Uchimura Kanzô 1861-1930
John F. Howes, 2005, Chapter 2, p. 72-75.
Late in 1889, a few months after Mori’s death and a year before the Rescripton Education that would cause Uchimura so much trouble was promulgated, Kanzô delivered a speech that demonstrated how in fact typical of his day were his attitudes toward the great symbols of his nation. What he said there is remembered now because it contrasts with the image of the traitor that resulted from his later refusal to bow. He spoke to the students of a girls’ school in Azabu. One member of the audience recalled that Uchimura chose as his topic evidences of God’s favour to Japan. First he referred to the chrysanthemums that adorned the lecture platform to illustrate the beautiful botanical specimens in Japan; then he pointed out the window to the cone of Mount Fuji, visible on the clear horizon of a November day. He climaxed his talk with reference to the Imperial family, “the one great pride of the Japanese people.” No statement or act before his refusal to bow would have led any Japanese to suspect his loyalty. (more…)
Monumenta Nipponica, an interdisciplinary journal on Japanese culture and society, was founded in 1938, making it one of the oldest English-language academic journals in the field of Asian studies. Published semiannually as an international forum for research on Japan by Sophia University, Tokyo, MN carries both original scholarly contributions on history, literature, art history, religion, and thought, and translations of important Japanese literary and historical sources. Early volumes included articles in German and other European languages, but from volume 19 (1964) English has been the sole language of publication. Beginning with volume 60 (2005), the journal has been published online through Project 
The Journal of Japanese Studies was established in 1974 as a multidisciplinary forum for communicating new information, new interpretations, and recent research results concerning Japan to the English-reading world. JJS publishes broad, exploratory articles suggesting new analyses and interpretations, substantial book reviews, translations of Japanese articles of particular interest, and occasional symposia. It is published twice each year, winter and summer, with an annual total of well over 500 pages.
Although motorcycle racing resumed slowly after the war, it grew gradually to become as popular as it had been in the interwar period. This growth was steered by the industrial policies of both private and public sector interests. Competition racing to cull the oversized herd of makers operating in the early 1950s was a plan that developed gradually. The issue of “competition theory” with regard to the weeding out of weaker manufacturers in postwar Japan is important. In the motorcycle industry, competition was far more than a theory — it was a brutal reality for many dozens of manufacturers that could not rise to the challenges posed both by their peers and by the nation’s geography. Racing thus ultimately strengthened the motorcycle industry, enabling Japan to enter the international motor vehicle market.
By the time this chapter was finished, the jury was still out as to whether the government could implement its bold reform program. By the end of 2001, it appeared that Prime Minister Koizumi was locked in stalemate. His administration was still popular and continued to obtain 80 percent support among the voters, but in reality he had accomplished little. Some commentators branded the prime minister “Mr. Nato” – No Action, Talk Only – indicating that his enormous degree of personal popularity was no substitute for effective implementation of reform (Japan Today 2001f; Oriental Economist 2001c).
The hot, humid weather did little to stifle the jubilant mood that 1 July afternoon in Shibuya ward, Tokyo. For the hundred or so well-wishers gathered outside the new residence of His Majesty’s Canadian representative to Japan, Dominion Day, 1929 seemed unlike any other. Traders and diplomats mingled with missionaries, teachers and social workers, reflecting the diversity of Canada’s involvement in the Orient. A hush came over the crowd as A.E. Bryan, the president of the newly formed Canadian Association, rose to address the gathering. He opened the ceremony by welcoming Hugh Keenleyside, who had arrived in May as chargé d’affaires. Then, Dr. D.R. MacKenzie, the longest serving Canadian missionary in Japan, spoke to the crowd, impressing all with his sense of history. He surveyed Canada’s past, from Cartier’s search for a passage to Asia to the dominion’s newfound diplomatic status, and concluded the legation was an idea whose time had come. After a brief speech by Keenleyside and a phonograph recording of prime minister Mackenzie King’s remarks at the recent Peace Tower carillon dedication, the ceremony reached its finale. For the first time in Asia, Canada’s red ensign was hoisted atop the legation as all assembled sang ‘O Canada’ and ‘God Save the King’.
