Recently there have been anti-Japan demonstrations in China, and anti-China demonstrations in Vietnam. These demonstrations in both instances are related to issues about certain uninhabited islands (“rocks in the sea” is what I prefer to call them), but there is something else that they share. They are both informed by “nationalist victim narratives.”
In the late 19th and early 20th centuries, the Chinese talked about the “national humiliation” (guochi) that they faced as Westerners encroached upon their land, starting with the Opium War.
When the Communists came to power in 1949, they declared that they had put an end to a “century of national humiliation” (bainian guochi). However, this narrative was revived in the 1990s, and it was evident in the recent protests.
In the middle of the twentieth century, Vietnamese started to talk a lot about “struggle” and “resistance” and this ultimately led to the idea of a “history of resistance against foreign aggression” (lịch sử chống ngoại xâm). This narrative has continued to play an important role to the present.
The “century of national humiliation” and the “history of resistance against foreign aggression” are both “victim narratives.” They both stir emotions by appealing to people’s perceived sense of having been wronged by others, but they both also are consoling in that they imply that such wrongs have been righted in the past, and that all future wrongs will likewise be righted “if” the people continue to act as they supposedly always have in the past.
In his China’s New Nationalism: Pride, Politics, and Diplomacy (Berkeley: University of California Press, 2005), Peter Hays Gries has a nice explanation of how such narratives work in people’s lives. He says the following:
“Narratives are the stories we tell about our pasts. These stories, psychologists have argued, infuse our identities with unity, meaning, and purpose. We cannot, therefore, radically change them at will. Far from being simple tools of our invention, the stories we tell about the past both constrain and are constrained by what we do in the present.
“Simply put, the storied nature of social life provides our identities with meaning. ‘Identities,’ Stuart Hall notes, ‘are the names we give to the different ways we are positioned by, and position ourselves in, the narratives of the past.’” (46)
So in the case of China, the “century of national humiliation” is not “fact” (because there are many other ways that one could explain that same period, particularly by focusing on Chinese “failures”), but it is also not a complete “invention” (because events like the Opium War did take place).
What Peter Hays Gries is pointing out, however, is the way in which the narrative of the “century of national humiliation” becomes part of people’s identities through its repeated telling. And then once that has happened, it informs the way they think and act.
So today Chinese are determined to “wipe clear” the “national humiliation” of Japan’s claiming control over some rocks in the sea, and Vietnamese are determined to “resist the foreign aggression” that they see in China’s claiming control over some other rocks in the sea.
In both of these instances, the Chinese and Vietnamese, respectively, feel a strong sense of righteousness as they both “know” that they have been “victimized” like this by the Japanese and Chinese, respectively, before. At the same time their “knowledge” that they have triumphed over such wrongs in the past gives them the conviction in the present that they will triumph again.
One point that I find fascinating is that the values that these narratives glorify are precisely the values that were perceived to be lacking when these narratives were created.
Paul Cohen has pointed out that during the late Qing and in the early Republican years in China, there were many writers who were frustrated to find that many Chinese did not seem to feel humiliated by the many “national humiliations” that were taking place. [Paul A. Cohen, “Remembering and Forgetting National Humiliation in Twentieth-Century China,” Twentieth-Century China 27.2 (2002): 1-39.]
Therefore, part of the reason why certain intellectuals wrote about “national humiliation” was because they felt that too many people were not feeling humiliated, and that positive change could never take place if they remained passive and indifferent.
The same point applies to Vietnam. The “resistance against foreign aggression” narrative began to take shape in the second half of the 1940s when there was an immediate need to fight the French, and then it took its final form in the 1960s when the nation was divided and when there were many people who were not perceived to be “resisting foreign aggression.”
Peter Hays Gries says that we cannot “radically change [narratives] at will.” That may be true, but it’s worth trying to at least bring about some change.
It is not difficult to determine when a certain narrative emerged and why. When we discover that information, then the “emotive truth” of the narrative weakens.
If there are more complex explanations for what happened in China from the Opium War until 1949 (rather than a single simplistic explanation which evokes emotions), then there should be complex explanations for what is happening today as well.
