domestic helpers to East Asia, in particular to Singapore and Hong Kong. Even as the growth of women migrants raised concerns such as the vulnerability of migrant women and the social impacts of leaving their children behind, it is interesting to note that Japan was not a migrant labor destination during the early 1980s. While push factors such as its weak economy, rising unemployment, wage differentials, dependence to remittances, and the institutionalization of labor migration can explain Filipinos’ movements to various migrant destinations, push factors alone cannot explain how Japan gradually become a top destination for Filipino migrants after the 1980s. Among the migrant groups residing in Japan, Filipinos are the fourth largest group next to the Chinese, Koreans, and the Vietnamese as announced by Japan’s Ministry of Justice in 2019. In exploring the pull factors that make Japan attractive as a migrant destination, studies often cite economic, labor, and demographic factors. This includes the wage differential between the home country and Japan, its shrinking workforce, and how the tail end of its post-Second World War economic growth saw the rising demand for migrant labor, in particular for the so-called 3K jobs (Kitanai, Kiken, Kitsui or dirty, dangerous, and difficult), which the local Japanese workforce shun (Komai 2001; Kondo 2008). It is worth noting that while Japan does need migrant labor, it is also known for its strict and highly controlled migration policies that do not allow unskilled workers (Kondo 2008). Offering more than the traditional macroeconomic and demographic push and pull factors mentioned above, it is later brought on as a result of Japan’s changing gender relations that best explains the migration between the Philippines and Japan.

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Waves of Filipino Migration to Japan First Wave: Entertainers and Their Emotive Labor (1990s) The largest group of Filipinos working in Japan during the first wave of migration until the second wave were entertainers who reached their peak in 2004 and made-up 56% of Filipinos residing in Japan (Ministry of Japan 2009). Unlike other new migrants, such as the nikkeijin from Latin America who worked in manufacturing, Filipino women with a “designated status” visa worked in the entertainment industry. Entertainers usually had a fixed contract lasting for six months to a year and mostly were employed in night clubs called omise or in small pubs called snakku. NGOs and mass media often viewed entertainers as exploited, trafficked women from impoverished Southeast Asian countries who are in a highly vulnerable and sexualized working environment (Piquero-Ballescas 1992). They were known as Japayuki-san, literally “one who has traveled to Japan.” While Philippine and Japanese media depict entertainers as prostitutes, entertainers mostly engage in small talk with their customers, accompany them as they drink and perhaps sing Karaoke. Indeed, Allison points out that entertainers working in the omise do not sell sex, but rather sell their sexuality and the promise of their affection (Allison 1994). Due to the contractual nature of their work, in which renewal is dependent on their work performance or ability to attract regular returning customers, entertainers might be caught in vulnerable sexual situations. Known as dohan, entertainers are required to reach a certain weekly quota in order to receive contract renewal or work bonuses. With no provisions for long-term settlement, entertainers often enter romantic relationships with their customers with the hope that it could lead to marriage and subsequently, long-term stability in Japan. This first wave of Filipino migrants working as entertainers was providing their emotional labor by admiring their customers’ masculinity and making them feel superior. While not emphasized by media accounts and civil society groups, the emergence of Filipino entertainers in Japan was a confluence of various factors, particularly the rising emotional demands of Japanese salarymen and the social mobility of Japanese women. Such phenomena, in a lighter tone, can be seen in Musashi Maeda’s (2012) essay manga Firipin tsuma 4 koma nikki (A Four Panel Diary of My Filipino Wife), published by PHP Kenkyujo in 2012 (Fig. 11.2). The essay manga is a personal account of the author and his meeting with his

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Filipina wife, Ruby, and their hijinks with their children. Maeda presents his daily life in a comedic way. Ruby worked in a Philippine pub as a hostess which Maeda visits. He falls in love with her, proposes, and goes into this whirlwind of how to process international marriages between a Japanese and a foreigner. Maeda (2013) continues with another volume entitled Firipin Kaachan Funtouki (My Struggles with My Filipino Wife) published by Bunkasha in 2013. Amidst the comedic episodes, Maeda paints his wife as boisterous, a bit rough, and carefree. At times, she is portrayed as occasionally irreverent to Japanese culture, especially in food and childcare. Later on, due to her habits, her children acquire some of Ruby’s “Filipino” habits. Aside from entertainment value, these works were the author’s attempts to show the everyday life of a Japanese engaging with the transnational issues of migration and intercultural marriage. Interspersed in the stories, would be small factoids about the Philippines, and perceptions of Maeda about Filipinos. In some of the strips, Ruby will also make her comments. Thus, the stories of Maeda and Ruby are not only about Filipinos, but also about transnational issues within Japan. Maeda admits that his manga, based on his reallife experiences, represents his misconceptions of Filipino women coming to Japan. He admits to replicating the static image of Filipino women as working in “Philippine pubs” that would be “redeemed” by their Japanese customers, married, and would then have children. While the pubs still exist up to the present time, the demographic diversity of Filipinos in Japan has changed. Second Wave: Spouses, Rural Brides, and Their Reproductive Labor (2000s) The Trafficking In Persons report (TIP) produced by the United States’ State Department reportedly placed Japan in the Tier 2 Watch List for either not addressing issues of trafficking or directly engaging in trafficking (U.S. State Department 2004). International pressure made the Japanese government implement the Action Plan of Measure to Combat Trafficking in Persons in 2005 (Kondo 2008). This resulted in Japanbound entertainers required to have professional work experience outside Japan, or a two-year academic training before they can be issued entertainer visas. Known as the “entertainer ban of 2005,” this led to the sudden decrease of new entertainers to Japan and shifted focus toward the settlement of Filipinos. Despite this ban, the number of Filipinos residing

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Fig. 11.2 Cover of Maeda Musashi’s Firipin tsuma 4 koma nikki

in Japan did not change. This could be explained by the growing number of Filipino spouses and those with permanent resident status (Ministry of Japan 2009) (Table 11.1). One of the consequences was the high incidence of international marriages and the children born out of such unions. As these international families settle in Japan, there was a growing concern for the children who were either born out of wedlock, not recognized by their Japanese parent, or children from divorce. Japanese-Filipino Children (JFC) refers to children who are seeking legal recognition from their Japanese fathers

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Fig. 11.3 Cover of Hideki Arai’s Itoshi no Airin

either to seek emotional closure, financial assistance, or citizenship recognition in order for them to live and work in Japan. Their plight and conditions have come to light during a 2008 landmark ruling by the Japanese Supreme Court granting them a right to citizenship (Brasor 2008). By allowing their Japanese parent to belatedly recognize the JFC as their child, this ruling paved the way for their legal recognition and the possibility to live and work in Japan (Suzuki 2010; Hara 2018). Another phenomenon related to the settling patterns of Filipinos in Japan is the incidence of foreign rural brides. While international

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Table 11.1 Changes in the number of new arrivals of Philippine nationals by selected status of residence (MOJ 2009)1 Status of Residence

2004

2005

2006

2007

2008

Entertainer Spouse or Child of Japanese National Long-Term Resident Trainee Specialist in Humanities/International Services Temporary Visitor Total

82,741 5,038 2,893 3,635 66

47,765 5,530 3,109 4,311 88

8,608 8,257 3,410 4,941 138

5,533 6,687 4,068 5,843 127

3,185 5,133 3,811 5,678 98

51,617 147,817

69,285 132,745

63,171 91,474

58,931 84,198

54,678 75,651

marriages between Japanese and Filipinos have come about through their contacts at the omise, a particular subset of marriages is between Japanese men and Filipino hanayome or rural brides. The phenomenon of foreign rural brides is mainly a response to the shortages of rural brides in Japan wherein Japanese women choose to migrate to urban areas for socio-economic mobility. This shortage of Japanese rural brides prompted the growth of foreign rural brides from China, Vietnam, and the Philippines. These women were often praised by their community stating that they were more “Japanese” than their contemporary Japanese women since they know how to serve and support their households and their aging community (Faier 2009). The second wave of Filipino migration exhibited patterns of settlement and integration to Japanese society, saw the growth of multiculturalism initiatives in Japan wherein local governments created tabunka kyousei or multicultural coexistence policy frameworks to better integrate foreign migrants into their communities (Kondo 2008; Nagy 2009). However, a closer analysis of Filipino migration shows how their integration to the larger Japanese society is still largely assimilationist, where they are expected to adjust and adapt to Japanese traditional and societal norms. A popular representation of such Filipino women would be Hideki Arai’s (2011a, 2011b) Itoshi no Airin (Beloved Irene) (Fig. 11.3), which was published by Shogakukan under their Big Comics Spirits series, which ended up compiled into six volumes in 1996, later republished by Daitosha as two volumes and later on, revised with sixteen additional pages by Ohta Publishing in 2011. The story revolves around a Japanese man in his thirties, Iwao, who lives in the countryside and is nagged by

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his mother to get married. On a tip from one of his clients at the pachinko parlor where he works, Iwao travels to Manila and brings home a spunky Filipina, Irene. The rest of the story presents the estranged relationship between Iwao, Irene, and Iwao’s mother. Holmberg points out that this is reminiscent of the 1980s image of Filipina immigration to Japan to work in “Philippine pubs” as well as the boom of Japanese sex tourism to the Philippines (Holmberg 2013). Reflective of immigration and migration policies by both countries, as Holmberg cites Kaplan and Dubro’s Yakuza: Japan’s Criminal Underworld, which was heavily involved in this thriving sex industry. Fortunately, due to political pressure from the Philippine government, sex tourism to the Philippines waned. At the same time, under the auspices of the Japanese government, Japan began to “import women” instead of “exporting men,” which resulted in scenes in the cityscapes of Japan of “love hotels” and “cabarets” that cater to this industry. A stereotype of the Filipina was developed, as Irene was represented in manga, as this boisterous woman who was the object of Japanese men’s sexual desire, despite being married to a Japanese man, was detached from society, due to mistrust and her lack of Japanese proficiency. Nonetheless, like most of these women, she will also have a redemptive element, by becoming the caregiver of the Japanese family. While this can be chalked up to be a relic of yesteryear, a movie version of the piece was released in 2018, which further replicates the decade-long outdated imagery of Filipinas in Japan. On the section concerning children, another essay manga brings the issue into the forefront, a two-volume publication by Akashi Shoten entitled Kurasumeito wa Gaikokujin (My Classmates Are Foreigners) (2010, 2015) initially published in 2009 and republished in 2010, and second volume of the same title published in 2013 and then republished in 2015 (Fig. 11.4). Both volumes are a compilation of twenty manga stories each looking at migrant adults and children and their problems living in Japan, followed by a Q&A section explaining these issues in great depth. Volume 1, Burayan no Monogatari (Brian’s Story), deals with the struggles of Brian, born to Filipino parents, and cared for by his mother. Since his father left them, Maria, his mother, had to work as an entertainer in Japan. Maria eventually got married to a Japanese man named Satou who eventually took Brian in as his own son, giving him the name Satou Burayan. In Volume 2, Marko wo Tsurete Ikanaide (Don’t Take Marko Away) is a chapter about a Filipino boy Marko who is in Japan illegally. When he was five years old, his mother re-married a Japanese man and upon arrival

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to Japan, the man divorced her. He is unfortunately caught and deported even though Japan is the only country he knows, and Japanese is the only language he can speak. While both situations seem similar, Brian’s story has a good ending, while Marco’s ends with uncertainty, illuminating the situation that the lives of these children are precarious and are in the hands of their Japanese father. Japanese parentage is not the only issue, with some children also rejecting their own identity in the form of rejecting their Filipino side, in this case their mother. The chapter Mama Gakkou ni Konaide (Don’t Come to School Mom) revolves around Tanaka Keiko, who was asked by

Fig. 11.4 Cover of Kurasumeito wa Gaikokujin

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her teacher to have her parents attend a parent-teacher conference. Being embarrassed by her Filipino mother, she wanted to have her Japanese father attend for her. Since it was a weekday, her Japanese father could not attend. Thus, her dilemma. She confides to her friend how she hated being bullied, because of her mother’s inability to speak Japanese properly. She is brought by her friend to another Japanese Filipino, Lailani, who makes Keiko reveal her Filipino name, Maria, and explains how she should not be embarrassed, but be proud of her heritage and think of the struggles of her mother to raise her properly. While the two volumes are commendable for taking on the difficult tasks of discussing sensitive issues such as discrimination of migrants within Japan, the issues concerning Filipinos once again repeat the same issues through the perspective of the children. In terms of parentage, the mother is always Filipino with a Japanese father who “liberates” them or abandons them. The image of the feminization of Filipino migration discounts a history of Filipino men migrating as laborers, particularly to Okinawa to work in the U.S. bases, and who would marry Japanese women (Zulueta 2004). This was also documented in accounts written by Rey Ventura, a Filipino illegal laborer in Yokohama (Ventura 2006). In Sunja no Monogatari (Soonja’s Story), while the main story revolves around the dilemma of Lee Soonja, a Korean girl, who was required by Japanese law to register as a foreigner once she turns 16 years old. She engages her friends regarding this dilemma, as she felt like she was treated like a criminal due to this requirement. Maria Chiyoda, her JapaneseFilipino friend, narrates that she has already undergone the process and shows her alien registration card to Soonja. It was pointed out that despite being a Japanese-Filipino, upon entering Japan, Maria has to have her fingerprints scanned, despite the fact that Zainichi Koreans (both North and South Koreans) and Taiwanese did not have to undergo the process. The story ends with Soonja stating that she found it odd that she and her friends had to carry an identification card, such as the alien registration card, constantly on their person. This shows the complexity of how these migrants are still treated as foreigners in their own country due to the laws concerning them. The final works are Makoto Arata’s four-volume piece entitled Tonari no Seki wa Gaikokujin (There Is a Foreigner Beside Me) (2012), Motto Tonari no Seki wa Gaikokujin (More, There Is a Foreigner Beside Me) (2013) (Fig. 11.5), Iesu, Tonari no Seki was Gaikokujin (Yes! There Is a Foreigner Beside Me) (2015), and Gaikokujin darake no Shogakko wa

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Tsukkomi no Mainichi deshita (The Everyday Comedy of an Elementary School Full of Foreigners) (2017), published by Bunkasha. The format follows the four-panel layout like Maeda Musashi’s work. However, while Maeda’s works are based on his life experiences and have storytelling aspects, this work gives short caricatures of a Japanese elementary school teacher and her class which consists of migrant children. While there were only a few sections that feature Filipino children, Filipinas Karen and Maria, are depicted as having the traits similar to Maeda’s wife, occasionally loud, and occasionally irreverent. Unlike the previous volumes on children, this series is problematic as it does not develop the characters of the migrant children, despite the title of the series. What is presented are empty caricatures of migrant children who cause some comedic trouble due to cultural misunderstanding in their new place, Japan. Third Wave: Spouses, Careworkers, and Their Attentive Labor (2010s) Together with its population decline, Japan is also a rapidly aging society, which has gone beyond replacement levels. As of 2019, the elderly or those aged 65 years and older, make up 20% of the population and are more numerous than the youth (18 years old and below). (Walia 2019) Thus, Japan is facing a demographic time bomb where its young population is not enough to replace the older generations. Japan has not embraced an open-door migration policy nor formulated a comprehensive migration policy that addresses the labor needs of its aging population. There has been initial attempts from the government to gradually open up migration for in-demand jobs in the long-term healthcare sector (Akashi 2014). Introduced in the mid-2000s, with agreements signed and ratified by Indonesia, the Philippines, and Vietnam, the Movement of Natural Persons (MNP) provisions under the various Economic Partnership Agreements (EPA) aim to bring foreign nurses and long-term healthcare workers to train in various healthcare facilities such as hospitals, elderly homes and elderly daycare centers in Japan. While the EPA candidates from the Philippines are often publicized in media, it should be noted that the healthcare industry has already been hiring Japan-based foreign residents to work as entry-level caregivers, which resonates to the Filipino community. Even as these spouses and former entertainers look for new jobs beyond entertainment, these women see care work as pragmatic jobs that is socially admirable despite the difficulty.

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Fig. 11.5 Cover of Makoto Arai’s Motto Tonari no Seki wa Gaikokujin

Another emerging trend is the possibility of hiring Filipino migrants from the Philippines to work as domestic helpers. While the initial plans will only allow these domestic workers to be employed in trial areas of Osaka and Nagoya prefectures in high-income households, there are concerns that the vague hiring policies might lead these workers to be vulnerable in their workplaces (Piquero-Ballescas et al. 2018). As it comes to terms with its rapidly aging society, Japan still does not have a comprehensive policy response to its demographic pressures other than expanding the local labor pool by incentivizing women’s labor participation. Labeled as Womenomics, the Shinzo Abe administration

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(2012–2020) hoped that by hiring migrant women as professional healthcare and domestic workers, Japanese women would be freed up from their household responsibilities and continue to be productive workers even after they married and had children. As Filipino migrants take up this new niche work, their expected labor is to provide attentive care for the benefit of Japanese women and their households.

