A RED SUN: A TLIAD.
- Thread starter Sulemain
- Start date
Sulemain
Banned
Korea used to be called the Hermit Kingdom for its Isolation. While hermit like behaviour in this century is best ascribed to the Soviet Union, The Dual Empires of Japan and Korea as the country I am visiting is officially called is not one renowned for its openness. Unrepentantly imperialist and unashamed in its belief in the divine right of the Korean and Japanese peoples to rule the world, it is in many respects an anachronism.
Pyongyang Airport is a classic example of this. Whereas other countries airports display said countries desire to welcome those who come to it, what greets one at arrival in Pyongyang is some different. A great gleaming bronze statue, of a Japanese man and a Korean woman, holding their hands into the sky, a world crushed beneath their feet. The great sphere has cracks on it, and if one examines it closely, can see that those cracks cover the capital cities of the great powers of the world. This is the face the Dual Monarchy presents to the world.
Check-in is civil, but cool. I am the only European on the flight, the majority of the passengers being from Iran, Thailand and the Republic of China. The only odd one out is an Argentinian woman, who looks at me with icey disdain. Thankfully, I manage to get talking to the passport-control officer before an incident can occur. I enquire in halting Standard Chinese if everything is in order, and the reply if in the affirmative. I get a strange look as I pick up my bags and leave. Even in this place, my appearance, my heritage, draws notice.
The foyer is relatively quiet; the Empire has ties with but a few countries, and it is not often its subjects can leave it. The walls are decorated in art in the Japanese and Korean styles, art of a highly nationalistic, sometimes violent nature. I am particularly fascinated, and appalled, by an art piece that shows a giant, hideous eagle swooping over a mountain, and the brave, noble, or so the image would suggest, Imperial solider standing against it. It’s all rather overdone nonsense, but then again, I come from a country that has freedom to dissent, to reject, to gather one’s own information. Here, one is taught to value ignorance and hatred.
My driver is a woman, much to my surprise, relatively attractive. Dark hair and brown eyed, one gets the impression she would have an excellent smile. She speaks to me in halting English, asking me to confirm my identity. Once I do so, she gestures for me to follow her.
Pyongyang is a bustling city, a centre of industrial activity on the Korean peninsula. While Seoul has the culture and history, Pyongyang has the factories and industry that makes it so valuable to the Dual Empire. I have been told that it is a privilege to be granted a meeting with the secretive head of the Prefecture Police, Colonel Kim Jong-nam. The press in this country is not the watchful 4th Estate it is in our own, it a subservient tool of the state. I must tread carefully.
The office of Colonel Kim Jong-nam in the Police Building in downtown Pyongyang is decorated in a very personal style; Korean artwork, an Amur Leopard rug (the animal being seen as a national symbol of the Empire, having such a rug is a major status symbol) and, of course, an official photograph of the Emperor. One immediately remembers the office of the Commanding Officer of the Indians in Tibet.
The Colonel is tall by North Korean standards, with a hard face. He remains seated as he gestures me to sit with a hand movement; no politeness or offerings of tea this time. He speaks through a translater. After the standard round of introductions and general questions, I ask him about policing in the city.
“We Koreans, as full and equal partners with the Japanese race, we see no political opposition in this Prefecture. Organised crime is not a thing here. “
I raise an eyebrow at that, for organised crime, of a Korean nationalist, Japanese-exclusive or pan-Imperial nature is not unknown here. I wonder again where the rug came from, but I say nothing.
“Of course, savages and saboteurs continue in their actions. Our eugenics program, our education schemes, do nothing to remove this poison from our race. But we fight them, for the salvation of our blood and the glory of the Empire.”
I fight the urge to raise both my eyebrows at an official in a government spouting things that sounds remarkably similar to the long dead German attempted Putchist Adolf Hitler. Again, I say nothing, and try to hide my disgust. I simply ask him to elaborate on how much the Imperial Police is divided into its Japanese and Korean segments. His response is immediate.
“There are no problems, and the division is an illusion in the minds of the separatists and the Western dogs who enable them. My immediate superior is Japanese, and the head of the Hiroshima Prefecture Police is a Korean, albeit a southerner. The Dual Monarchy, The Two Races, are indivisible.”
I swiftly and successfully change the subject to that of Police technology, and the face of the Colonel lights up.
