Seoul: Indecom, 2024.
Tokyo: Uzumasa [distributor], 2023.
September 1, 2023 marked the centennial of the 1923 Great Kanto Earthquake, an event remembered not only as an event of natural devastation, but also because of the massacre of Koreans and other marginalized groups in its aftermath. The centennial has inspired two cinematic works of profound historical and cultural significance: 1923 Kanto Massacre (1923 Ganto daehaksal), directed by Kim Taeyoung and Jinhee Josephine Lee, and September 1923 (Fukudamura jiken), directed by Tatsuya Mori. Both confront this harrowing episode, yet their stylistic approaches, narrative structures, and thematic emphases diverge sharply. These differences reflect not only the distinct sociopolitical contexts of contemporary South Korea and Japan but also the ongoing struggles over collective memory, historical denial, and national identity. While 1923 Kanto Massacre employs an emotionally charged, memorializing approach to foreground the victims’ stories and critique the long-standing trauma in Korean collective memory, September 1923 adopts a restrained, investigative lens, revealing the complexities and silences in Japan’s reckoning with its imperial past. Together, these films offer a compelling dialogue about the power of cinema in contesting historical revisionism and shaping popular memory across national and cultural divides.
Since the late 1990s, collective memory in Japan regarding the 1923 Kanto Massacre has become a contested space shaped by historical revisionism and political shifts. This period saw the gradual erosion of the Kono (1993) and Murayama (1995) Statements, which acknowledged and apologized for Japan’s wartime sexual slavery, alongside a broader skepticism of Japan’s colonial history. Revisionist movements (such as the “Japanese Society for History Textbook Reform”) have gained traction, fostering narratives that minimize or outright deny historical atrocities such as the massacre of Koreans and others in the earthquake’s aftermath. Public surveys such as those conducted by the Genron NPO reflect this polarization: while Japanese perceptions of Korea have slightly improved, mistrust lingers, with many Koreans citing Japan’s failure to confront its imperial history as a significant point of contention. This denialism has culminated in successive Japanese politicians from the ruling Liberal Democratic Party putting forth claims in the Diet that there is insufficient evidence to prove the massacre occurred, further entrenching skepticism toward historical accounts. At the same time, the refusal undermines grassroots efforts to preserve the memory of these events and promote reconciliation. As a result, the memory of the 1923 Kanto Earthquake and Massacre have become symbolic of broader struggles over Japan’s identity and its relationship with its past. The absence of institutional acknowledgment exacerbates divisions, with historical memory increasingly shaped by independent initiatives, such as films, that resist the forces of denial and reframe the massacre as a pivotal moment in Japan’s history of violence against marginalized groups.
The Japanese film September 1923 emerges as a direct product of the sociopolitical dynamics shaping Japan’s collective memory, where historical revisionism and political denials have marginalized narratives of the massacre of Koreans in the aftermath of the earthquake. Reflecting the complexities of this political environment, the film challenges historical amnesia and grapples with the tensions between remembering and erasing uncomfortable truths. Against this backdrop, director Tatsuya Mori crafts a narrative based primarily on the “Fukuda village incident” (Fukudamura Jiken), a historical episode in which 9 Japanese were accused of being Koreans and were murdered in the chaos and discrimination that defined the few days after the massive earthquake. Set in Fukuda village in Chiba, the film follows Tomokazu Sawada, who returns from colonial Korea with his wife Shizuko to a community already fraying under social and political pressures. The devastating Great Kanto Earthquake triggers a wave of paranoia, fuelled by baseless rumours accusing Koreans of poisoning wells and committing arson. In this environment of hysteria, a group of travelling merchants from Kagawa Prefecture, mistaken for Koreans, becomes the target of a vigilante group. The travelling merchants from Kagawa who were murdered during the Fukuda village incident were later revealed to be members of the Burakumin community (hisabetsu-burakumin), a historically marginalized group within Japan, highlighting how multiple layers of discrimination intersected during the post-earthquake hysteria. The narrative builds on the personal and societal consequences of this collective violence, illustrating how prejudice and fear can escalate into unspeakable tragedy. By focusing on the Fukuda village incident, September 1923 not only revisits the horrors of the massacre but also interrogates the societal conditions that allowed such atrocities to unfold, offering a poignant reflection on the interplay between power, rumour, and discrimination.