Filipino Representations in Manga As Filipino migration to Japan has undergone various phases, the Filipinas’ emotive labor, reproductive labor, and attentive labor are all geared toward the needs of Japanese society and the outcomes from Japanese women’s shifting gender identities and roles. As Japanese women become more cosmopolitan and socially mobile, it is Filipinas who are taking the slack to meet the emotional, reproductive, and attentive healthcare needs of Japan’s shrinking and aging society. This sets the stage for an issue that Japan now faces, fixating on her illusory “uniqueness and homogeneity,” an issue written by Debito Arudo, pseudonym of writer and human rights activist David Christopher Schofill, in 2010 (Arudo 2010). This idea of homogeneity is pursued by not only a number of early Japan Studies specialists, but it also feeds into the psyche of Japanese nationals who are currently coming into terms with the fact that within its population and negative growth rate, and roughly increasing foreign nationals living in Japan. While this number amounts to roughly 1% of the total population, it does not consider the ethnicity of those responding to the Ministry of Internal Affairs and Communications’ census or Soumusho. What is missing in this equation is racial intermarriage; multi-ethnic Japanese children exist within the remaining 99% of the population (Arudo 2010), and they bring with them their heritage languages, cultures as well as growth rates. As there are still few national-level multicultural policies, social movements are primarily taken up by not-for-profit organizations and individuals at the grassroots level. Among their projects is the seemingly simple goal of making their fellow Japanese aware that within this homogenous façade lies a number of foreigners and multi-ethnic Japanese. One of the popular ways to propagate this information is via popular media. Television shows in Japan often have several “foreign talents” as part of the show’s regular line-up. TV Tokyo’s “Why did you come to Japan,” for example, features tourists as well as residents traveling around

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Japan. Manga has also played a role in propagating information to its readership. Despite the overall decrease in sales from the 1990s, manga is still a formidable medium, earning a JPY 300 billion in 2016. Representing foreigners as a means to influence readers’ imaginative consciousness, particularly their worldview, is not a new concept in manga. However, such pieces are a means to reflect the “current worldview” of the period. Whether fictional or not, the issue of such representations is that it has limited the face of Filipinos to two characters, a female, and a child. While the demographics of the Filipino migrant population in Japan has shifted from entertainer, wife, and mother and child, what is absent in the representations is the Filipino immigrant. Furthermore, these manga representations have also created a static image of Filipinas, either as former entertainers or hostesses in Philippine pubs. The narrative has also continued toward their marriage with Japanese men, and the birth of multi-ethnic children. These stereotypes perpetuate the idea that there are no other Filipinos in Japan.

Note 1. Changes in New Arrivals refer to flow of migrants to Japan as they go through immigration control at various ports of entries–e.g. airports and sea ports. Changes in Number of Alien Registration meanwhile refer to the stock of migrants once they register to their various localities under the Alien Registration System (Gaikokujin Touroku).

References Akashi, Junichi. 2014. New aspects of Japan’s immigration policies: Is population decline opening the doors? Contemporary Japan 26 (2): 175–96. Allison, Anne. 1994. Nightwork: Sexuality, pleasure, and corporate masculinity in a Tokyo hostess club. Chicago: University of Chicago Press. Arai, Hideki. 2011a. Itoshi no Airin Jyou [Beloved Irene]. Tokyo: Ohta Publishing. Arai, Hideki. 2011b. Itoshi no Airin Ge [Beloved Irene]. Tokyo: Ohta Publishing. Arata, Makoto. 2012. Tonari no seki wa gaikokujin [There is a foreigner beside me]. Tokyo: Bunkasha. Arata, Makoto. 2013. Motto tonari no seki wa gaikokujin [More, there is a foreigner beside me]. Tokyo: Bunkasha.

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Arata, Makoto. 2015. Iesu, tonari no seki was gaikokujin [Yes! There is a foreigner beside me]. Tokyo: Bunkasha. Arata, Makoto. 2017. Gaikokujin darake no shogakko wa tsukkomi no mainichi deshita [The everyday comedy of an elementary school full of foreigners]. Tokyo: Bunkasha. Arudo, Debito. 2010. ‘Homogenou’ ‘unique’ myths stunts discourse. The Japan Times, November 2. Brasor, Philip. 2008. Nationality ruling could affect Japanese who don’t ‘exist’. The Japan Times, June 15. Castles, Stephen, and Mark J. Miller. 1998. The age of migration: International population movements in the modern world. London: Macmillan Press Ltd. Faier, Leiba. 2009. Intimate encounters: Filipina migrants remake rural Japan. Berkeley: University of California Press. Gaikoku ni Tsunagaru Kodomotachi no Monogatari Henshu Iinkai. 2010. Kurasumeito wa gaikokujin [My classmates are foreigners]. Tokyo: Akashi Shoten. Gaikoku ni Tsunagaru Kodomotachi no Monogatari Henshu Iinkai. 2015. Kurasumeito wa gaikokujin [My classmates are foreigners]. Tokyo: Akashi Shoten. Guevarra, Anna Romina. 2009. Marketing dreams, manufacturing heroes: The transnational labor brokering of Filipino workers. New Brunswick: Rutgers University Press. Hara, Megumi. 2018. Rethinking nationality issues of Japanese-Filipinos from the perspective of NGOs and youth. In Thinking beyond the state: Migration, integration, and citizenship in Japan and the Philippines, ed. Johanna O. Zulueta, 157–86. Manila: De La Salle University Press. Holmberg, Ryan. 2013. Filipino komiks and Japanese sex tourism: Joe Gatchalian’s clone woman. The Comics Journal, March 15. http://www. tcj.com/filipino-komiks-andjapanese-sex-tourism-joe-gatchalians-clone-wom an/2/. Accessed May 1, 2018. Komai, Hiroshi. 2001. Foreign migrants in contemporary Japan. Tokyo: Trans Pacific Press. Kondo, Atsushi. 2008. New challenges for managing immigration in Japan and comparison with western countries. In Migration and globalization: Comparing immigration policy in developed countries, ed. Atsushi Kondo, 15–48. Tokyo: Akashi Shoten. Lent, John A. 2013. Foreword. In Transnational perspectives on graphic narratives: Comics at the crossroads, ed. Shane Denson, Christina Meyer, and Daniel Stein. New York: Bloomsbury. Maeda, Musashi. 2012. Firipin tsuma 4 koma nikki [A 4-panel diary of my Filipino wife]. Tokyo: PHP Kenkyujo.

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Maeda, Musashi. 2013. Firipin Kaachan Funtouki [My struggles with my Filipino wife]. Tokyo: Bunkasha. Ministry of Japan. 2009. Annual report of statistics on legal migrants. Tokyo: Ministry of Japan. Ministry of Justice. 2009. Zairyuu gaikokujin youkei [Alien resident statistics]. Tokyo: Ministry of Justice. Ministry of Justice. 2019. Annual report of statistics on legal migrants. Tokyo: Ministry of Justice. Nagy, Stephen Robert. 2009. Migration and the potential for international cooperation in East Asia: A comparative examination of state integration policies in Japan and Korea. Asian Regional Integration Review 1: 1–19. Piquero-Ballescas, Ma. Rosario. 1992. Filipino entertainers in Japan: An introduction. Manila: Foundation for Nationalist Studies. Piquero-Ballescas, Maria Rosario, Orlando Ballescas, and Hiroya Takamtsu. 2018. Filipino domestic workers to Japan: Issues and concerns. In Thinking beyond the state: Migration, integration, and citizenship in Japan and the Philippines, ed. Johanna O. Zulueta, 62–96. Manila: De La Salle University Press. PopulationPyramid.net. 2019. Japan, 2019. Population pyramids of the world from 1950 to 2100. https://www.populationpyramid.net/japan/2019/. Accessed February 22, 2021. San Jose, Benjamin A. 2018. Impediments on reaching human security for migrants: Prospects for the Philippines and Japan. In Thinking beyond the state: Migration, integration, and citizenship in Japan and the Philippines, ed. Johanna O. Zulueta, 97–132. Manila: De La Salle University Press. Skeldon, Ronald. 2013. Global migration: Demographic aspects and its relevance for development. New York: United Nations. Suzuki, Nobue. 2010. Outlawed children: Japanese Filipino children, legal defiance, and ambivalent citizenships. Pacific Affairs 83 (1): 31–50. United States Department of State. 2004. Trafficking in persons report. Washington, DC: United States Department of State. Ventura, Rey. 2006. Underground in Japan. Quezon City: Ateneo de Manila University Press. Walia, Simran. 2019. How does Japan’s aging society affect its economy? The Diplomat, November 13. Zulueta, Johanna O. 2004. The Nisei: The second generation OkinawanFilipinos in Metro Manila. Philippine Sociological Review 52: 55–74.

CHAPTER 12

The Migration of Labor in Cartoons: The Story of Morgan Chua in Singapore and Hong Kong Cheng Tju Lim

Introduction The history of cartoonists and comic artists in the twenty-first century can be read as one of the movements of people, labor, products, and services. The oft-told story of the major labor migration in comics history that took place in the 1970s had a huge impact on the American comic book industry. In 1971, DC Comics heard rumors of comic book artists’ forming a union for collective action to drive up the page rate. This prompted DC executives’ pre-emptive decision to recruit comic artists from the Philippines to ensure a supply of cheap talent who could produce pages at a much faster pace. The union never came to fruition, but the threat did create a supply chain (Infantino and Spurlock 2001). One of the first to arrive was Alfredo Alcala. He recalled landing in New York City

C. T. Lim (B) International Journal of Comic Art (IJOCA), Singapore, Singapore e-mail: [email protected]

© The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2022 J. A. Lent et al. (eds.), Transnationalism in East and Southeast Asian Comics Art, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-95243-3_12

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in the middle of a harsh winter. Coming from tropical Manila, he was illdressed for the cold (McDonald and Yeh 1994). Alcala would go on to draw and ink thousands of pages for DC Comics and Marvel Comics, often at a legendary speed that outstripped most of his peers—pulling all-nighters and completing last-minute assigned jobs over the weekends. Over dinner at cartoonist Phil Yeh’s place in December 1997, Alcala shared with me his almost irrational fear of leaving the United States and returning to the Philippines to visit his family. He had not seen his children for years. He was afraid that once he left the country, he would not be let in again. Alcala passed away in 2000, spending the last one third of his life living and working in the United States away from his family (Lent 2009). I am sharing these details and personal anecdotes to illustrate the point that the migration of labor in comics is not a simple thing. Why do people migrate? Usually, it is for monetary, safety, and security reasons. However, it takes its physical and mental toll on the people and families involved. Often the socio-emotional well-being of artists is downplayed. For some, they feel fortunate to be doing something they love—drawing comics and cartoons for a living. But it is still work, and to be displaced, by choice or otherwise, to a foreign environment can be a stressful situation. This chapter is about the migration of labor in the comics industry in Asia. It is a story filled with personal decisions made about professional and private lives. It is about how migration changes the cartoonists’ and comic artists’ work in their new environment and the adaptations that they have to make. For some, they returned home after many years of being away, only to realize that home is not quite there anymore. It does not quite exist. It is not just a story that oscillates between the West and Asia, between the center and the periphery. While the stories of Philippines comic artists who made good in the United States are well known, it is also a story that takes place within Asia itself. The movement of cartoonists within Asia has not been well documented and I shall attempt to do so in this chapter. My approach is to provide vignettes and sketches of some of these cartoonists that I know and whom I have worked with. This chapter is not based on findings from the conduct of a formal quantitative research but the use of life stories. I will be focusing on the career of Morgan Chua who traveled from Singapore to Hong Kong and back as well as Philippines political cartoonists like Dengcoy Miel who relocated to Singapore for work. The common country is Singapore, which due to its geographical

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location, history as a former British colony (use of English in education and everyday life), and its post-independence sociopolitical developments, serves as a good case study to chart the migration of labor in the comics industry in Asia.

A Picture Tells a Thousand Words I would like to start with a photo (Fig. 12.1). This is a picture of me together with political cartoonists, Morgan Chua and Dengcoy Miel in August 2013, just before I left for further studies in the United Kingdom. I had been working for fifteen years and decided it was time to learn something new, to live in a different country for a while. Morgan had been living at Tanjung Pinang, the capital city of the Indonesian province of Riau Islands, with his family for some years. He had always invited us to visit his kampong (village) home and to get

Fig. 12.1 A photo of the author together with political cartoonists, Morgan Chua (center) and Dengcoy Miel (left), August 2013 (Courtesy of the author)

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away from the bustle and hustle of Singapore for a few days. It was a long-standing invitation that Miel and I finally took up that August. The three of us have been involved in comics and cartoons for a long time, from three slightly different periods. Morgan was the oldest among us—he had been drawing political cartoons since the early 1970s. Miel cut his teeth caricaturing the Marcos regime and speaking truth to power in his native Philippines in the mid-1980s before moving to Singapore to work for The Straits Times in the 1990s. As for myself, I have been writing about popular culture since the late 1980s and had begun researching on comics and cartoons when I first got to know Morgan and Miel in the 1990s. Morgan had moved to Hong Kong for work in the early 1970s before coming back to Singapore after the return of Hong Kong to China in 1997. But the going was tough for a freelance cartoonist in his late forties, returning to a country that had largely forgotten about him and his achievements in the world of international cartooning. It was a return to a homeland that he did not quite recognize anymore given Singapore’s rapid economic and infrastructural developments in the 1990s, a place that has priced itself out for someone as free form as Morgan. He moved once again, this time to Indonesia, for a slower pace of life and the creative mind space to draw his cartoons and to develop his projects. Miel was younger but still old enough to have witnessed Benigno Aquino Jr’s assassination on television in 1983. He did not personally experience the persecution and censorship of journalists and cartoonists during the Ferdinand Marcos regime (1965–1986). He was just starting out when the people power movement happened in 1986 and the revolutionary events changed his outlook—to hold up the savage mirror and to reflect on society’s ills. But reality eventually takes hold in any idealist’s life. The economic necessities of providing for one’s family led Miel to move to Singapore in the early 1990s to work for The Straits Times. The city was cleaner, the pay was better, and the political context was different. It was a safe place to raise a family, but it had no space for combative political cartooning. Mass media were meant to serve the country’s sociopolitical needs and to play a consensus-building role (Lim 1997). The compromises needed were very clear—focus on the policies and not the politicians. Comment on social events but do not to be overly critical of the politics. Reflect public opinion with a light touch; it was not the cartoonists’ job to change public opinion. Use gentle humor but not political caricatures. International affairs were fair game but not too much

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grief to be laid on Singapore’s Asian partners. These were the norms of editorial cartooning for the national press (Lim 2000). Even if Miel were to submit more critical cartoons, the chances of them being used were low. Today, Miel is a Singapore citizen and his children have gone through the education system; his son has even served national service. He still works at The Straits Times. For Morgan and Miel, such are the demands of life and migration. I have not moved as much as Morgan Chua or Dengcoy Miel, but many of the travels in my mind were through the reading of comics— from the world of Krypton to the mean streets of Hong Kong depicted in Bruce Lee comics that I read in the 1980s. I first visited Hong Kong before the 1997 handover, and I visited it again in 2018. During this 2018 visit, I made a trip to the Bruce Lee exhibition at the Hong Kong Heritage Museum. It was an exhibition which reflected the transnational experience that comics and popular culture could create. My mental imagination of Hong Kong had been shaped by the heroics of kung fu fighters like Bruce Lee long before I visited the city. I learned from the comics and movies that one should fight injustice with whatever tools at their disposal, with our fists or with a pen to write critiques or to draw cartoons. Incidentally, in his early days in Hong Kong, Morgan wore the same mean black singlet that Bruce Lee made famous in his movies. Morgan also had a Bruce Lee haircut and learned Wing Chun, a concept-based traditional Southern Chinese martial arts style, which Bruce Lee was also known for.

Morgan Chua The Early Years of The Singapore Herald Morgan Chua Heng Soon was born in 1949, growing up streetwise with an attitude. Like later in life, he was a natural raconteur, always had a good comeback, and could be as charming as hell when he wanted to be. He was good in art and was pretty much self-taught in art. He was among the first batch of national service boys to be called up to serve in 1967 at the age of eighteen. Singapore had become independent two years prior and Israeli soldiers conducted the military training. Needless to say, national service was not a walk in the park. Morgan was posted to work for the army’s inhouse magazine, Pioneer. He contributed artwork and cartoons to the magazine, keeping sharp his drawing skills. Upon completion of his two years of national service, Morgan entered the workforce.