If Vietnamese history has been more complex than a simple emotive tale of people uniting against foreign aggression, then the issues which Vietnam faces today should likewise be viewed with more complexity.
Problems are easier to solve when fewer emotions are involved and when more sophisticated modes of thinking are employed. Victim narratives, however, are based on the exact opposite. Without a heavy dose of emotion and a simplistic view of the world, a victim narrative cannot survive.
As long as victim narratives dominate, problems will endure. Human beings probably cannot live without narratives about themselves, but they can perhaps create narratives that allow for more complexity than victim narratives do.
Gaining a clear understanding of when and why current narratives emerged is an obvious first step to take.
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These victim narratives reminded me of a seminar I gave in Europe a while ago in which we discussed how and in what ways certain national narratives and emotions could ‘harm’ a nation rather than benefit it, and in what ways these narratives could affect scholarship.
Also, for these topics I highly recommend Stuart Hall’s works, particularly the following readings:
1. Stuart Hall (Ed.) (1997). Representation: cultural representations and signifying practices. London: Sage in association with the Open University.
2. Hall, S. (1997). Cultural identity and diaspora. In Kathryn Woodward (Ed.) Identity and difference. London: Sage in association with the Open University.
3. Paul du Gay & Stuart Hall (Eds) (1996). Questions of cultural identity. London: Sage Thousand Oaks.
Meanings are what give us an identity, and identities are the name we give to ourselves. All these are done through a representation system, within which meanings associated with the past and history are multiple, often in conflict with one another, complex and never neutral. It is often that those meanings that serve the purposes of the nation building from the perspectives of the ruling authority and the elite are made dominant, normalised and naturalised as if they were the only meanings, the only truths that matter and could serve as the foundation to bring the nation together. Victim narratives as well as hero narratives are perhaps the most common national narratives. Relating back to the seminar I mentioned above, a participant in the audience did express how the seminar helped him make sense of why for so many years his country and its people have tended to entertain a strong belief that they have been victimised by other European nations and cultures to the extent that so many of them have refused to see other alternatives of what their identity might have meant over the course of the nation building.
Having said all this, however, I want to put forward that it is also important to note that in many cases national narratives are co-constructed by both the nation and those from outside, and thus they involve the ideologies and perspectives of the outsider as well. Many outsiders, ironically, could be totally ignorant of the complexity underlying these narratives.
I would also want to debate that not all emotions are negative and that not all individuals receive meanings and produce meanings associated with these narratives passively. So in relation to the victim narratives in Vietnam and China, it is important to contextualise and go beyond the surface of the kinds of emotions that have nurtured, evoked, legitimised, institutionalised and even challenged these narratives. Likewise, it is important to make the connection between these narratives and other competing narratives that have either been silenced or been considered immature, weak and irrelevant. Most importantly, everyone who looks at these narratives needs to critically reflect on his/her own biases, as these biases could well temp one to not to want to engage with many of the multiple meanings enabled by these victim and/or hero narratives.
I want to end my response with another example. I took a Vietnamese Studies scholar from Europe to a red music concert in Vietnam a few years ago to find her deeply moved by the atmosphere of the event. She had not expected to see young Vietnamese people so engaged in red music like that. But what she found more surprising was that most people in the audience were expressing their emotions and appreciation for the music so peacefully, naturally, simply and gracefully during the concert. She said these natural and respectable emotions were expressed in the eyes and the body language of the audience and in the peaceful heartfelt melodies filled with the love for the people, the nature, the nation and the desire for reunion with beloved ones. Looking at me, she saw my tearful eyes and heard me singing along all these melodies. She acknowledged she would have missed out so much had she decided not to go with me to the concert. She explained it was quite often that foreign scholars look at red music in Vietnam with an biased attitude, and thus unaware of all the positive emotions and natural attachment underlying it that has inspired generations of Vietnamese. I told her that red music, which one may say is part of the victim narratives, is so much more than ideology, revolution, propaganda, war and heroism. It is about human feelings and many of the natural emotions that are still able to rock even the most inner part of many people, both Vietnamese and non-Vietnamese. It is the human touch embedded in it that has brought these shared emotions together.