The protagonists Tomokazu and Shizuko Sawada serve as the moral core of September 1923, grappling with the complexities of complicity and resistance in the face of escalating violence. Tomokazu, haunted by his inaction during a deadly incident at a church in colonial Korea and paralyzed by despair, embodies the corrosive effects of passive complicity. His earlier efforts to foster coexistence by learning Korean stand in stark contrast to his silence as the language was weaponized for oppression. Shizuko, by comparison, is positioned as a figure of moral clarity, rooted in her connection to Korean culture through her upbringing and personal values. When faced with the violence against the traveling merchants, Shizuko’s insistence on intervention catalyzes a shift in their dynamic, transforming the couple from passive witnesses to reluctant agents of change. Their story underscores the film’s central question of whether recognition without action renders one complicit in injustice. Kaede Onda, the journalist in September 1923, embodies the tension between ethical journalism and the institutional pressures that enabled discrimination. As a reporter for the fictional Chiba Nichinichi Shimbun, Onda challenges her editor’s directive to frame the perpetrators of violent crimes as either “socialists, Koreans, or other troublemakers,” pushing back against the discriminatory narrative entrenched in her newspaper’s reporting. Onda’s response, “I refuse. The paper always blames crimes on Koreans or troublemakers. What do you think readers will take away from such articles every day?” exposes the deliberate role of media in reinforcing xenophobia. Moreover, Onda notes that this trend began after the Korean independence movement of 1919, situating the discriminatory rhetoric within the broader historical context of Japan’s colonial rule and societal anxiety over Korean resistance. Onda’s defiance highlights the critical role of ethical journalism in resisting state propaganda, as well as the difficulty of preserving integrity in environments where media institutions act as tools for systemic oppression. Her commitment to writing the truth about the Fukuda village incident serves as a powerful counterpoint to the complicity of her colleagues and reflects the film’s call to confront historical injustices and their ongoing legacies.
In contrast to the Japanese film’s restrained narrative, the Korean documentary 1923 Kanto Massacre adopts a direct approach, delving deeply into the massacre of Koreans in the aftermath of the Great Kanto Earthquake, while meticulously detailing how the Japanese state actively suppressed information about the atrocities. Directed by Kim Taeyoung, the film highlights how Japanese authorities used their embassies to pressure Western media into retracting reports of the killings, portraying them as baseless. It further exposes official orders sent to local and regional leaders to remain silent about the massacres and to downplay the scale of violence. The film draws upon foreign press accounts, declassified Japanese and foreign official documents, and testimonies from survivors and activists to paint a comprehensive picture of state complicity in silencing this dark chapter of history. By juxtaposing these institutional efforts with accounts of the massacres themselves, 1923 Kanto Massacre underscores the deliberate erasure of this tragedy from historical narratives, while illuminating the courage of those who continue to challenge this silence.
The documentary critiques institutional complicity and denial, spotlighting denialist groups like Soyokaze alongside civic organizations that challenge the erasure of history. A particularly poignant scene features the University of Tokyo history professor Suzuki Jun awkwardly struggling to answer whether Japan can reconcile its history while denying the memory of the massacre, underscoring the societal tension surrounding this history. Testimonies from survivors, such as Asaoka Jujo’s 1981 recollection of the military execution of Koreans near the Yotsugi Bridge, anchor the narrative in personal experiences. The film also examines martial law’s role in legitimizing violence, detailing how official telegrams disseminated false rumours of Korean sabotage, which fuelled the massacres. Through its combination of expert testimony, archival research, and scenes of contemporary activism, the film delivers a critical indictment of Japan’s failure to confront this history.
What sets the Korean 1923 Kanto Massacre apart from the Japanese September 1923 is its direct tone, bolstered by its use of English narration and subtitles, clearly targeting an international audience. Dramatic music and illustrations intensify the emotional impact, while scenes of protest, such as those featuring former prime minister Hatoyama Yukio (of the former Democratic Party of Japan) and current member of the House of Representative Kushibuchi Mari (Reiwa Shinsengumi), connect the historical events to ongoing struggles for acknowledgment and justice. By documenting efforts to preserve memory, such as Nishizaki’s extensive research and Yamamoto Sumiko’s historical tours in Yokohama, the film highlights the enduring battle against erasure. Nonetheless, both 1923 Kanto Massacre and September 1923 underscore the importance of revisiting and reconciling with historical atrocities, with their contrasting styles emphasizing different dimensions of this process. Where 1923 Kanto Massacre confronts denial and suppression with a direct and unrelenting critique of systemic erasure, September 1923 uses its nuanced storytelling to interrogate the subtler complexities of memory, complicity, and prejudice. Together, these films exemplify how cinema can challenge dominant narratives, illuminate the silences in collective memory, and inspire dialogue across cultural and national divides. By engaging with these works, audiences are not only urged to acknowledge the enduring legacies of the events of 1923 but are also invited to reflect on their broader implications for understanding historical accountability and the pursuit of justice in divided societies. These films stand as urgent reminders that the act of remembering is not passive but rather an active confrontation with the past, vital for shaping a more equitable future.
Joel Matthews
Tokyo Metropolitan University, Tokyo