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Joining The Singapore Herald in 1970 would be the first turning point in his life. The independent newspaper was critical of the government and commented on issues like national service and about poverty in the country. It soon caught the state’s wrath and battle lines were drawn (Khaw 2014). Despite his youth, Morgan was appointed as the chief artist at the Herald. The government had accused the paper of black ops, i.e., it was under the funding and influence of foreign powers to undermine Singapore’s sovereignty (Yeo 2017). This meant that anyone who worked for the Herald, including Morgan, was a traitor to their country. In the week leading to the paper’s closure on May 28, 1971, Morgan drew attention-grabbing front-page cartoons that depicted the government’s heavy-handed measures in dealing with the Herald. It was likened to an unfair fight between David and Goliath—the state with all its resources and the paper with its dwindling funds to survive. The cartoon that appeared on the front page of the May 19, 1971 issue of The Singapore Herald remained powerful as of today (Fig. 12.2). It showed then Prime Minister Lee Kuan Yew on top of a tank about to crush a baby representing the Herald. It was classic Morgan letting it rip and telling it as it was. What is significant about this cartoon is that by the early 1970s, political caricatures had disappeared from Singapore’s newspapers due to the changing political context after independence in 1965 (Lim 2001, 2014). The political cartoons in The Singapore Herald, especially Morgan’s political caricatures of Lee Kuan Yew, were a breath of fresh air for the readers. Hong Kong and the Far Eastern Economic Review After taking on the government in his cartoons, it was difficult for Morgan to find work in Singapore. It was a form of self-exile for him. He had to find employment outside of Singapore’s shores if he wanted to continue drawing cartoons. He moved to Hong Kong in 1972 to work for The Asian, a regional weekly broadsheet. When it was closed a year later due to financial reasons, he joined the Far Eastern Economic Review (FEER), a weekly magazine that he would call home for the next twenty-six years. FEER was a space where Morgan flourished and built his reputation as one of the leading political cartoonists in Asia; he soon rose to the post of chief editorial artist at the magazine. Moving to Hong Kong was the second turning point in his life. He found employment and love in the city, marrying his Taiwanese wife, Lynie Lee, in October 1974 (Bowring

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Fig. 12.2 The cartoon that appeared on the front page of the May 19, 1971 issue of The Singapore Herald (By Morgan Chau)

2018). They had two children, a boy and a girl. But the better lover to him was Hong Kong herself—she gave him the freedom and creative license to try new things, from his innovative and memorable covers for FEER to the incisive cartoons that he drew within its pages. She taught him the intricacies of Asian politics and developed him as a cartoonist, honing his skills under the tutelage of FEER editors, Derek Davis and Philip Bowring (McDonald 2002). Growing up in the 1980s, I would make frequent visits to the school library to flip through the new issues of FEER and photocopy Morgan’s cartoons. It was a thrill to see a cartoonist from Singapore taking on the big guns without fear or favor. FEER was the only publication to sport caricatures of Lee Kuan Yew in the 1980s and they would be done in Morgan’s usual no-holds-barred style. I wondered why we did not see his cartoons in the local papers and why he was living in Hong Kong. But I had noticed that there were no cartoons on Singapore politics in the local press, only cartoons about world affairs and international events.

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How come we could make fun of the follies of other countries’ leaders, but we could not laugh at our own or ourselves? Weren’t we and our cartoonists practicing a double standard? The realities during this period give us an insight into Morgan’s decision to leave Singapore and move to Hong Kong in the early 1970s. One major consequence of this move was that it made Morgan a better cartoonist. Drawing The Singapore Herald cartoons was a defining moment for him, especially the one that he drew of Lee Kuan Yew on a tank. Morgan would return to this image of the tank as a symbol of oppression and terror in his cartoons. In 1989, when the Tiananmen incident happened, Morgan drew a book of cartoons depicting the politics and the massacre of the student protesters. In one of the most damning depictions, he took reference from the famous Tank Man photo and drew a tank approaching a Chinese student. Only this time, no political leader was commanding the tank, but the tank itself had the face of Deng Xiaoping. Man and machine had merged, and inhumanity had prevailed (Fig. 12.3). Morgan laid the blame solely on China’s leader for the killing of thousands of protesters. It is not surprising then that Morgan returned to Singapore a few years after the United Kingdom returned Hong Kong to China in 1997. He was no longer welcome in Hong Kong. To me, Tiananmen is Morgan’s best book, where he was at his satirical best. Almost twenty years after his first tank cartoon for The Singapore Herald, his tank cartoons about Tiananmen showed more confident lines and stronger and more evocative blacks. Morgan’s career peaked at the age of forty when he drew the Tiananmen cartoons. His critical stance on this event, however, would come with a political cost. The signs from Beijing were clear—it would not be business as usual when it regained Hong Kong in 1997. Morgan had left Singapore in 1972 for political and employment reasons. By the late 1990s, Morgan would leave Hong Kong, his home for almost thirty years, to return to Singapore for similar reasons. FEER had new owners who were more concerned with profits than free speech. Morgan decided to keep his integrity, but integrity could not keep stomachs from being hungry, and globally, Singapore was and remains one of the cities with the highest cost of living.

Returning to Singapore It was in 1999 that I first met Morgan in Singapore at the old National Library. I was giving a talk on Singapore political cartoons and Morgan

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Fig. 12.3 Cartoon drawing inspired by Tank Man (By Morgan Chua)

had just returned to Singapore and was spending time at the library’s reference section, researching for his new cartoon book on Singapore history. He heard the talk announcement over the public-address system and dropped by for my presentation, which included a section on his Herald cartoons. He introduced himself after the talk and we had a drink at the coffee shop near the library. It was a place that we would often meet over the next few months to chat about cartoons and politics over coffee and chicken rice as Morgan continued to review old newspapers and books to get certain facts and images right for his book. I was impressed by his tenacity and rigorous research. He was thorough and left no stone unturned to get that logo of old political parties or companies correct. I saw the passion and intensity that he displayed in nailing his subjects in his FEER cartoons. Unfortunately, Morgan was operating in a different context and environment now. The eventual book, My Singapore, was published in 2000 by the Singapore National Printers, the former Singapore Government Printing

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Office that produced gazettes and other official government publications. Currently the book is still in print and published by Marshall Cavendish Editions. It was ironic for Morgan’s first book upon his return to Singapore to be published by a government-affiliated company. Compared to Tiananmen, My Singapore was less of a political cartoon book, but the history of Singapore told through single panel cartoons filled with facts, figures, and personal anecdotes. The perspective was not as critical as his FEER cartoons. This gentler point of view would be the template for Morgan’s cartoons over the next twenty years. My Singapore was largely a bloodless affair. The only cartoon that bordered on dangerous grounds was the one about the Souzhou Industrial Complex, an embarrassing economic venture that Singapore made in China in 1994 that ended in disaster. His return to Singapore is the third turning point in Morgan’s life. He had to adjust to a new reality that still did not respect or value political cartooning in society. A year before Morgan’s return to Singapore, Hong Kong political cartoonist Zunzi’s caricatures of Lee Kuan Yew and Goh Chok Tong (then prime minister of Singapore) were torn down just minutes before an exhibition opening at the Singapore Art Museum (Lingham 2011). Morgan and Zunzi were good friends in Hong Kong. Morgan would have heard the whole saga from Zunzi and clearly understood the lay of the land for a country to which he would soon return. The reality was that Morgan never cut ties with Singapore. Morgan sent his young son to study in Singapore from primary school onward and like Morgan, his son completed his national service before joining the National University of Singapore for his undergraduate studies. Currently, both of Morgan’s children are living and working in Hong Kong. After working and living in Singapore for some years, Morgan found it too expensive and stressful. He moved to Tanjong Pinang. He lived there with his new family and found peace in the kampong life. But I also remembered the times when he returned to the mainland, usually frustrated by a lack of money and paying projects. We would have a simple meal at a neighborhood coffee shop where he would share with me his financial and creative woes. Morgan still talked fast like a machine gun (a description of Morgan by his friend, Zunzi), a thousand ideas running through his mind while he sipped his black coffee and chain-smoked his Indonesian cigarettes. There was only so much his friends could do to help him financially. Eventually Morgan had to depend on patrons. One

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of them was the ex-president of Singapore, S. R. Nathan, who commissioned Morgan to illustrate a book about his life, 50 Stories from My Life (2013). In many ways, the cartoons that Morgan drew during this period were cari makan work (making a living in the Malay language). They were not quite political cartoons with a considered point of view of a particular issue or event. They were more illustrative—a gag cartoon of caricatures of the personalities involved with some word play and puns as well as an accompanying caption describing the history. The Taurus, Morgan’s sign (he was born in 1949, which was also the year of the bull in Chinese astrology) from his FEER days, would make an appearance but his commentary was far from the hard-hitting days of Hong Kong. The move back to Singapore in the late 1990s had neutered Morgan in a manner of speaking. Morgan himself was aware of his own situation. He once commented that local cartoonists love to draw caricatures of other leaders except our own (Lee et al. 2018). But it is not the use of caricatures that makes a good political cartoon. It is that singular and studied point of view presented without fear of offending the authorities or the masses that makes a good political cartoon—politicians and popular opinion be damned. But it was popular opinion and sales that Morgan was going for in books like In Memory of Madam Kwa Geok Choo 1920–2010 (2011), a collection of cartoons about the life and times of the late wife of his nemesis, Lee Kuan Yew. The cynic would see this as Morgan cashing in on Madam Kwa’s passing. In Memory of Madam Kwa Geok Choo 1920–2010 was an affectionate book examining the romance between Lee and Kwa as well as her contributions to Singapore as the prime minister’s wife. Morgan once called Lee the man you loved to hate and had gone on record to acknowledge Lee’s achievements in Singapore (Lee et al. 2018). Still, one cannot imagine Morgan doing a book like this back in Hong Kong. It featured a foreword by then President of Singapore, S R Nathan and was sponsored by City Developments Ltd, a global real estate operating company in Singapore. Lee sent a letter to Morgan, thanking him for doing a respectful book on his late wife. Morgan was thrilled to receive the letter. I had not seen Morgan for a while when he visited me in 2011 to give me a copy of the Madam Kwa book and to ask for my help to promote it. He did not look well, and I was worried about him. There would be times that I would not hear from him for months as he was probably spending more time at Tanjong Pinang where it was cheaper for him to live. Every

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time that he spoke of Tanjong Pinang and his family there, his eyes would light up and you could sense a weight was lifted from his shoulders. In an interview I conducted with him in 2008, he shared: I like the kampong life, nature and the natural self. A cartoonist should be close to nature, then the strength and feelings of their art would intensify. Over there, you got time. You read books, magazines and get the current news. It’s stress free. In Singapore, all the HDB (Housing and Development Board) flats remind me of a private automated prison. There’s no movement of oneself. Not like in Tanjong Pinang where at night you can see thousands of stars. It just makes you feel humble. You get to know yourself. But not in Singapore. We’re becoming the Monaco of Asia. Singapore will only be for the rich and famous. You don’t have much choices in Singapore, it is no bed of roses. Our old folks, they got to work in coffee shops and McDonald’s. It’s very sad. We have lost our culture in Singapore. I’m still a Singaporean. But I can’t stay here anymore. It’s not real, it’s a make-believe world. My spirit is still in Singapore. I still love my country. But it has changed. (Lim 2008)

Morgan could be talking about himself when he talked about the prevalent ageism in Singapore. In 2008, he was fifty-nine years old, and the jobs were not forthcoming.

The Last Years and Books Finally, in 2013, Miel and I took up Morgan’s offer to visit him at his idyllic island home. That weekend, Morgan treated us to a good and simple seafood dinner, and we had fruits grown in his own garden as dessert. It was a simple life, but I could tell Morgan was at a crossroads. The book projects and commissioned work were drying up. Every time that I met up with Morgan, he would share with me his latest ideas of doing a history book in the comics format (including a history of the Geylang neighborhood, where Morgan grew up in, a project that did not materialize) or getting corporations to sponsor some of these publications. He would get bitter about why these “rich buggers” did not support the arts and lamented on their stinginess. Even when Morgan managed to score a sponsorship, he did not do well. The Madam Kwa book had a 5,000-copy print run but it did not sell well. One could still see the passion in his eyes and in the quick-witted and animated way that he talked about these wild dreams between puffs

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on cigarettes and sips of coffee. But over time, I sensed that he was tired. I decided to reconnect him with Epigram Books before my departure for further studies. At the time, Epigram Books had ventured into publishing graphic novels and was looking for content. I had introduced Morgan to them before, but that first meeting went off-rail when Morgan became fixated with the idea of reprinting his FEER cartoons as huge compendiums to be sold to university libraries at a premium price tag. Epigram Books was not convinced of the idea. The second meeting went much better. Epigram Books wanted new titles to shore up their graphic novel backlist. Morgan was able to offer them his old titles for which he was the copyright holder. During the year that I was away, Epigram republished Tiananmen, the first time that it was back in print for more than twenty years. In 2014, Epigram published a second book, a hardcover collection of his Lee Kuan Yew cartoons over the years—LKY: Political Cartoons. It consisted of newly drawn cartoons, cartoons about Lee from My Singapore and the Madam Kwa book, and also recreations of his Singapore Herald and FEER cartoons. The originals were long lost to time. Morgan’s recreations were problematic as he made changes and compromises that weakened the originals’ power and conviction. I return to the Lee tank cartoon from 1971 (Fig. 12.4). Morgan redrew it for the new book with several amendments. First, the fierce Lee out to destroy the Herald was gone. The expression on Lee’s face in the 2014 recreation is more quizzical and comical, like he is caught off-guard by what was happening. Second, The Singapore Herald logo replaced the baby representing the Herald. It was cartooney, which might explain why Lee looked so puzzled on his tank. There is no sense of threat or urgency in this new rendition. The tension from the original is missing. The book was partly sponsored by City Developments Ltd. In 2015, Lee Kuan Yew died. The following year, Epigram Books reprinted the Madam Kwa book. In March 2018, Morgan passed away. The last book of his (TV 50 Golden Years: The Hongkong Story) that was published before his death was an illustrated biography of Robert Chua, the famed Asian broadcaster from Singapore who made good in Hong Kong. It was a coincidence that this last book was about Morgan’s beloved Hong Kong. I often wondered what his life would be like if he had stayed on in Hong Kong, instead of returning to Singapore where he struggled for the next twenty years.

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Fig. 12.4 Morgan’s 2014 recreation of his 1971 Singapore Herald tank cartoon (By Morgan Chua)

In order to continue his cartooning career, perhaps Morgan had no choice but to leave Singapore for Hong Kong in 1972. He flourished at FEER, which gave him the freedom to comment on politics as he saw fit. One may assume that returning home is always a good thing. It was not so for Morgan. His homecoming was ironic and bittersweet. He could not survive in his own homeland and had to move once again to Tanjong Pinang to live out the rest of his life. The books that he produced in the last twenty years of his career were a pale shadow of his best work in Hong Kong. One might say that he had made peace with the establishment in Singapore, but I doubt so. He did what he had to survive. Perhaps the most relevant and poignant book that Morgan drew during this period was Divercity Singapore: A History of Immigration (2010), an educational book that the National Integration Council supported. It traced and promoted immigration to Singapore. In the section on “The Hunt for Talent,” the book stated that a committee was set up in the late 1980s to invite people from Hong Kong—known for their entrepreneurial streak—to obtain permanent residence in Singapore before the 1997 handover. Such a welcome was not given to Morgan

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Fig. 12.5 Morgan’s 2010 cartoon about the influx of foreign talent into Singapore in the 1990s

when he returned to his homeland. He had to compete with foreign cartooning talent from the Philippines who The Straits Times recruited in the early 1990s. To his credit, Morgan became good friends with some of them, including Dengcoy Miel. Still, the irony that some of these foreign professionals were parachuted into senior positions in companies while locals had to wait in the wings was not lost to Morgan. The cartoons that he drew for this section of the book showed precisely that—a group of foreign talent parachuting down to Singapore (Fig. 12.5).