I have written the longest response ever. I want to thank LeMinhKhai for this post that has truly caught me and intrigued me this much.
Wow!!! Yes, this is “the longest respnse ever” and it’s a great response.
I like what you say about the role of outsiders:
“I want to put forward that it is also important to note that in many cases national narratives are co-constructed by both the nation and those from outside, and thus they involve the ideologies and perspectives of the outsider as well. Many outsiders, ironically, could be totally ignorant of the complexity underlying these narratives.”
This is definitely the case with the narrative of “resistance to foreign aggression in Vietnam” and writers in the English-speaking world, particularly the US. The “official narrative” of the American/Vietnam War was created largely by people who were opposed to the war, and they repeated the ideas of that narrative without knowing/thinking about the complexity underlying it because it matched their own ideology/perspective.
And I also like what you say about emotions: “I would also want to debate that not all emotions are negative and that not all individuals receive meanings and produce meanings associated with these narratives passively.”
I agree with this, but I think that the reason why victim narratives persist is in part because too many people “receive meanings and produce meanings associated with these narratives passively.” I think this is because of what you say here:
“It is often that those meanings that serve the purposes of the nation building from the perspectives of the ruling authority and the elite are made dominant, normalised and naturalised as if they were the only meanings, the only truths that matter and could serve as the foundation to bring the nation together.”
Yea, I know this is difficult to determine. Some reports have come out that the recent demonstrations in China were all organized by the government. So what do the people who were demonstrating really think? Is it more complex?
I think it is to some extent, but I also think that we would find that it isn’t as well, because people do to a large extent passively, or at least uncritically, receive and produce meanings, particularly those which the elite have made dominant in the nation building process.
The idea that Vietnamese have always been resisting foreign aggression, I would argue, gets received and produced passively and uncritically. Certain people may realize that the story is more complex, but I think you will still find them repeating this point.
When you deconstruct a narrative like that, I don’t think it means that all emotions somehow disappear. I just think they become more realistic, and that this is more healthy.
The same generation of scholars who produced the “official narrative” of the American/Vietnam War in the US also started a tradition of very critical scholarship on US foreign policy. Today I think that if you take a political science course on US foreign policy at an American university you will find that the US government gets criticized extensively. Whatever the government has said to defend its actions gets deconstructed in classes like that.
To tell one of my own stories, a while ago I talked to an American soldier who was transferring to a new university to finish a degree in history. She had already taken courses on the history of Native Americans and the history of the US government’s treatment of them, as well as a course on African-American history. She said to me “Oh, I don’t want to take any more courses on American history! I have to defend this place. I don’t want to hear anymore about how hypocritical the government is.”
She was joking (or maybe only half joking. . .), but I like what she demonstrated. Just because people understand the complexity of the world they live in doesn’t mean that the world will fall apart. Governments don’t have to keep people stupid in order for society to keep functioning. This woman was actually a minority herself, and she was completely aware of how the US government had mistreated Native Americans and African-Americans in the past, but she was serving that same government today. She was not emotionless. I think she had feelings of pride and duty, but they were clearly not the products of anything passive or uncritical.
Ok, I think I’m starting to take this discussion in a slightly different direction. It’s all related though.
No I think your response is all related and expanded the complex side of emotion. While I agree with all what you said above, I also think that being critical of the US government like what is recently happening in many US courses you mentioned above is just one way to engage. However, this very way to engage has often been seen as the only way that is legitimate, valid and applauded in dominant scholarship and academic discourses in the US and the like in general. And this is what I also want to unpack: knowledge/information receivers tend to hold a ‘biased expectation’ and impose ‘biased legitimacy’ when it comes to interpreting other ways of engagement with national narratives by other communities even within the same nation and within the same discourse.
It is often that those emotions that are not expressed in the same way as the ‘recognised’ ones and/or as expected by the language of critique legitimised by the dominant discourse are silenced or ignored. However, these emotions are not invisible and not passive and they could be made a more powerful and effective form of resistance, that expresses critiques and criticality in all different modes, forms, manners and tones. And in many ways, this resistance does not necessarily come from skepticism of the powerful, but from the very emotional needs of those who resist. And it is hard to say that one form of emotion is more legitimate than others, but rather they should all be engaged with effectively. This little known aspect is what I am now trying to develop in my work.