Some of the first “excavations” of Gandharan Buddhist sites were undertaken in the 1830s by a handful of military officers with the goal of collecting coins. Already by the late nineteenth century, Buddhist sites such as Takht-ibahi were excavated for their sculpture, and summary archaeological reports started to appear. Alexander Cunningham, and later John Marshall at the beginning of the twentieth century, changed the nature and scope of Buddhist archaeology in Gandhara. Although their work led to a massive collection of sculptural remains, their primary interest was to understand better the Buddhist tradition in the region and beyond.
In most Hindu temples in contemporary India, the statue of the deity to which the cult is offered can be seen undressed, without any ornamentation, only when the deity is awakened in the morning to be washed, beautified by makeup, dressed, and embellished with jewellery and flowers. Such a preparation will sometimes be concealed from the devotees’ sight by drawing the curtains of the sanctum, so that the deity may be “seen” only when completely ready – often almost invisible under cloths, jewellery, and colourful garlands. For instance, during the Rām Sītā cult in the royal temple of Sultanpur in Kullu (Himachal Pradesh), the statue of the goddess Sītā can be seen by devotees only during the morning worship, when the priest has to wash the image before dressing it; once the priest has finished her makeup she is completely wrapped up in her sari and covered by pearl necklaces. Her husband, the god Raghunāth, to whom the temple is dedicated, is also presented to devotees completely submerged under flowers. In fact, nearly every ritual image, even aniconic (such as the diagrams drawn by Brahmin priests at the time of fire oblations), is often completely hidden by cloths or flowers.
Adat and Islam are integral to Malay identity and exist in a complementary fashion with each other (Wazir 1992; Sharifah Zaleha 2000). Originally an Arab word, adat is used to describe the local customs or customary laws that existed before the advent of Islam. It acts like the “residue” of all customs that are considered Malay but not Islamic (Nagata 1986, 42). Among such customs are bilateralism in gender relations, an openness about sexuality and sensuality, belief in magical healing, and mysticism. Many aspects of Malay adat are regarded as traditionally tolerant (though still patriarchal) and more open to sensual or sexual matters than resurgent Islam is - this feature of adat is also aligned with secularism, a product of modernization. Because adat encourages women’s power and autonomy, it continues to function in Malaysia as “a system of ‘checks and balances’ between incompatible or conflicting ideological systems [resurgent Islam and Westernization] which culturally determine the distribution of power and responsibility between the sexes” (Wazir 1992, 230). While anthropologists study state-led Islam and how it serves to further a patriarchal agenda that contravenes the more egalitarian practices and beliefs of adat, one should be aware that adat in itself delineates gendered spaces (see Peletz 1995). What needs to be challenged is the notion that adat and modernity are mutually exclusive and represent opposing spheres of East versus West. While Wazir Jahan Karim may argue that there are differences between adat and Islam, one advocating gender bilaterality and the other emphasizing its patriarchal aspects as promulgated by state discourse, I argue that, in the modern constructions of culture by Malaysian writers and filmmakers, adat is not impermeable to patriarchal interpretations; in fact, patriarchy responds through various channels: through the secular discourse of nationalism and the nation-state, through the conservative interpretations of Islam promulgated by PAS (Pan Malaysian Islamic Party, the Islamic opposition party), certain fringe dakwah (Muslim proselytizing) groups such as Darul Arqam and Jemaah Tabligh, and perhaps more subtly, through the more moderate dakwah group ABIM populated by Malay urban professionals.
Although his progeny, in the form of typography, printing presses, and printing machines, appeared in Shanghai in the nineteenth century, Johann Gutenberg (1400?-68) himself did not figure as a recognizable name or noteworthy personality in the Shanghai consciousness before the mid-1920s. His appearance then reflected growing public awareness of the importance of technology in national development as well as the widespread dissemination of the industrially manufactured book and journal. Gutenberg was absent from China’s first modern dictionary, Xin zidian (New Dictionary)issued by the Commercial Press in 1912.Likewise,he did not appear in the Commercial Press’s 1915 phrase dictionary, Ciyuan, or in Zhonghua da zidian (Zhonghua Big Dictionary), issued the same year by Zhonghua Books. Nonetheless, all three modern dictionaries, the most important to appear in Chinese since Kangxi zidian (Kangxi Dictionary) of 1716, were printed using technology that could be traced to Gutenberg.