Man Out of Time? Was Morgan really out of time when he moved back to Singapore from Hong Kong? Not really. In 2005, Morgan sought help from photographer and gallerist Chua Soobin, an old friend. Soobin admired Morgan’s talent and commissioned him to recreate his old FEER cartoons in a series of paintings. Soobin had always wanted to do such an exhibition

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and he asked me in 2016 to curate and organize the exhibition. I started approaching several public institutions to host it as I felt the show’s content was educational—it would be good for students to see the works and learn about history and current affairs. They all rejected me, citing scheduling issues. One of them was more honest to tell me that given the cartoon paintings’ political nature, it would not be appropriate for them to be shown at a state-supported venue. I tested the waters in 2016 at an exhibition that I co-curated on the history of Singapore comics. I wanted to display a painting that Morgan had done on local politics. The venue rejected it as it was too sensitive a topic. I counter-proposed with another work on Indonesian history and politics. It was again rejected—the reason given was that the cartoon was commenting on our immediate neighbor’s internal politics and their embassy might complain if they knew about it. All of these rang alarm bells in my head. I was reminded of what Morgan said in an interview in 2014: “Singapore is ripe for political cartoons these days. However, the editors in our local media impose themselves resulting in self-censorship, as there is fear of losing their jobs” (Lee et al. 2018). Two years had passed with no headway made for the exhibition. Finally, Soobin and I decided to hold the show at Soobin’s gallery. Then Morgan passed away suddenly on March 22, 2018. That gave an immediate impetus and urgency to put this show together as a tribute to him. “Drawn to Satire: The Cartoons of Morgan Chua” opened on July 28, four months after Morgan’s passing. It had contributions from cartoonists from Hong Kong, Indonesia, Malaysia, and Singapore. Guests from Hong Kong (Zunzi, Yuen Tai Yung) and Malaysia (Zunar) also attended the opening—artists who were influenced by Morgan’s cartoons in FEER. His son Zen Chua contributed items for the show and attended the opening with his family from Hong Kong. While preparing for the exhibition, I had the opportunity to visit Hong Kong in May 2018. While walking down the streets of Kowloon late one night, I was reminded of another famous FEER cartoon that Morgan drew of Lee Kuan Yew in 1972. After closing down The Singapore Herald, Lee had later spoken at length of the mass media’s responsibility. He contrasted Singapore with Hong Kong, where “everything goes. But nobody cares. Nobody is trying to build a nation in Hong Kong.” Morgan drew a naked Lee running down the sleazy streets of Hong Kong that were filled with bars, massage parlors, and topless bars. He was making the point that if Lee had been a politician in Hong Kong

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where anything goes, he and his follies would be exposed in a place where the free press prevailed. State mechanisms would not protect Lee. Or tanks.

Politics of Compromise: Philippines Cartoonists in Singapore This long look at the life of Morgan is intentional and necessary. It is to explore the rich life of a cartoonist and how his sojourn and return home have been both beneficial and disruptive. One may think that being forced to go into self-exile is a terrible thing, but for Morgan, it was a blessing as being in Hong Kong where anything goes made him a better cartoonist. On the other hand, returning home is not always a positive experience and in this case, Morgan had to compromise to make ends meet. The politics of compromise is prevalent in the stories of the Philippines editorial cartoonists who moved to Singapore to work for The Straits Times in the 1990s. The newspaper had decided to import artists from the Philippines given the lack of political cartooning talent in Singapore. The irony should not escape the readers. Singapore did have a vibrant political cartooning scene in the 1950s, which was discouraged when Singapore gained its independence in 1965 (Lim 2014). Those who drew political cartoons about Singapore politics, like Morgan in the early 1970s, had to find their fortunes elsewhere. Singapore lost a whole generation of political cartoonists in the 1970s and 1980s. There was no incentive for any young aspiring cartoonists to draw political cartoons. To import political cartoonists from the Philippines in the 1990s was a slap in the face for those who tried to create political cartoons in the earlier periods. Perhaps hiring cartoonists from the Philippines was also a way to ensure that they did not draw cartoons about Singapore politics. Their mandate was clear—focus on cartoons about international events and foreign affairs. What Philippines migrant cartoonists told John A. Lent during interviews in 1992 and 2016 makes this point very clearly. Jose Tence “Bogie” Ruiz moved to Singapore in 1988 before returning to the Philippines in 1995. He told Lent that everything “from the editorials to the fillers” was non-controversial at The Straits Times. Political cartoons were “vetted especially hard.” In the early 1990s, Ruiz and other staff had to attend several daily meetings with the editors to be instructed on how to do their work and in what manner. It was no surprise then that

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Ruiz commented that political cartooning in Singapore had no future, and he did not stay long in Singapore (Lent 2018). This calls to question why The Straits Times bothered to hire the Philippines cartoonists in the first place, when they were so tightly controlled. Why not just dispense with political cartoons in the papers, unless there was an assumption that to be an international paper of repute in the 1990s, The Straits Times needed to offer political cartoons. But only safe ones. It becomes very clear what one had to do in order to survive in a cartoonist’s postmigration period. Another Philippines cartoonist, Ludwig Ilio, who worked for The Straits Times for twenty years, put it bluntly: “Cartoonists come here to make money, not political statements” (Lent 2018). But even that did not get you loyalty. Ludwig moved to Singapore with his family in 1997 but returned to the Philippines when his contract was not renewed in 2017. Dengcoy Miel, who came to Singapore in 1992, said that Philippines cartoonists must be less critical in order “to keep the rice bowl intact.” They have to “adjust or go home.” Manny Francisco, who joined The Straits Times and moved to Singapore in 2007, admitted they were illustrators and not really political cartoonists anymore when they work in Singapore. They were reined in whenever they stepped out of line. Manny explained: “Editors tell us to try something different, and when we do, they say, ‘Well, I’m not sure…we can’t do that’” (Lent 2018). In my own interview with Miel in 1996, he shared in a resigned manner that “different places have different rules” (Lim 1997). Before joining The Straits Times as an executive artist in 1992, he was the chief editorial cartoonist for The Philippines Star. He had to tone down his cartoons and toe the line in Singapore. Those who did not eventually return to the Philippines. In the case of Ruiz, he had always been political, being a member Kaisahan, an activist art group in the Philippines (de Veyra 2019). In Singapore, he was a member of The Artists’ Village and continued with activist art making. In my interactions with Miel over the years, I learned that he accepted the political reality of being a non-political editorial cartoonist in Singapore. He found an outlet for his political views in his paintings, which he exhibits in the Philippines. But even for those, he did not comment on Singapore politics, but on the Philippines history and colonialism. Moving to a new country requires one to adopt to the norms of the new land and more specifically, to learn to read the signs of what is permitted and what

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is not allowed. This could have been on Miel’s mind when he latched on to signs as a theme for his work. In 2002, ten years after he moved to Singapore, he produced a book called Singatoons, a cartoon book that is printed in the shape of Singapore. It is a light-hearted look at life and norms in Singapore, and how we see the shape of Singapore in everyday life. Is this a veiled comment on the intrusiveness of the state and reality? A more direct comment on society is a twelve-page story that Miel wrote for Liquid City Volume 2 (Liew and Lim 2010), an anthology of Southeast Asian comics that I co-edited. A wordless story of crime and guilt told in pictures and signs, this story is as much a story about crime never paying as it is about the long arm of the state. You can run but you cannot hide.

Conclusion When one moves to another country, is he or she still being remembered? What is one’s legacy as a result of migration? I have wondered if Morgan’s reputation would be stronger today if he had stayed on in Hong Kong. He could be drawing cartoons about the umbrella movement or the popular protests in Hong Kong. It is not an easy question to answer. Life is often filled with compromises. The life stories of Morgan and the Philippines cartoonists show us clearly the sacrifices that are necessary to make a living in an expensive city like Singapore. Morgan had to leave Singapore in the early 1970s for political and economic reasons. He returned home in the late 1990s but had to migrate again to Indonesia for economic reasons. In the 2000s and 2010s, he created politically ambiguous works, especially when compared to his best cartoons drawn in Hong Kong between the 1970s and the 1990s. I befriended these cartoonists when I started my political cartooning research in the early 1990s. It has been almost thirty years, but nothing has really changed. Despite newer artists like Sonny Liew, Dan Wong, James Tan, Don Low, Rachel Pang, and Anngee Neo drawing political cartoons and comics in graphic novels and for social media, the issues of self-censorship and middle-level stagnation where middle managers decide to be safe rather than sorry in not running what they deem to be sensitive works (Lim 2000) continue to plague the craft and artistry of political cartooning in Singapore.

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References Bowring, Philip. 2018. Obituary: Cartoonist Morgan Chua. The Foreign Correspondents Club, Hong Kong. https://www.fcchk.org/correspondent/obi tuary-cartoonistmorgan-chua/. Accessed November 5, 2020. Chua, Morgan. 2000. My Singapore. Singapore: Singapore National Printers. Chua, Morgan. 2011. In memory of Madam Kwa Geok Choo, 1920–2010. Singapore: Sang Kancil Publications. Chua, Morgan. 2014a. LKY: Political cartoons. Singapore: Epigram Books. Chua, Morgan. 2014b. Tiananmen: 25th anniversary edition: 25th. Singapore: Epigram Books. Chua, Morgan, and Justin Zhuang. 2010. Divercity Singapore: A cartoon history of immigration, ed. Cherian George. Singapore: Mix Media. Chua, Morgan. 2017. Robert Chua TV 50 golden years : The Hongkong Story. Hong Kong: Skytree Multimedia. de Veyra, Devi. 2019. When two cartoonists talk art, auctions, and who is over-rated.” ABS-CBN News, January 3. https://news.abs-cbn.com/ancx/ culture/art/01/03/19/tell-the-cartoonist-not-to-do-this-anymorebogieruiz-and-dengcoy-miel-talk-about-art-auctions-and-overrated-artists. Infantino, Carmine, and J. David Spurlock. 2001. The amazing world of Carmine Infantino. New York: Vanguard Publications. Khaw, Ambrose. 2014. Editlore. http://editlore.blogspot.com. Accessed November 5, 2020. Lee, Joshua, Belont Lay, and Martino Tan. 2018. S’porean political cartoonist Morgan Chua passes away at 68. Mothership. https://mothership.sg/2018/ 03/morganchua-passed-away/. Accessed November 21, 2020. Lent, John A. 2009. The first one hundred years of Philippine komiks and cartoons. Tagaytay: Yonzon Associates. Lent, John A. 2018. Singapore’s “guided” political cartooning. In Drawn to satire: The cartoons of Morgan Chua, ed. by Cheng Tju Lim, 7–12. Singapore: Soobin Art International. Liew, Sonny, and Cheng Tju Lim, eds. 2010. Liquid city, vol. 2. Berkeley: Image Comics. Lim, Cheng Tju. 1997. Singapore political cartooning. Southeast Asian Journal of Social Science 25 (1): 125–150. Lim, Cheng Tju. 2000. Political cartoons in Singapore: Misnomer or redefinition necessary? Journal of Popular Culture 34 (1): 77–83. Lim, Cheng Tju. 2001. ‘Sister art’—A short history of Chinese cartoons and woodcuts in Singapore. International Journal of Comic Art 3 (1): 125–150. Lim, Cheng Tju. 2008. Morgan Chua interview. Singaporecomix. http://sin gaporecomix.blogspot.com/2008/08/morgan-chua-interview.html. Accessed November 2, 2020.

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Lim, Cheng Tju. 2014. Chinese cartoonists in Singapore: Chauvinism, confrontation and compromise (1950–1980). In Southeast Asian cartoon art: History, trends and problems, ed. John A. Lent, 142–177. Jefferson: McFarlane Publishing. Lim, Cheng Tju. 2018. Drawn to satire: The cartoons of Morgan Chua. Singapore: Soobin Art International. Lingham, Susie. 2011. Art and censorship in Singapore: Catch 22? ArtAsiaPacific, http://artasiapacific.com/Magazine/76/ArtAndCensorshipInSingapore Catch22. Accessed November 15, 2020. McDonald, Hamish. 2002. Asia’s political affairs were his lifeblood. The Sydney Morning Herald, September 28. http://www.smh.com.au/national/asias-pol itical-affairswere-his-life-blood-20020928-gdfode.html. Accessed November 12, 2020. MacDonald, Heidi, and Phil Yeh. 1994. Secret teachings of a comic book master: The art of Alfredo Alcala. Lompoc: International Humor Advisory Council. Yeo, Toon Joo. 2017. Confessions of Lee Kuan Yew’s simplistic pressman. Singapore: Yeo Toon Joo.

CHAPTER 13

Thai Comics’ Grappling with Various Shades of Transnationalism John A. Lent

Sovereignty, Siwilai, and Cartoons/Comics Thailand’s cartoon tradition is considerably different from its Southeast Asian neighbors. Never colonized, the country escaped the on-site influences of the European empire builders. Yet, comic art and art generally were tinged with Western hues early on—art itself during the reign of King Mongkut (1851–1868), through the Siwilai (civilized) project, a localization process designed for the “strategic and selective adoption of Western ideas, practices, and cultural elements, and their hybridization in the Siamese setting” (Verstappen 2019, 6, citing Winichakul 2000, 529). As Chutikamoltham (2014, 48) maintains, a major objective of Siwilai was to retain Siam’s sovereignty from “Western colonial threats by weakening the colonizers’ claim to ‘civilize’ Siam/Thailand.” Out of these notions emerged Thainess (khwam-pen-thai), “believed to be sacred and a reflection of the essence of the Thai people’s national

J. A. Lent (B) International Journal of Comic Art, Drexel Hill, PA, USA e-mail: [email protected]

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identity” (Chutikamoltham 2014, 47). What the kingdom aspired to was selectively accepting from the West what was appropriate and relevant for Siam’s culture, i.e., to adapt and not completely adopt foreign elements. The policymakers aimed for a hybridization of cultures long before Western media practitioners and theorists made the phrase fashionable in the latter years of the twentieth century. In the first decade of the twentieth century, reigning King Chulalongkorn (1868–1910) established an Italian artistic/cultural link, hiring Italian artists to do court wall and ceiling paintings that blended both countries’ styles. Key among these Italian artists was painter Carlo Rigoli who trained local artisans. Among the latter was Hem Vejakorn, who added the Italian painting style that he learned from Rigoli to his line art illustrations and comics, while also introducing anatomy, chiaroscuro, and perspective devices. His major comics contribution was an adaptation of a humorous story, Sri Thanonchai, in 114 installments in the weekly magazine, PramuanSan, in 1938. Captions were placed beneath each of the regular six to eight panels. Verstappen (2019, 7) compares the format of Sri Thanonchai to that of Burne Hogarth’s Tarzan or Harold Foster’s Prince Valiant, which debuted in 1936 and 1937, respectively. Verstappen (2019, 7) labels Sri Thanonchai as a “perfect example of development of the Siwilai process in the field of comics art, through an Italian Neo-Classic ‘synthesized’ art style applied to ‘traditional subjects’ and more remarkably while relying on captions composed in Thai poetry.” Thai poetry and comics were regularly combined—the comics illustrated local epic poems—from their initial appearance in 1907 until the 1940s. King Chulalongkorn and his British-educated son, King Vajiravudh had important roles in the establishment of a Thai cartooning existence. Besides encouraging the Italy-Siam artistic connection, King Chulalongkorn seems to have been an aficionado of cartoon art. Thai media historian Anake Nawigamune (2010, 239) claims that the first mention of cartoons in Siam was by Norwegian Carl Bock, who, while visiting King Chulalongkorn’s summer home, saw framed Vanity Fair cartoons hanging on the walls. Bock (1986), who observed these in the king’s dining room, said conspicuous among them was an 1879 caricature of the Kromatah (Siam’s foreign minister) by British cartoonist Spy, drawn when the minister visited London. Verstappen (2019, 8) says that the framed cartoons attest to the importance that the king assigned to them (Fig. 13.1). King Vajiravudh had a heavy hand in early Thai cartooning, and for years, was incorrectly credited for drawing the first cartoon. While the

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Fig. 13.1 An early phap lo by King Rama VI, parodying the head of the royal railroads

king was not the first, he did draw embarrassing caricatures of corrupt government officials in royal gazettes (Lent forthcoming; Karuchit 2014). He also coined the term paap lor (parodic image) to describe his drawings (Chulasak 1999, 6) and sponsored drawing competitions in 1917 and 1920 that included phap prachot (sarcastic illustration) (Nawigamune 2002, 208–209). The winner of the crown-endorsed competition in 1923, Pleng Tri-Pin (also known as Pleng Traipin), added other transnational dimensions to Thai cartooning: the first political cartoon, published in the Krungthep newspaper in 1923 and a Western drawing style that found favor with readers and the king. Pleng Tri-Pin was educated in Europe during a twenty-year stay abroad (Karuchit 2014, 77). Though there were transnational aspects present in early Thai cartooning, such as the influence of the Italian painting style on Hem Vejakorn’s cartoons, King Chulalongkorn’s fascination with British cartoons, and the impact of a long European sojourn on Pleng TriPin’s drawings, it cannot be generalized those foreign elements were eagerly sought, wholeheartedly welcomed, or dominatingly present. Thai cartooning had no semblance with how an Australian writer later

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described Thai culture overall—an extension of Western forms easily appropriating foreign patterns, techniques, and technologies (Michaelson 1993, 59). We have already discussed the kingdom’s steps to avoid being inundated with undesirable foreign cultural characteristics through the Siwilai campaign. Additionally, throughout the first three-quarters of the twentieth century, Thai cartoonists added their own unique characteristics to the art form through, for example, the aforementioned connection between comics and poetry, the verse editorial cartoon, summary cartoons, and a new genre, cartoon likay (Fig. 13.2).