I’m sympathetic with the idea that the American way of dealing with issues like victim narratives – namely, to directly go challenge and deconstruct them publically – should not be the only way of challenging such hegemonic narratives/practices.
However, I have yet to see evidence that other techniques can be effective.
I often find, for instance, that if I talk to a Vietnamese scholar and challenge something in the “official version” of Vietnamese history, that that person will say, “Oh, nguoi ta biet roi. Anh nen di nghe thay XXX. Ong ay co y kien nhu vay roi.”
Ok, so one person has certain ideas, and s/he tells them to the people s/he knows. That’s great, but can such an approach bring about change? I don’t see any evidence that it can.
Yeah I’m sympathetic with your observation too, and agree that we must not be casual with scholarship and must acknowledge that there are ways to do good scholarship that do not have to be confined to any ideologies or dependent on any material conditions. And thus many excuses for not producing good scholarship should not continue and should not be tolerated. What you have described above is often referred to as ‘street scholarship’ or ‘behind-the-scene scholarship’, meaning it has a degree of critical engagement and could be totally opposite to ‘official scholarship’. However, this form of scholarship has not helped further scholarship because it has not been validated and not been engaged publicly. I also believe that good scholarship does not have to be critical of any government, but at least should be responsible for what is put forward and well justified.
From what I can see, a certain amount of the recent anti-China / foreign aggression in Vietnam has come from those in Vietnam and overseas who want to contest the Vietnamese government’s monopoly on public discourse. The Vietnamese government was seen by some as being too acquiescent and even in cahoots with the Chinese government. This provided a venue by which those who would want greater civil expression to participate in public protests outside of those that are official sanctioned. Through attacking foreign aggression they could place themselves on a nationalist moral high ground, making it awkward for the government to suppress them.
This stance does have mainstream sympathy for the reasons you have mentioned and as a result the Vietnamese government has also come around to a fairly similar stance (at least in their rhetoric).
Yea, I am aware of this, and it is related to what Kuching said above about different ways of being critical. My issue with this is that 1) it seems like a really clumsy way to try to get things done (although when you have no other means, I guess it’s the best way), and 2) I still think it is unhelpful because it leaves in place too many problematic ideas, and ultimately those ideas will get in the way.
For example, I don’t find the “resistance to foreign aggression” narrative to be helpful at all for the present. That narrative is based on the myths that A) “China” has always wanted to invade “Vietnam” and B) “the Vietnamese” have always united together to fight the Chinese. It tells people that “we’ve seen this before and succeeded in the past, so we will do the same again.”
Even if this narrative was not a myth, the current situation is one which “Vietnam” and “China” have never encountered before. Both places have governments which have now tied their legitimacy to economic prosperity (that’s new), and the economies of both places are now very interconnected with each other and the world (also new). They are also both at a point where the economic growth which both places have enjoyed is starting to slow, and this is happening right at the point when a large percentage of the population in both lands is used to “the good life” that they now have and are expecting and demanding more (this is also new).
This is all new, and the “resistance to foreign aggression” and “protecting the nation’s sovereignty” discourses just don’t fit this current reality very well. Yes, they are very good at getting people excited, but I can’t see how they can push public discourse to a place where the issues of the day can get constructively resolved.
“Nationalist victim narratives” maybe belong to the kind of “grand-narrative” in [post] modern theories of narration! And of course, as other “grand-narratives”, they must be disolved as much and as soon as possible!
Exactly! I think you are referring to works like Hayden White’s “Metahistory: The Historical Imagination in Nineteenth-Century Europe” (1973) which tried to demonstrate how historians write their histories in certain genres, like tragedies, combined with an ideological purpose.
It’s been years since I read that book. In looking at a summary of it now, I see that it is more complex than what I remember of it (http://www.lehigh.edu/~ineng/syll/syll-metahistory.html), but yes, it would be interesting to use White’s ideas to demonstrate what is at work in a victim narrative (but perhaps that has already been done for another country somewhere?).