Fig. 13.2 A cartoon likay strip by Prayoon Chanyawongse, late 1938 in Suphapburut (Source Resemblance to Tarzan and Popeye. Reproduced from Prayoon Chanyawongse Foundation)

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The verse editorial was a category unto itself. Associated mainly with Magsaysay award-winning cartoonist Prayoon Chanyawongse, the verse editorial was “A montage of drawings within one large panel, which campaigned or instructed in verse on subjects such as plants, gardening, nutrition, cooking, etc. Verse editorials differed from conventional cartoons because of their poetic element, and the mixture of numerous drawings inside one frame, as well as their sometimes, risque nature” (Lent 1997, 93). Also different to this author during his first research trip to Thailand in 1993 were the summary cartoons. Two cartoonists drawing them at that time offered me descriptions. Chai Rachawat (Chai) of Thai Rath said that such cartoons were thematic—“a batch of drawings within one panel on a theme in the news” (Chai 1993); Chuchart Mueningul (Muen) of Matichon said much the same—“a summary of the week’s political news plus a news story” (Muen 1993). This author saw variations of this format in Sri Lanka in 1993, with Winnie Hetogoda’s Halt and in Kenya in 2006 with Paul (Maddo) Kelemba’s It’s a Madd Madd World, therefore, he cannot verify that it originated in Thailand. What is likely, however, is that there was a transnational interaction, either as a cultural export or as an incoming artifact. In 1950, Sa-Ngob Jampat (also known as Jaew Waew, Anamis, Jam, and Jam Jaew), introduced the cartoon likay as a new genre in Daily Mail. Likay was a type of theatre unique to Thailand, identified by its improvisation and sudden shifts in plots and characters. Prayoon also produced cartoon likay, adapting his narrative cartoons to that style and making his readers part of his fictional audience in the process (Verstappen 2019, 20–21).

Transnationalism by Borrowing, Swiping, and Adapting In the 1920s and 1930s, Thai comic art was transformed by borrowings from British, Franco-Belgian, and American comics/cartoons. In its June 13, 1923 issue, Bangkok Kanmuang published a political cartoon by British-influenced Sem Sumanan that included a speech balloon, and in the same newspaper on January 17, 1924, Sem Sumanan introduced a four-panel comic strip. Both were among the earliest of their kind in Thailand. The country’s first long-form comics, Sang Thong, by Sawas Jutharop, appeared at the commencement of the 1930s, reminiscent of

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Hergé’s adventure stories: Tintin in the Land of the Soviets (1929–1930) and Tintin in America (1931–1932) (Karuchit 2014, 77). Characters resembling the American comics stalwarts Mickey Mouse, Popeye, and Wimpy also appeared in Sawas Jutharop’s comics. Then-debuting humor cartoonist Wittamin (Witt Sutthasatien) even hybridized Mickey Mouse and Popeye into his own character, LingGee, in 1935 (Verstappen 2019, 19). These occasions of transnational comics swiping occurred simultaneously in the Philippines, perhaps more brazenly. The first comic strip, Kenkoy, had features similar to Dagwood in Blondie, and there were Lukas Malakas (Popeye), Pamboy at si Osang (Mutt and Jeff ), Kulafu (“Tarzan”), and Goyo at Kikay (Bringing up Father) (Lent 2009, 35). In Japan at the time, Easy-Going Daddy was a direct imitation of Bringing up Father (Lent 1995). Katun farang (American and European comics), such as those of Punch, and Mickey Mouse, Tiny Tim,1 and Popeye, entered Thailand via imported foreign newspapers (Wechanukhrob 2005, 43) and comic books that American soldiers discarded. During the Korean War (1950–1953) when Thai soldiers joined US troops, they came in contact with American comic books. Verstappen (2019, 23, citing Wechanukhrob 2005, 43) said: “Thai soldiers were fighting at the side of the U. S. troops who were sending, from the rear, comics to their comrades on the frontline. When the American readers were done, they threw the comics away and Thai soldiers read them as well or took them back to Thailand.”2 Karuchit (2014, 81) reported that some returning Thai soldiers had the American (mostly superhero) comics translated and sold them. Later, in 1957, again according to Karuchit (81), a compilation of translated Western comics was published as Weeratham (Courageous Righteousness), followed by a rash of Thai-originated superhero comics. In the 1950s, katun farang were spurred on by the success achieved by American movies, the introduction of television to Thailand in 1955, and the development of Central Department Stores in Thailand. To tie in with foreign movies, Thai publishers sold comics versions of the films outside of the cinemas that were showing them. The thinking was that patrons who could not read the film’s subtitles or understand English could read the stories at their leisure at home (Wechanukhrob 2005, 43). Verstappen (2019, 24) described the process: “At first, publishers hired Thai artists to copy the content of the movie-related Katun Farang but later—in order to publish more stories and to save time—they directly edited foreign

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comics books from which they would select, cut and rearrange panels. Publishers would then add the translation and send the revised comic book to print.” Among those bringing out these katun farang were Banlue Sarn (Fig. 13.3) and its cartoonist editor Ching Cho (Satian Harnkuntula), who edited “good quality” European comics appropriate for all ages; editor/translator Aphirom, who printed primarily cowboy stories, and author/editor Chantri Siriboon, who published translations of Dick Turpin that were taken from Britain’s The Sun (Wechanukhrob 2005, 44). Priests at St. Gabriel’s College in Bangkok launched a children’s educational magazine, Wiratham (Chivalry), in 1956 that offered translated versions of many French-Belgian, American, British, and Italian comics (Verstappen 2017, 45).

Fig. 13.3 Vithit Utsahajit, former director, Banlue Sarn. Bangkok. August 3, 1993 (Source Photo by John A. Lent. Courtesy of Vithit Utsahajit)

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The very early introduction of television to Thailand had negative and positive impacts on comic books’ circulation. As the number of television sets increased by the 1960s, Karuchit (2014, 81) notes that comic books sales decreased. This drop was reversed rather quickly as Japanese animation flooded the screens, with a resultant heightened demand for manga. The Central Department Stores, founded as a small retail store in the 1920s by Chinese immigrant Tiang Jirathiwat, played an important role in advancing the import of Western periodicals, books, and comics. Together with his eldest son and another publisher, Tiang later contracted with Dell Comics to translate their US titles into Thai (Wechanukhrob 2005, 47; Verstappen 2017, 44; Verstappen 2019, 25). Throughout the late 1950s and into the next decade or two, a number of Thai artists “borrowed” from or were inspired by American cartoonists and their characters. Tookkata (Pimon Kalasee) admitted to being influenced by Little Lulu by Marjorie Henderson Buell; Rong Ratchabhumi (Narong Chanphen) likely followed Carl Anderson’s Henry in designing his series Kron-Klae and localized Mickey Mouse and Superman with unusual twists (e.g., Mickey is an evil leader; a fullbusted Minnie performs a sensual belly dance), and Langchak (Chum Phon Kaewsan) created the country’s first superhero comics in 1955; Chom Aphinihan Rue Superman Thai (Supernatural Leader or the Thai Superman)’s costume initially merged Captain Marvel’s costume with Superman’s shield emblem. Actually, the title originally was “Superman”; later, the “S” was changed to the Thai letter “Aw Ang” when Langchak was warned of possible copyright infringement (Chulasak 2001, 246; on Langchak, see also Gulwarottama 2004; Wechanukhrob 1990, 54–55). Transnational borrowings were also readily evident in the comics of other Thai cartoonists. Por Banglpee (Weerakul Thongnoi) achieved fame in 1957 with Asawin Saifa (The Thunder Knight), the story of a physically challenged boy who gains superpowers from a hermit very much as the wizard Shazam empowers Junior in Captain Marvel. Verstappen (2019, 35) did not quibble in describing Asawin Saifa’s dress as “an amalgamation of Thai traditional costume motifs and Captain Marvel’s costume.” A strange phenomenon emanating in the West that had an impact on the Thai comics’ world between 1958 and 1960 was the makeover of Thai characters to look like Elvis Presley. Coined the “Elvis Presley Era,” these years yielded popular series such as Juk Biewsakul’s Jao Chai Pom

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Thong (The Blond Prince) and Raj Lersuang’s Singh Dam (Black Lion) (Kongsamut 2004). The borrowing and localization (hybridization) endemic to this period usually involved using Western comics characters (or a form thereof) and formats combined with Thai traditional literature. Verstappen (2019, 46– 47) makes the point that most of the Thai comics’ origin stories were “faithful” to indigenous languages, literatures, genres, and narrative structures (Fig. 13.4). He felt that Thai cartoonists “weren’t barely copying” Western comics, but, referring to Herzfeld (2010, 181), “were, rather, engaging in a subtle deployment of cultural markers in which they invest messages of preponderantly local relevance.” In the latter half of the 1960s, Japanese manga began to rival American and European titles for part of the comics market, first with Osamu Tezuka and Sanpei Shirato comics. Initially, Thai publishers respected agreements with their Japanese counterparts, but by the 1980s, piracy was rampant with illegal manga swamping the market. Although educators and critics criticized these works for their “dirty jokes,” violence, eroticism, and low-quality artwork (Pravulpruk 1990, 18), pirated manga were popular among young readers because of their sophisticated plots, impressive artwork, realistic stories, and affordability, and because Thai-style comics over-repeated certain themes, did not attract and retain talented artists because of low pay, and had a low public standing (Lent 2015, 231). The situation began to change in the early 1990s as Thai publishers started to purchase manga licenses from Japan; soon, the manga market dwindled to three companies: Vibulkij Publishing Group, Nation Egmont Edutainment (later, Nation Edutainment), and Siam Inter Comics. They were joined by Bongkoch Publishing (end of 1990s), Burapat Comics Publications (2000), and Tomorrow Comix (2000). These companies launched magazines that legally published manga series (usually from Weekly Sh¯ onen Jump [Sh¯ ukan Sh¯ onen Jump] and manga adaptations of video games). Burapat popularized Hong Kong comics in Thailand, and later, Korean and Japanese fare. Of benefit to Thai cartoonists was a condition that, “Thai magazines serializing Japanese works had to publish Thai works as well” (Tojirakarn 2014, quoted in Verstappen 2017, 70). First to shine alongside manga artists was Nop Vittontong with his series Meed Tee Sib Sam (The 13th Dagger). Vittontong developed his style, as his predecessors had, by borrowing and merging comics traits. In his case, he hybridized aspects of American comics such as those of Marvel

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Fig. 13.4 Tezuka’s Astro Boy and Shirato’s Kaze no lshimaru in the Thaitranslated manga magazine, Katun Dek (Child Cartoon). April 1967 (Source Courtesy of Nicolas Verstappen)

Comics and cartoonist Todd McFarlane and manga such as Dragon Ball and Doraemon. Though the magazines that Vibulkij (Thai Comic), Siam Inter Comics (C-KiDs ), Nation (Boom), and Bongkoch (Bom Bom) launched were credited with the emergence of a new group of manga-influenced Thai cartoonists, there were concerns about the adverse effects on Thai comics creators, forced to imitate to compete successfully in a limited market.

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As with comics that preceded them, these comics’ Thainess was represented by the stories selected and the lifestyles and beliefs shown. The concern about the large infusion and strong impact of manga on the local industry’s proper development was matched by some educators, psychiatrists, and parents’ fears that manga imparted adverse social behavior upon children (Srisantisuk 1993). Transnationalism associated with comics surfaced again with the development of knowledge comics (see Karuchit 2010, 34–49). Educational comics in Asia are usually associated with Japan and South Korea where individual titles sell millions of copies and often find overseas markets. In fact, Japanese and Korean knowledge comics were republished in Thailand as early as 1985 when Science, Engineering, and Education (SE-ED) purchased the copyright to publish nine Japanese science comics as Wittayasart Arn Sanook (Fun-to-Read Science), then, in 1993, when Amarin bought the rights to Japanese comics on human anatomy, geology, and the history of the earth. In the same year, Nanmee Books came out with a Doraemon series of knowledge comics (see Karuchit 2010, 34–49). However, the first knowledge comics in Thailand was an indigenous product—Chaiyapruek Cartoon, a monthly magazine that Rong Prapasanol published in 1970. He had studied for two years in England where he saw similar magazines, such as Jack and Jill and Cricket. At its peak, Chaiyapruek Cartoon attained a then unheard of circulation of 100,000. One of its main cartoonists, Triam Chachumporn (Triam), produced the first knowledge comic book (as opposed to magazine), Kampang Dek E-San (Kampang, the Northeastern Boy), in 1981. In settings, name, and drawing styles, the book was very similar to Mohd. Nor bin Khalid (Lat)’s celebrated Kampung Boy, first published in Malaysia in 1979. In subsequent years, Skybook, E. Q. Plus, Cartoonthai, and others produced Thai-originated educational comics.

Thai Comics’ Foreign Presence A phenomenon common to parts of Asia in the second half of the 1990s and into the twenty-first century was the seeking of foreign outlets for comics and animation. Japan was ahead of its neighbors in this regard, but with large government subsidies and other support, South Korea and China made herculean attempts to make their comic art internationally known and saleable. Other territories, Hong Kong and Taiwan,

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and countries set up retrospective exhibitions at the Frankfurt Book Fair, Anglôulome, and elsewhere to promote their comics. Thailand has been lax in this area. In 2004, the Thai government announced that over the course of five years, it planned to expand multimedia and animation into a US$2 billion industry, with hopes of becoming an international competitor. It is not known whether comic books were included among multimedia, and it does not seem that the overall project materialized. An early effort to place Thai comics on the international stage materialized in an offhanded way. In 1997, Thailand’s first independent music label, Bakery Music, launched the career of Thai-American pop singer, Kristen Marie Newell, and featured the 19-year-old in a comic, Kristin, published in Thai Comic. In November that year, Vibulkij converted the strip into a comic book, also named Kristin, to help usher in the singer’s first album (Kurathong 2010, 153; Verstappen 2017, 74). Kristin as a comic book to market Thai singers was the brainchild of Boyd Kosiyabong, a famous singer, songwriter, and co-founder of Bakery Music. Shortly after this release, he started the B. Boyd’s Characters imprint to produce comics and animation for export. In a very informal manner, Kosiyabong offered drawing positions to Too Natthapong and Chart (Suttichart Sarapaiwanich), and then, in 1998, started a Thai-originated comics magazine, Katch, to accommodate their works (Fig. 13.5). A Japanese-style monthly, Katch promoted Bakery Music’s singers and made room for Thailand’s first group of alternative cartoonists. The first issue carried the beginning chapter of Chart’s manga-influenced Joe the Sea-Cret Agent, set in fictionalized New York Atlantic City, and, according to Verstappen (2017, 86): “Synthesized Japanese, American and European influences into his own quintessential creation Joe the SeaCret Agent [and revealing] by doing so the eclecticism of Thai modern urban culture while paving the way for the development of ‘diversity and eclecticism’ as hallmarks of Thai comics.” He labeled Joe the Sea-Cret Agent the country’s first modern independent comics (Fig. 13.6). Wisut Ponnimit’s hesheit series also debuted in Katch,3 starting him on an outstanding career in both Thailand and Japan. The publication of everybodyeverthing while Ponnimit resided in Japan between 2003 and 2005, made him the first Thai mangaka. In that story, the “cute and feelgood” little girl character Mamuang (mango) appeared and was spun off in her own self-named comics series a year later in the Japanese magazine, The Big Issue (Ponnimit 2015, 234; see Randall 2006, 185–190).

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Fig. 13.5 Cover of initial issue of comics magazine, Katch. November 1998

Verstappen (2017, 101) said Ponnimit, “created a bridge between Japan and Thailand by successfully merging his cross-cultural experiences and influences in comics or other artworks showcased.” Other Thai comics creators who followed Ponnimit’s lead published their works abroad. Patcharakan Pisansupong (Plariex) led the way in the Japanese-style comic essay genre (autobiographical, real-life anecdotal). She had three of her books translated in Taiwan because, by her account, the comic essay genre is very popular there. Shari Chankhamma, a colorist

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Fig. 13.6 Panels from Suttichart Sarapaiwanich’s Joe the Sea-Cret Agent. In Katch. Issue 5. March 1999

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for the US companies Image and IDW Publishing, also published her English-language graphic novels, The Clarence Principle (2007) and The Sisters’ Luck (2010), with Slave Labor Graphics in the United States.

Thailand as Refuge for Transnational Discourse For a number of years, Thailand had contributed to the transnational public sphere about crisis-ridden neighbor Myanmar through cartoons published in Irrawaddy, a Myanmar magazine-in-exile. Founded in 1988 after many dissidents fled to Thailand in the aftermath of massive killings by the Myanmar regime, Irrawaddy became, in Lisa Brooten’s estimation (2008, 254), “the most credible and professional of the Burmese mediain-exile.” As the magazine expanded its scope to include Southeast Asian news and international perspectives, it turned the Burmese public spherein-exile transnational. Transnationalism is implanted in Irrawaddy’s cartoons, which discuss Myanmar’s international relationships, and are provided rather frequently by two cartoonists living outside their home countries in Thailand: Harnlay, a Burmese-in-exile and Stephff (Stephane Peray), originally from France; both are longtime Thailand residents who drew predominantly about Myanmar. Stephff also drew regularly for Thai newspapers (The Nation for years, the Bangkok Post, and Prachachart for brief periods) and maintained a daily international self-syndication service. Stephff’s cartoons found much disfavor from the Thai government of General Prayuth Chan-ocha. Cartoons have been used for transnational discourse, particularly in times of political unsteadiness and crises. This includes, as Ben Ng WaiMing discusses in Chapter 3, Chinese cartoonists-in-exile in Japan and Australia who serve transnational discourse functions.

Conclusions Cartooning began in Thailand in a self-protective mode, spearheaded by the Siwilai policies that attempted to be in control of which cultural products would be allowed into the country. It was an adaptation type of thinking, i.e., adapt, not adopt. Thai cartoonists over the years added new dimensions to the sphere of comics, such as alignment with poetry and theatre (likay), the verse editorial, and summary cartoons.

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Throughout much of the twentieth and early twenty-first centuries, first, American and European, and then Japanese and Korean, comics genres, styles, and characters were incorporated into Thai titles, sometimes wholesale, other times as hybridizations, and for a considerable time, illegally. One component that was usually consistently Thai was the story. Much more recently, the Thai comics industry and its artists picked up enough confidence to seek a foreign market for their products through promotions at international fairs and tie-ins with other countries’ comics industries. As a result, some Thai comic books have not found comparable overseas markets as have Japanese manga, Korean manhwa, Philippines komiks, or Hong Kong and Taiwanese comics. What accounts for this shortcoming? A number of answers come to mind. First and foremost are Thai language and culture. Unlike Mandarin that is common in China, Taiwan, Hong Kong, Singapore, and large pockets of Malaysia and Indonesia, the Thai language is unique to Thailand. Similarly, Thai culture does not have the historical linkages with neighboring countries, such as China with East and Southeast Asia nations and territories, India with Sri Lanka, Pakistan, and Bangladesh, and Malaysia with Indonesia. The lack of overseas markets for Thai comics and animation is likely tied to the comparatively small Thai diaspora that exists. Unlike the rest of Asia, Thailand escaped colonization and did not have a “mother” country to which its citizens migrated. Still another reason for the limited foreign markets is the lack of initiative, sustained interest, and financial support on the part of the Thai government to promote overseas sales. Finally, perhaps the blending of Thai comics characteristics with those of Japanese manga and comics of the West leads to a formula not appealing to foreign audiences.

Notes 1. Verstappen (2017, 27) assumes that US strip Tiny Tim (1933–1958) inspired Sawas Jutharop’s use of robots in his Kawi strip in Siam Rashdra Daily (November 7, 1936). 2. American troops’ disposal of their comic books when discharged from service at the end of the Second World War accounted for the development of local comics elsewhere in Asia, particularly the Philippines (Lent 2015, 189, 275). 3. Katch and its sister magazine, Manga Katch, folded when their parent company, Bakery Music, was sold to BMG Music in about 2000.

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References Bock, Carl. 1986. Temples and elephants: Travels in Siam in 1881–1882. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Brooten, Lisa. 2008. Burmese political cartoons and the transnational public sphere in times of crisis. International Journal of Comic Art 10 (2): 254–281. Chai (Chai Rachawat). 1993. Interview with John A. Lent, Bangkok, Thailand. August 1. Chulasak, Amornvej. 1999. Wan Wela Nangsue cartoon (Time of cartoon books). Krungthep Turakiji. 6. May 30. Chulasak, Amornvej. 2001. Thamnan katun [Legend of cartoon]: Legend of cartoons and comics. Bangkok: Saengdao. Chutikamoltham, Chanokporn. 2014. Pleasure of abjection: Cheap Thai comics as cultural catharsis. Explorations 12 (Fall): 46–58. Gulwarottama, Sitthiporn. 2004. Khit Theung…Juk Biewsakul [Missing…Juk Biewsakul]. Katun Thai Mag 1: 7–9. Herzfeld, Michael. 2010. The conceptual allure of the West: Dilemmas and ambiguities of crypto-colonialism in Thailand. In The ambiguous allure of the West: Traces of the colonial in Thailand, ed. V.H. Rachel and A.J. Peter, 173–186. Hong Kong: Hong Kong University Press. Karuchit, Warat. 2010. The renaissance of Thai knowledge cartoons. International Journal of Comic Art 12 (1): 34–49. Karuchit, Warat. 2014. The uphill climb to reach a plateau: A historical analysis of the development of Thai cartooning. In Southeast Asian cartoon art: History, trends, and problems, ed. John A. Lent, 75–104. Jefferson: McFarland and Company. Kongsamut, S. 2004. Juk Biewsakul: NakKhian katun Thai Haeng Satawat Thi 20 [Juk Biewsakul: Thai cartoonist of 20th century]. In Chao Chai Haeng Niyai Phap Thai [Juk Biewsakul: The prince of Thai graphic novels], 13–24. Bangkok: Samakhom Katun Thai [The Thai Cartoon Association]. Kurathong, Nirawan. 2010. Prawat yor cartoon Thai [A brief history of Thai comics and graphic novels]. Bangkok: LET’S Comic. Lent, John A. 1995. Easy-going Daddy, Kaptain Barbell, and Unmad: American influences upon Asian comics. Inks November: 58–67, 71–72. Lent, John A. 1997. The uphill climb of Thai cartooning. Southeast Asian Journal of Social Science 25 (1): 93–109. Lent, John A. 2009. The first one hundred years of Philippine komiks and cartoons. Tagaytay City: Yonzon Associates. Lent, John A. 2015. Asian comics. Jackson: University Press of Mississippi. Lent, John A. Forthcoming. Asian political cartoons. Jackson: University Press of Mississippi. Michaelson, Helen. 1993. August. Under threat from the West? Thai art and culture. Media Information Australia 69 (August): 59–61.

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Muen (Chuchart Mueningul). 1993. Interview with John A. Lent, Bangkok, Thailand. August 1. Nawigamune, Anake. 2002. Nat wat nai duangchai (My cherished artists). Bangkok: Nation Books. Nawigamune, Anake. 2010. Nangsue lae samut khlatsik [Classic books and notebooks]. Bangkok: Saengdao. Ponnimit, Wisut. 2015. MELO house. Bangkok: Bangkok City Gallery. Pravulpruk, S.W. 1990. Japanese comics and animations for children in Thailand. In Japan in Thailand, ed. K. Yoshihara, 17–33. Kyoto: Kyoto University Center for Southeast Asian Studies. Randall, Bill. 2006. Somebody somewhere: The comics and films of Wisut Ponnimit. Comics Journal 279: 185–190. Srisantisuk, Oratai. 1993. Interview with John A. Lent, Bangkok, Thailand. August 4. Tojirakarn, Mashima. 2014. Tai Komikkusu no rekishi: Tay¯ o na manga bunka no aida de keisei sareta hy¯ ogen [A history of Thai comics: Formation of style in between comics cultures]. Global Manga Studies 4: 85–118. Verstappen, Nicolas. 2017. Thai comics in the twenty-first century: Identity and diversity of a new generation of Thai cartoonists. Bangkok: Chulalongkorn University. https://www.commarts.chula.ac.th/upload//2019/05/ThaiCo micinthe21stCentury.pdf. Verstappen, Nicolas. 2019. The early days of Siamese and Thai comic art: Local and transnational development of the art form from 1906–1958. Bangkok: https://www.commarts.chula.ac.th/upload/ Chulalongkorn University. 2019/09/The%20Early%20Days%20of%20Siamese%20and%20Thai%20C omics%20Art_Nicolas%20Verstappen.pdf. Wechanukhrob, W. 1990. SenSai plai phu kan kkong nak wat katun Thai (The line strokes of Thai cartoonists). Bangkok: Chatdao. Wechanukhrob, W. 2005. Prawat katun Thai [The history of Thai comics]. Bangkok: Suksapan, Ong Gaan Kakong Kurutpa. Winichakul, Thongchai. 2000. The quest for ‘Siwilai’: A geographical discourse of civilizational thinking in the late nineteenth and early twentieth century Siam. The Journal of Asian Studies 59 (3): 528–549.

CHAPTER 14

Nationally, Much Less, Transnationally: A Struggle to Grow: Comic Art in Vietnam Chi Do Huu

Introduction If comics as an art form were a full-grown tree in the garden of the cultural world, its seed and sprouts in Vietnam would have endured many mutations and blights while struggling to grow. French colonists brought comics art to Vietnam as early as the 1890s, but Vietnamese artists began creating works only in the 1920s (Lent 2015). Since then, the Vietnamese have gone to war with the French (1945–1954), the Americans (1955–1975), the Chinese (1979), the Cambodians (1978–1989), and the country has been subject to a totalitarian communist regime since 1975. Given this historic rollercoaster ride, combined with its own unique cultural characteristics, Vietnam was left with exhausted soil for arts and creativity, including comics art.

C. Do Huu (B) Ho Chi Minh City, Vietnam e-mail: [email protected]

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The current conditions in Vietnam are remarkably fertile for comics art, if one only looks at the surface of the market. Along with continuous economic growth over the last three decades and with a population of nearly one hundred million, Vietnam’s cultural and creative industries are booming. With approximately 18 million copies produced annually, comics remain one of the most popular mediums in the entertainment industry, especially for children (NHK 2016). On the internet, especially on Facebook, 63 million active users are constantly hungry for new content (Statista 2019). Rapid changes in every aspect of quotidian life have resulted in infinite conflicts and stories, which are abundant sources of material and inspiration for comic artists. A closer look, however, reveals a very different story. Less than one percent of comics being published every year are of Vietnamese origin (Ho 2012). Only a small number of these local comics are of good art quality. The good ones are mostly “indie” projects, which means they are often the result of individual creative endeavors. Their publication relies heavily on the artists’ intentions and determination, rather than on publishers’ support or reader demands. The situation is even more gloomy for cartooning: of nearly one thousand newspapers and magazines in Vietnam, there is only one bimonthly satire magazine, which, due to heavy censorship, publishes only mediocre and compromising cartoons. There are almost unresolvable copyright issues on the market, plus many deep-rooted cultural behaviors (e.g., considering comics as a medium only for children, or low standards in producing and/or consuming local comics), which makes Vietnam an unfavorable place for comics and comic artists to reach their full potential. While domestic comic artists are struggling toward an uncertain future, Vietnamese origin artists living abroad seem to be heading the opposite direction. Either brought as a child or born as second generation of Vietnamese refugees, these artists all share a deep longing to find their roots, often through family memories. Well-established comic industries and publishing systems in the West have warmly welcomed these works from the diaspora. Due to many cultural and political reasons, however, these comics are not likely to be translated into Vietnamese, and the comics created inside Vietnam are also unlikely to reach readers in the diaspora. One can say that Vietnamese comic stories in and outside of Vietnam are very different. They belong to different times and spaces though both are rooted in similar cultural and historical soil.

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Meanwhile, technology is developing rapidly and increasingly influencing comics and comic artists. Creators find it much easier and faster to publish online. While their artworks are often shared for free, there are various other ways to make money from these works. For example, the Vietnamese company Comicola has developed its own web-based platform for online comics reading, which also serves as a base for project crowdfunding. The company also recently released its own comics reading application for mobile phones (Nguyen, K. D. 2018). These movements will potentially and radically change the way that comics are created and consumed in the country. Nine years ago, John A. Lent—the founder and editor-in-chief of International Journal of Comic Art —invited me to write an article on the history of comics art in Vietnam. I was a novice comics artist in 2000s, and was even more amateur in writing for an academic audience. I jumped into the task nevertheless, full of excitement and optimism. The result was a short article, not unlike a small collection of chronological bits of information about comics art in Vietnam. This writing reuses some of that historical information, and introduces more, for a different purpose. Over the years, I have learned to look closer at the comics scene in Vietnam from the cultural perspective. As an artist and comics lover, I have been a witness to the continual struggle, firstly inside myself, then in my fellow artists, the publishers, the readers, and in other aspects of a complex system that ultimately affects the fate of a Vietnamese comic book or cartoon. How was the work created? How would it be perceived? Would it be censored? Would it be published? Would the public accept or reject the work? Would it contribute to progressing Vietnamese comic art or would it quickly be forgotten? Overall, what is the culmination of these struggles and achievements? This chapter is my attempt to find answers to these questions.

Mainstream Comics in Vietnam: A Domain that Lacks Conditions to Grow To understand the story of comics art in Vietnam, it is essential to fathom how Vietnamese history and culture have affected artists’ own creativity. In his book, Creativity: Flow and the Psychology of Discovery and Invention, Mihaly Csikszentmihalyi (1996) asserts that “creativity can be observed only in the interrelations of a system made up of three main parts,” which he called “The Systems Model.” According to this model,

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in order for creativity to happen in any cultural domain, there must be three components working inseparably. The first of these is the domain, which “consists of a set of symbolic rules and procedures” (500). By this definition, comics are a domain, with its own symbolic language that a particular society, or humanity as a whole, shares. The second component is the field, which “includes all the individuals who act as gatekeepers to the domain. It is their job to decide whether a new idea or product should be included in the domain” (506). In the case of comics, the field consists of editors, publishers, collectors, critics, scholars, cultural experts, and administrators of foundations and government agencies that are concerned with culture. The third and final component of the creative system is the individual person, which in this case is the comics artist. Looking from Csikszentmihalyi’s perspective, comics around the world have been able to mature because they have all three healthy components in their respective territories: a well-defined domain, a mature field, and creative artists. Even though these pioneers work in different corners of the world, within boundaries of diverse cultures, and under various ecopolitical conditions, they all share the same characters: a personal talent, a genuine love for visual storytelling, and a strong work ethic, which continually pushes them—and the whole domain—into new territories. Such conditions barely exist in Vietnam. Since the 1920s and the beginning of Vietnamese comics, these three components have maintained an underdeveloped condition and do not work well with one another, let alone inseparably. When we examine the history of comics in Vietnam from its appearance just over a century ago, the country was still under French colonization, and its society was undergoing radical changes. Prominent intellectuals who were exposed to a Western education were eager to liberate and ´ (Hô` modernize their home country. Nationalist leader Nguy˜ên Ái Quôc Chí Minh) is said to be the very first Vietnamese political cartoonist, with Le Paria in France publishing his works satirizing French colonialism from 1922 to 1926 (Ly 2011, 9) (Fig. 14.1). From the early 1930s, ´ Linh (Nguy˜ên Tu,o`,ng Tam) and artist Nguy˜ên Gia writer-journalist Nhât Trí created cartoon characters such as Lý Toét and Xã Xê., who appeared in weekly newspapers to criticize the outdated values of local culture and to expose wicked aspects of the colonial government. Style-wise, early European comic pioneers influenced these local creators, given the clean line drawings and subtitles beneath. This was the period of defining the

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domain, with newspapers like Phong Hóa (Culture and Customs), Ngày Nay (Today), and Loa (Megaphone) introducing comics art to a rather unacquainted audience (Ly 2011, 13–40). War cut short this period of development. In 1945, the Communist Party led the country in a battle against the French. With significant Chinese support, Vietnam won in 1954 with a victory at Dien Bien Phu. Influenced by the Chinese Communist Party, the Vietnamese government carried out their own “cultural revolution” where all “bourgeois” tendencies in arts and literature were mercilessly denounced. Many intellectuals and artists suffered mistreatment or were even executed during these revolutions. Cartoons were taken up as propaganda weapons against the enemies—i.e., the French, the Americans, and the Chinese (Ly 2011, 41–61). As a result, the very existence of the comic domain—at least in northern Vietnam—was dramatically changed. Artists were not allowed to express their own voices, the “field” was in the government’s hands, and the domain almost completely vanished.

Fig. 14.1 Cartoons by Nguyen Gia Tri for the newspaper Ngay Nay, 1936

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During the Vietnam War (1954–1975), the country was divided into two parts and became the battlefield of two ideologies—capitalism versus socialism—in Southeast Asia. When compared to artists living in North Vietnam, arts and literature in South Vietnam were minimally suppressed under a democracy-oriented system—good conditions for comics art to develop and to reclaim the genre from its former role as a propaganda tool. Deep-seated traditional culture, however, thwarted any meaningful growth. At the beginning of the twentieth century, the renowned historian Dao Duy Anh observed: In terms of mental traits, Vietnamese people are generally smart, but since ancient times geniuses are always rare. They have good memories, and are more inclined to arts than to science, more intuitive than logical. Most people enjoy learning, but they love pompous literature rather than actual learning, they like formalism much more than thinking and doing. Their imagination is often compromised by their practical mind, hence there are few Vietnamese dreamers. Few races could compete with how hard working they are, especially Northern people. Their senses might be slow, but they are very good at enduring hardship and being patient. Their temperament is that of frivolity, weak will, cynical, brag and vainglory. They are often timid and prefer peace but can also stand up for a grand cause. Their creativity is limited, but they are very good at imitation and adaptation. (Dao 2014, 20)

Although Dao has also noted that we “should not see these traits as unchanging,” it is amazing to see how these concise observations reflected in the way that the Vietnamese create their comics. It is important to note that during this Vietnam War period, Saigon— the capital of the southern regime—was widely regarded as the “Gem of The Far East.” Not only in Vietnam, but even in Southeast Asian, the city was a center of economy, culture, and arts. The market for comics was huge. Resources and references from the West were in abundance. The comics domain was in a rather healthy state, yet the field and the local artists were not. During the Vietnam War period, considered as an entertainment and educational mass medium, comics appeared in almost every children’s magazine and newspaper. Artists such as ViVi (Võ Hùng Kiê.t) focused on illustrations, while Nguy˜ên Tài created thriller comics, which were heavily influenced by American comics. Comic books for adults such as

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Con quy mô.t giò (The one-leg demon) sold quite well, allegedly hundreds of thousands of copies for each volume. As popular as they were, comics nevertheless were seen as a lowbrow mass medium, and the field (e.g., editors, publishers, cultural experts, etc.) was not actively selective in choosing which comics merited publishing. Obvious evidence was the phenomenon of copycat comic books, which appeared in the early 1970s. Local entrepreneurs traced over the transparent paper, translated into Vietnamese, and published it as black-and-white comic books under the name of the copier many famous Western comic series such as Lucky Luke, The Adventure of Tintin, The Smurfs, Spirou and Fantasio, Batman, Superman, and others. Nobody seemed to care about copyright issues and the market warmly welcomed the comics (Nguyen 2010). After the Communist Party took control of Saigon in 1975 and established strict censorship of arts and literature, the comics domain was once again considered dead in Vietnam. In 1986, after a decade of economic struggle, the communist government decided to open the economy and unofficially allowed capitalism to be practiced in the country. Comic artists tried to redo what they had done before 1975, but their efforts were for naught. Horror comics were forbidden and copied Western comics were not as popular, all due to ten years of “re-education” and repression in arts (Nguyen 2010). In these circumstances, the first manga series that was imported to Vietnam appeared in the same way as its Western comics predecessor—without a copyrights license and without credits. Doraemon was brought into Vietnam in 1992 in that manner. This manga series about a futuristic robot cat, consisting of hundreds of short stories with engaging plots and an easy-to-read style, quickly became a phenomenon. Until the present day, it remains the all-time best-selling comics series in Vietnam; it has been continuously reprinted, with a print run of tens of thousands for each volume (Ho 2013). Prominent Japanese manga titles such as Detective Conan and Dragon Ball were also introduced in the same period, and together with a large number of other manga series, they began to dominate the market. Until Vietnam signed the Berne Convention1 in 2004, which forced publishers to recognize the copyright of published works, these manga series were sold by the millions without paying any royalties to the copyright owners (Nguyen, K. D. 2018).

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Vietnamese publishers nowadays often complain about how many websites violate their rights by freely scanning and posting their copyrighted manga, without realizing that they were the ones to sow the seed. Readers always want free comics, while government agencies that deal with culture and copyright laws seem to do nothing about the situation. Regarding the Vietnamese comics field, one can safely say that there is no local critic who writes about comics and no official school that teaches how to draw comics, hence, there are limited ways to access and transfer skills and knowledge. As comics are nevertheless accepted as part of popular culture, there are occasional articles or documentaries that mention them, but other than describing the current problems, none of them seem to indicate any direction for the field. After three decades of development, people working in the field still don’t think that Vietnam has its own “comics industry” (Ho 2013). The fate of Vietnamese comics, therefore, rests on the shoulders of individual artists. This is also where the cultural patterns persist. The first modern Vietnamese comic series that was publicly popular was D˜ung s˜ı Hesman (Hesman the Hero). Created by Nguy˜ên Hùng Lân in 1992, Hesman began as an adaptation of the Japanese anime series, Voltron: Defender of the Universe. For the first four volumes of the series, Hùng Lân closely copied the latter’s characters and the plots, especially the giant robot Voltron, which he renamed Hesman (as the simplification of “He’s man”). From volume five onward, Hùng Lân created his own plots, which were mainly about a group of young heroes fighting to protect the earth from wicked space enemies. Young readers warmly welcomed the series; they were starving for local comics. In four years, Nguy˜ên produced 159 volumes of Hesman, with about eighty pages each. At its peak, a volume could reach a print run of hundreds of thousands (Nguyen 2010). Despite its market success, Hesman was not a creative achievement. It started as an imitation, and then continued to grow as an improvisation. Nguy˜ên Hùng Lân was extremely hardworking, since he created Hesman by himself and created at the pace of three volumes a month (Nguyen 2010). Apparently, no one could produce comics at that pace without compromising the quality. Even if one looked closely, it is hard to find any difference between Hesman and Voltron. The plots were generally flat and repetitive, and the art was very limited in terms of character design and expressions.

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The fact that Hesman was successful tells us three things about the Vietnamese comics scene. The first is the easygoingness of the field. Unless the content of a local comic enters taboo territories such as politics or sexuality, publishers always employ the “anything goes” attitude. As local comics are generally rare, once a series begins to catch the attention of the market, publishers try their best to put as many copies as possible on the market, instead of acting as quality gatekeepers. The second is mass readers’ immaturity; they are very easy to please and seem to readily embrace a local comic series in spite of its low quality. The third is the artist’s characteristics: he is hardworking but maintains a low standard of art and is ready to compromise. As a result, his works are sold as if they were fast food and are forgettable in the same way. ` ` Ðông This pattern is repeated with an even more popular series, Thân ´ Ðât Viê.t (The Prodigy of Vietnam). Created by Lê Linh in 2002, this series employs the comics medium to tell Vietnamese folk stories through the journeys of the main character—a prodigy called Tra.ng Tí—and his ` ` Ðông friends. Not as obvious an imitation as Hesman to Voltron, Thân ´ Viê.t itself does not have much originality either. Story-wise, it is Ðât basically a Vietnamese version of Doraemon, with its characters and plots mimicking that of the famous manga. In the Japanese series, each chapter presents a problem or a mystery, which Doraemon eventually solves with ` his innumerable futuristic tools and gadgets. The same happens in Thân ` ´ Ðông Ðât Viê.t, only that the mysteries occur in the past—mostly collected and adapted from Vietnamese folklore—and the problem solver is always Tra.ng Tí. Style-wise, it presents Western-influenced simple lines mixed with frivolous digital effects, and although the artist tries to create a traditional Vietnamese cultural setting by using elements like backgrounds and clothing, the result evokes a very artificial feeling (Fig. 14.2). ` Ðât ` Ðông ´ Viê.t as a superficial A mature comics reader would see Thân and low-quality work, for its often flat and shallow plots, its unvaried emotional expressions, and mediocre visual storytelling techniques. Its content is indeed dubious: it provokes the frivolity and vainglory of Vietnamese mass readers, people who are always uncertain about their own identity and always looking out for something to be proud of. The ways that Tra.ng Tí always ingeniously solves a problem, or trolls the authorities with his street smartness, traces back to Tra.ng Qu`ynh—a fictional genius character that the Vietnamese grassroots created as a way to mentally revolt against their government’s oppression. Such works are products

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Fig. 14.2 A double page from Than Dong Dat Viet, Volume 80, 2006

of victim mentality, as they secretly bring pleasure to the weak as they continue to endure their misery. They needed it then, as they need it now, for they are always in the position of being oppressed. Parents who ` Ðât ` Ðông ´ Viê.t in massive numbers for their children happily bought Thân ` do not seem to be aware of this deep-seated aspiration. As of 2019, Thân ` ´ Ðông Ðât Viê.t was already a huge collection of 224 volumes, with a print run of tens of thousands of copies for each volume and frequent reprints. ` Ðât ` Ðông ´ Viê.t Khoa It also has a number of spin-off series, such as Thân ` ` ´ Ho.c (the science series), Thân Ðông Ðât Viê.t Toán Ho.c (the math series), ` Ðât ` Ðông ´ Viê.t M˜y Thuâ.t (the art series) (Phan Thi 2019). The and Thân publisher behind the series, Phan Thi. company, has never missed a chance to exploit additional opportunities for profit from its continued success. They squeezed out as many books as possible regardless of their quality or

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of copyright. It took a twelve-year lawsuit before the courts proclaimed that as author, Lê Linh, was the sole owner of the comic series’ copyright (Zing 2019). The authors’ mediocrity, the companies’ all-for-profit mindset, the lack of critical opinions from professionals and experts, together with the inconsiderate attitude of the masses who consume the comics, all lead to the degeneration of mainstream Vietnamese comics. The only comic works that are of good quality are the “indie” ones, which are results of an individual or a small group’s creative endeavor rather than those big publishers back and/or the market demands. Instead of calling for help from the field, artists instead turn to the ultimate resource—the internet.

Vietnamese Indie Comics: New Experiments Meet New Platforms As technology evolves exponentially and the internet becomes increasingly ubiquitous, it is easier for artists to create what they want. Crucial resources that used to be inaccessible without corporate backing (e.g., finance, production, communication, retail system) are now all available with the help of apps and platforms. This is the technical foundation of the “indie” movement. If one needs financial support, there are crowdfunding platforms. If one needs marketing, there are a wide array of social networks. If one wants to make a website, create a video, or self-publish their own book, there are plentiful tools available to meet each need. Indeed, money and time are still required, but the price is significantly lower when compared to conventional ways, especially when being independent is a top priority. This is exactly what comics artists in Vietnam have been doing since 1980s. Take the case of Phong Du,o,ng Comics. Growing up in the 1990s when manga began to take the Vietnamese market by storm, high school classmates Nguy˜ên Thành Phong and Nguy˜ên Khánh Du,o,ng bonded together over a shared love for comic art. After Vietnam joined the Berne Convention in 2004, the stream of manga flowing into Vietnam was temporarily halted due to new copyright law, triggering a sudden need for local comics. Several comics magazines were planned and called for artists to join. Excited at the opportunity, Phong and Du,o,ng teamed up and ` Tu,o´,ng (Holy Dragon Imperator) (Nguyen, began to work on Long Thân K. D. 2018).

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` Tu,o´,ng brought fresh air into From the very beginning, Long Thân the Vietnamese comics atmosphere. Instead of being heavily influenced by manga style like most of other local works produced in the same period, the series has its own unique style, with dynamic compositions and distinct character designs (Fig. 14.3). Artist Nguy˜ên Thành Phong, who has been drawing non-stop since the age of three, was able to create a believable historical setting and a captivating visual storytelling flow. Thanks to imaginative writer Nguy˜ên Khánh Du,o,ng, the series dared to explore unknown territory—alternative history, where mainstream historical stories are seen and rewritten from new perspectives. Together, the ` Tu,o´,ng, which the most talented duo created fifteen chapters of Long Thân popular comics magazine, Truyê.n Tranh Tre, first published in 2004. The magazine halted publication after only one year. Realizing that importing copyrighted foreign comics—mainly manga—was much more profitable than investing in local artists, its publishers decided to follow the money. Without a platform such as magazines, artists could not show ij

Fig. 14.3 A double page from Long Than Tuong old version, Chapter 2, 2004

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their work or earn an income from their works. Phong and Du,o,ng reluc` Tu,o´,ng, knowing that even if the tantly stopped working on Long Thân circumstances were not right, their dream would not end there (Nguyen, K. D. 2018). A decade later, their opportunity eventually came. In 2013, Du,o,ng— who was working as a web developer—noticed the crowdfunding move` Tu,o´,ng. ment and asked Phong if he wanted to re-create Long Thân They teamed up again but as mature artists. They upgraded the story and turned it into a sophisticated and fascinating narrative with two parallel timelines that are conjoined by mysterious incidents. They invited another young artist, Nguy˜ên M˜y Anh, to draw the modern timeline, while Phong focused on the historical timeline. To make their story even more sincere and authentic, they invited a historian to advise the team on historical content. The team ran a crowdfunding campaign in 2014, and successfully raised VND330 million (approximately US$15,000) for their project. It was by far the highest amount ever raised via crowdfunding in Vietnam at the time (Nguyen, K. D. 2018) ` Tu,o´,ng version 2014 was a massive improvement over its Long Thân predecessor. Labeled as a “graphic novel for mature readers,” the new series’ art is extremely energetic with dynamic layouts and expressive brush strokes—the kind of techniques that only mature artists can confidently use—while maintaining a clear and engaging visual storytelling flow. The characters are beautifully designed with vivid emotional and movement expressions that not only carry the narrative, but also show the depth of their personalities. The authors cleverly reveal layer after layer of mystery, and always know how to end each chapter at a crucial moment, leaving the readers asking for more. Thanks to their diligent research, the authors were also able to offer readers rich factual information on the lives of the Vietnamese people in the thirteenth century (e.g., their black teeth, their tattoos, and their everyday language), while telling interesting alter` Hu,ng Ða.o, native back stories of familiar historic figures such as Trân ´ Toan, Trân ` Quôc ` Ích Ta˘´ c, and so on. By directly supervising the Trân production process, the team delivered a state-of-the-art quality comic book, with top quality paper and printing. As a result of these metic` Tu,o´,ng has marked a world-level standard for ulous efforts, Long Thân Vietnamese comics. ij

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` Tu,o´,ng is as much a commercial success as an artistic Long Thân achievement. Since its first volume, it continued to effectively use crowdfunding and the creators are currently working on the fourth volume. Not only praised by local readers, but the Government of Japan also awarded the series with its Silver Prize at the Japan International Manga Awards (JIMA) in 2016 (JIMA 2016) and it was translated and published in Spain in 2018 (Nguyen, K. D. 2018). Readers around the globe can also access electronic versions in English on Amazon and Comixology (Zing 2017). Thanks to Duong’s entrepreneurial vision and Phong’s artistic expertise, the duo has done more for Vietnamese comics than just creating ` Tu,o´,ng. Since 2015, their cofounded company, Comicola Long Thân (short for Comic Online Alliance), has built a community that simultaneously and effectively supports artists and engages readers. Until now, the company has helped tens of artists to publish their works through both crowdfunding and private funding, including JIMA’s 2017 Silver Prize winner Ði.a Ngu.c Môn (Gateway to Underworld) (JIMA 2017). In late 2018, they launched “Comi,” a platform that allows readers to buy and read copyrighted Vietnamese comics on their web browsers and mobile phones. Comicola also built an online store that sells not only comic books, but also provides a wide variety of comics’ related merchandise such as models, toys, t-shirts, and flip-books. The company’s vision is “to create an eco-system that supports and promotes Vietnamese (comics) content creators” (Nguyen, K. D. 2018). Apart from the prominent case of Phong Duong Comics, there are other movements in the Vietnamese indie comics field that are remarkable. One is the phenomenon of “Facebook comics.” Currently, the dominant social network in Vietnam with more than 47 million active users of a 95 million population, Facebook is the most popular source of information and entertainment in the country. This platform is fertile soil for a generation of comics artists who can quickly create their own content and reach millions of readers in a matter of hours. Comic channels such as “Tho Bay Màu” (The Rainbow Rabbit—2.4 million followers), “Bà Già Kêu Ca” (The Nagging Old Lady—one million followers), “Ðâ.u Ðo Tung T˘ang” (The Cheerful Red Bean—806,000 followers) attract young readers with their funny characters and humorous short strips. Their quotidian themes include family, friends, love, and other popular social issues. Although varying in character design and particular stories, these comics are very similar in terms of their simplicity, with only a few frames, short dialogues, and unsophisticated content that are designed to ij

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be consumed quickly. The authors of these comics do not make money directly from their works, which are published frequently and freely on their channels, but earn commission from commercial advertisements using their own characters and stories (Fig. 14.4). There are a few other remarkable comics creators who do not follow this kind of “formula.” Nguyen Comics and Nguyen My Anh are two representatives of these artists, who only post comics on Facebook as a way to practice expressing their own ideas and feelings and sharing them

Fig. 14.4 A commercial advertising comic by Facebook page “Bà Già Kêu Ca” (The Nagging Old Lady), 2019

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with the people. Their comics are often of high quality, with profound contents and innovative styles, but they do not seem to be looking for any particular returns (i.e., being famous, official publication, or advertising money) from publishing their work online (Nguyen Comics 2018; Nguyen, M. A. 2018). Another way to create comics is through graphic novels and visual short stories that are aimed at mature readers. As these forms are widely considered to be uncommon in the Vietnamese market, they are often thwarted, either by state censorship or due to a lack of financial support. , Artist Ðào Quang Huy and his comics collection Truyê.n Cu. c Nga˘´ n (Very Short Stories ) is an example. He is well-known in the comics community for creating compact, sophisticated, and humorous comic strips. In 2015, Comicola initiated a crowdfunding campaign to help finance his first collection; the campaign reached its target, raising more than US$8,000, and securing 2,000 pre-ordered copies (Comicola 2015). This success was short-lived; the authorities halted the publication and Comicola had to refund readers. From the government’s perspective, comics are supposed to serve only children and therefore any comics content that dares to step into what they refer to as “the sensitive zone” (i.e., anything related to violence, sexuality, dark humor, and of course, politics) must be filtered (Nguyen, K. D. 2018). Due to an authoritarian and bureaucratic system, this heavy censorship is kept obscure and only known to authors and/or publishers who try to push the limits. It’s worth noting that this level of censorship only applies to local comics works, since a large number of imported works with “sensitive” content are free to roam the market (Kinhdoanhnet 2014). Even if they passed censorship, pioneering local , graphic novels—for example, Lu. a Cho.n (The Choice) by Hoàng Giang , (2017) or Xu´ Mèo (The Cat World) by Lê Phan (2018)—with their uncommon styles and sophisticated contents still have to face the hard reality that very few local people are willing to buy their works. Indeed, Vietnamese “indie” comics are generally more diverse and have better artistic quality than their mainstream cousins, but they also have to pay a higher price for being independent. Without support from wellestablished publishers, comics artists struggle financially and face many difficulties reaching out to more readers. The ecosystem of censorship, the masses’ consumption habits, and each artist’s cultural baggage all contribute to a rather unprolific ground for developing local comics.

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Compromised Laughter: The Immaturity of Cartooning in Vietnam When compared to comics, Vietnamese cartooning is in an even gloomier situation. Since 1975, all of the newspapers in Vietnam are under the communist government’s control. It is very sensitive about critical opinions and as such, all editorial cartoons are heavily censored. For a population of 95 million people, there is only one official satirical maga,, zine, Tuôi Tre Cuo` i (Laughing Youth), which is published bimonthly. Unsurprisingly, the quality of cartooning art in this magazine is largely mediocre and compromising. Sharp and high-quality cartoons find their way to be published on the internet, while the government is constantly trying to control online space. These cartoons, however, are not seen as mainstream; the masses enjoy them, but few are willing to pay for them. Cartooning books are rare and generally unwelcomed, both by the government and by the public. While there is abundant material for laughter, one can say that the current political and cultural environment in Vietnam is quite unfavorable for the development of cartoons. This current situation is of course rooted in history. Living generation after generation under the oppression of different regimes, the Vietnamese people always find ways to laugh at authority. In the feudal age, ´ tell satirical humorous folklore like “Tra.ng Qu`ynh” or “Ba Giai Tú Xuât” stories of smart ordinary characters who often troll and humiliate the rich and the authorities, even the kings. These characters may be inspired by real historical figures, but were enriched and empowered by many generations of grassroots people. Such stories bring a degree of mental pleasure to ordinary people, allowing them to express their frustrations among themselves, and enjoy their imaginary victories while they continue to suffer in reality. One could say that in traditional Vietnamese culture, satire has been mainly developed as a psychological coping mechanism— a way to adapt and survive—rather than as a medium to self-reflect and strive for freedom or truth. Due to this particular deep-seated mentality, cartoons in Vietnam are often compromising and rarely have high artistic quality. One who knows ung, an experienced cartoonist and longtime this best might be Lý Tru.,c D˜ cartoon lover. Officially an architect, he has drawn cartoons for over three decades. His works have been published in most of the major Vietnamese newspapers, including Nhân Dân (The People), Lao Ðô.ng (The Workers ), , ` Phong Quân Ðô.i Nhân Dân (The People’s Army), Phu. Nu˜ (Women), Tiên ij

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(Pioneers), and V˘an Nghê. (Arts and Literature). In 2011, Ly published ´ Ho.a Viê.t Nam (Cartoons in Vietnam), a rare monograph—if not Biêm the only one—that studies the history of editorial cartoons in Vietnam through the portraits and artworks of twenty-nine cartoonists, including the author (Fig. 14.5). According to Ly, the common characteristic of Vietnamese cartoons is that they are very enthusiastic when being given the “green light” to criticize the enemy (i.e., the French and the Chinese), yet are largely compromised when addressing the complex issues of Vietnamese society. Skill-wise, most of the cartoonists are self-taught artists with no art background, and many of them are “journalists who draw.” As the result, over the decades, Ly “has never seen a cartoon that has dignified quality of art and thinking” (Ly 2011, 191). Unmistakably, Ly accuses the field (editors and publishers who the government controls) and the artists (who do not dare to go out of their comfort zones) for the immaturity of Vietnamese cartoons. ung, LAP (penname of Lê Anh Thirty years younger than Lý Tru.,c D˜ Phong) offers a more practical look at mainstream cartoons in Vietnam. An experienced cartoonist himself, LAP makes his living not by drawing ,, cartoons, but by working as a senior editor for Tuôi Tre Cuo` i—the only newspaper in Vietnam that focuses on satire and cartoons (Fig. 14.6). According to LAP, most of his contributors consider being a cartoonist as a hobby rather than a serious profession due to the low payment policy. He thinks that the three major obstructions for Vietnamese cartoons are: low profit, self-censorship, and that most newspapers do not value cartoons (or play it safe by not using them). LAP is the creator of hoasibiem.com, an independent website that has collected Vietnamese cartoons since 2007. At the moment, LAP is working hard to reach out to younger artists and readers by bringing cartoons online (Le 2018). While still rare, there are a few cases outside of the mainstream that prove that Vietnamese cartoons could reach a higher plateau of qualify if given enough freedom. Here we must return to a familiar name: Nguy˜ên Thành Phong. Apart from his work as a professional comics artist, Phong also experiments with cartoons to “find inspiration and new creative ideas from the current issues of the society” (Nguyen 2019). His strong art background combined with an independent perspective allows Phong to create appealing, smart, and expressive cartoons. His works are published on various platforms; one is his Facebook page, where he posts his most ` personal and provocative pieces. His other projects include Sát Thu Ðâu ij

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´ Ho.a Viê.t Nam (Cartoons in Vietnam) by Ly Truc Fig. 14.5 Cover of Biêm Dung (2011) ,

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Mung Mu (The Festered-Head Hitman), a pictorial book collection of funny contemporary Vietnamese idioms turned into cartoons that was published in 2011. This particular book stirred a controversy in the media, with most members of traditional society against it, while young and curious readers warmly welcomed it. The book was recalled and then republished in 2013 after being forced to change the title and remove a few “sensitive” cartoons (Nguyen 2019). Phong was also one of two talented cartoonists (the other was Nguy˜ên Hu˜,u Khoa) who illustrated

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Fig. 14.6 A cover and inside cartoons of Tuoi Tre Cuoi (Laughing Youth), 2019 ,, , , ´ (Longing for the Subsidizing Time)—a satirThuong Nho´ Tho` i Bao Câp ical pictorial book that looks back to a special ecopolitical period between 1976 and 1986 in Vietnam. This was the time when the communist government exclusively controlled the distribution of goods, no private trading was allowed, and people could only access their material needs through a coupon system. While this scheme aimed to create equality, in reality, it was fertile soil for all kinds of corruption and inequality, which, once again, was the people translated into sarcastic idioms. Unlike contemporary idioms, which are mostly absurd and only for fun, the idioms from this subsidizing period were rich in meaning and sharply critical toward the authorities. This is the reason why, even after thirty years, the government still considers this content “sensitive.” According to Phong, the book took about a year to create, but more than five years for negotiating, and it was only published after removing twenty cartoons (Nguyen 2019). Alongside these satirical books, Phong has also created cartoons for the media campaign K0 Còi (No Honk), sponsored by Ford

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Vietnam, which creatively engages a large number of young people to create a better traffic culture (CafeAuto 2018). There is more to Phong’s cartoons than just compelling art. In his opinion, a cartoon should not offer only a one-way perspective, since it would become the negative version of the very propaganda it is criticizing. Rather, a cartoon should strive to encourage the audience to reflect on their own reality by offering an alternative point of view (Nguyen 2019). Phong’s mature approach combined with craftsmanship and a ceaseless innovative spirit certainly make his cartoons stand out. His works have brought fresh air into a rather dull atmosphere, along with much inspiration and positive impacts. The prominent case of Nguy˜ên Thành Phong reveals several things about the current situation of cartoons in Vietnam. While the local culture obviously creates many obstructions for innovative comic art, at the same time, it provides limitless inspiration and material for the artists. While freedom of expression is still largely lacking in mainstream channels, there remain vast unexplored spaces in the domain for quality artworks—with the help of the internet and private companies. And while cartooning as a whole in Vietnam is still taking baby steps, with enough “alertness and optimism” (Nguyen 2019), individual pioneering artists can nevertheless make giant moves.

Comics in Exile: Vietnamese Origin Artists Struggle to Find Their Roots While local comic artists are busy tackling the present and heading toward a brighter future, Vietnamese origin artists who are living abroad seem to be more interested in the past. Not many in number, and differing in location, these artists all share the experience of being away from their homeland. That distant land in time and space and the quest of finding their own identity is where they are all heading with their works. On the surface, GB Tran and Thi Bui have a lot in common. Both are now in their early 40 s and are children of Vietnamese refugees who were forced to leave the country at the end of the war in 1975. Both are living in the United States: GB in New York City, Thi in San Francisco. Both are deeply interested in understanding where they came from, what their family endured, and who they are. Interestingly, both creators chose the graphic novel as the medium to tell their stories: GB published Vietnamerica in 2010, and Thi introduced The Best We Could Do in 2017.

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They even met in 2011 to collaborate on a graphic essay that discusses the coincidences that mark their works (Hyphen 2011a). Their stories, on the other hand, emerge from unique experiences and are told with distinct styles. GB Tran was born one year after his family moved to the United States; he was raised as any second-generation immigrant kid, with his parents “too busy to dwell on their past and preferred to look towards the future.” To him, Vietnamerica is an instrument for “uncovering that past, and preserving their stories before it was too late” (Hyphen 2011b). Before returning to Vietnam in 2001, GB spent six years traveling, meeting with his many relatives, conducting research, and taking notes. After securing a book deal with Random House for the book in 2008, he spent two years creating the graphic memoir (Winyan 2011). Filled with fluid and bold color strips, strong strokes of inking, together with flexible and daring visual compositions, Vietnamerica is a feast for the eyes (Fig. 14.7). The layers of images seem to be coordinated with the layers of meaning, as the story goes non-linearly from one part of history to the next, pulling readers into a soul-searching journey through memories and self-reflections. GB’s calling to engage in this journey, as he reveals at the end of the book, was a Confucius quote on the front page of a book his father gave him: “A man without history is a tree without roots” (Tran 2011). The Best We Could Do has a much simpler and gentler visual storytelling style. Using only black brush lines combined with a dominant shade of dusty brown, Thi Bui’s memoir focuses on the subtle notions of being an immigrant. Starting the book with a scene when she is giving birth to her first child, Thi begins to ponder over a particular thought: “Family is now something I have created, and not just something I was born into” (Thi Bui 2017, 21). A wave of empathy pulls her back to every detail of her memories: the period in which she and her four siblings were born during the war and the moment that her youngest brother was born in a refugee camp, the stories of how her parents grew up and how they met, mixed with the reality of being war refugees in the United States. Although rich with memories of the war and viscerally personal moments, Thi’s story tries to go beyond: it wants to connect millions of people with similar experiences. As she said in an interview, “Even though the responsibilities of family often get in the way of artistic production, it was that very step into parenthood that helped me feel like I could tackle a very big, weighty subject. I saw my own parents with greater empathy. And that’s what I

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Fig. 14.7 Pages from Vietnamerica by GB Tran, 2011

hope will connect readers to stories like ours, no matter what their background: empathy” (Hyphen 2011b). When asked why she chose comics to tell her story, despite the dated ideas about comics being only light hearted, she said: “I kind of like the low-brow reputation that comics have. It’s not unlike the experience of being underestimated because I’m a woman, a minority, a short person, or I look younger than my age. I enjoy the sweet revenge of surprising people” (Thi Bui 2017). Since its publication in 2017, The Best We Could Do has been critically acclaimed and received many book awards, including the American Book Award in 2018. Born in France in 1978 to a Vietnamese refugee father and a French mother, Clément Baloup’s experience is not far from those of GB Tran or Thi Bui. After graduating from the School of Fine Arts in Angoulême, which is the heart of the Franco-Belgium comics world, Clément has until now created two graphic novel series on Vietnam. For the first series—Mémoires de Viet Kieus 2 —he wrote and painted all three albums. The second series, Chinh Tri, is a three-book collaboration with writer Mathieu Jiro.

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Clément is a remarkable artist with the ability to seamlessly alternate his media from stark pen to gritty chalk to panoramic gouache. His specific way of mixing black-and-white panels with vibrant colored ones, together with vivid images, evokes feelings not unlike great paintings or graphic designs (Fig. 14.8). But comics are his best way of expression, a medium that has many aspects that he likes to explore with delight. The subject of Vietnam has touched him deeply since he has been able “to have a distance from it and at the same time have a very strong empathy with it” (Zoo Magazine 2017). Artists like Clément, GB Tran, and Thi Bui are doing great jobs at uncovering Vietnamese historical layers and defining a Vietnamese identity through the lenses of their experiences. With the support of the right systems, they are bringing these stories around the world through comics. Their works, however, are unlikely to reach the hands of local Vietnamese readers, due to many cultural, political, and economic reasons. Similarly, the works of local artists, filled with more contemporary vibes of the country, face so many difficulties being seen outside of national

Fig. 14.8 Pages from The Best We Could Do by Thi Bui, 2017

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borders.3 If these obstructions could be resolved, the world would see a more complete picture of Vietnam represented through comics.

Conclusion If Vietnamese comics were a plant, it would not die, but it would not grow very fast either. The challenges that it is facing are not unlike the challenges of comics all around the world—the same old stories of financial hardship, cultural barriers, and/or political censorship. It is always easy for artists to give up due to such difficulties, yet the works of Nguy˜ên Thành Phong, Clément Baloup, GB Tran, and Thi Bui tell us another side of the story. They show us the width and depth of Vietnamese heritage. They affirm the possibility of reaching new heights through hard work. And they indicate the progress of maturity. In the words of Thi Bui: I suppose my book is an offering. It is an offering where our community has a lot of wounds. And it’s important to be able to talk about them so that we can heal. And I suppose I’m proud we’re doing it. Vietnamese people are—and we see them as masters of adaptation, and they are ultimate survivors. But I never really worry that Vietnamese people are going to crumble away (…) Because our community is so alive. It is changing and growing. (Thi Bui 2018)

Notes 1. The Berne Convention for the Protection of Literary and Artistic Works, usually known as the Berne Convention, is an international agreement governing copyright, which was first adopted in Berne, Switzerland, in 1886. 2. “Viet Kieu” is the name given to people belonging to the Vietnamese diaspora. 3. In an interview with The Comics Journal in 2017, Thi Bui recalled how hard it was for her to order Long Than Tuong from Vietnam: “To order their book (Long Than Tuong ) was complicated because shipping was too expensive for them to do. I had it sent to a cousin in Ho Chi Minh City, then waited for one aunt to visit to pick it up, bring it back to the U.S. and leave it with another aunt in Los Angeles, then finally my mom brought it home after a visit to L.A.!”.

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