“We have the latest homebuilt weapons and tools at our disposal. What we cannot build for ourselves, we gain as tribute from our lesser partners, the Italians the Iranians. The former might still be decadent Westerners, but they still lead the world in electronic surveillance and in cybernetic enhancement. Of course, the latter is banned in the Empire.”
He pauses, and I sense the interview coming to an end.
“Of course, we of the Korean and Japanese races need no such tools. We are perfect; those who fail to meet the standards their race and Emperor demands of them deserve no mercy or forgiveness.”
Pyongyang Airport is a classic example of this. Whereas other countries airports display said countries desire to welcome those who come to it, what greets one at arrival in Pyongyang is some different. A great gleaming bronze statue, of a Japanese man and a Korean woman, holding their hands into the sky, a world crushed beneath their feet. The great sphere has cracks on it, and if one examines it closely, can see that those cracks cover the capital cities of the great powers of the world. This is the face the Dual Monarchy presents to the world.
Check-in is civil, but cool. I am the only European on the flight, the majority of the passengers being from Iran, Thailand and the Republic of China. The only odd one out is an Argentinian woman, who looks at me with icey disdain. Thankfully, I manage to get talking to the passport-control officer before an incident can occur. I enquire in halting Standard Chinese if everything is in order, and the reply if in the affirmative. I get a strange look as I pick up my bags and leave. Even in this place, my appearance, my heritage, draws notice.
The foyer is relatively quiet; the Empire has ties with but a few countries, and it is not often its subjects can leave it. The walls are decorated in art in the Japanese and Korean styles, art of a highly nationalistic, sometimes violent nature. I am particularly fascinated, and appalled, by an art piece that shows a giant, hideous eagle swooping over a mountain, and the brave, noble, or so the image would suggest, Imperial solider standing against it. It’s all rather overdone nonsense, but then again, I come from a country that has freedom to dissent, to reject, to gather one’s own information. Here, one is taught to value ignorance and hatred.
My driver is a woman, much to my surprise, relatively attractive. Dark hair and brown eyed, one gets the impression she would have an excellent smile. She speaks to me in halting English, asking me to confirm my identity. Once I do so, she gestures for me to follow her.
Pyongyang is a bustling city, a centre of industrial activity on the Korean peninsula. While Seoul has the culture and history, Pyongyang has the factories and industry that makes it so valuable to the Dual Empire. I have been told that it is a privilege to be granted a meeting with the secretive head of the Prefecture Police, Colonel Kim Jong-nam. The press in this country is not the watchful 4th Estate it is in our own, it a subservient tool of the state. I must tread carefully.
The office of Colonel Kim Jong-nam in the Police Building in downtown Pyongyang is decorated in a very personal style; Korean artwork, an Amur Leopard rug (the animal being seen as a national symbol of the Empire, having such a rug is a major status symbol) and, of course, an official photograph of the Emperor. One immediately remembers the office of the Commanding Officer of the Indians in Tibet.
The Colonel is tall by North Korean standards, with a hard face. He remains seated as he gestures me to sit with a hand movement; no politeness or offerings of tea this time. He speaks through a translater. After the standard round of introductions and general questions, I ask him about policing in the city.
“We Koreans, as full and equal partners with the Japanese race, we see no political opposition in this Prefecture. Organised crime is not a thing here. “
I raise an eyebrow at that, for organised crime, of a Korean nationalist, Japanese-exclusive or pan-Imperial nature is not unknown here. I wonder again where the rug came from, but I say nothing.
“Of course, savages and saboteurs continue in their actions. Our eugenics program, our education schemes, do nothing to remove this poison from our race. But we fight them, for the salvation of our blood and the glory of the Empire.”
I fight the urge to raise both my eyebrows at an official in a government spouting things that sounds remarkably similar to the long dead German attempted Putchist Adolf Hitler. Again, I say nothing, and try to hide my disgust. I simply ask him to elaborate on how much the Imperial Police is divided into its Japanese and Korean segments. His response is immediate.
“There are no problems, and the division is an illusion in the minds of the separatists and the Western dogs who enable them. My immediate superior is Japanese, and the head of the Hiroshima Prefecture Police is a Korean, albeit a southerner. The Dual Monarchy, The Two Races, are indivisible.”
I swiftly and successfully change the subject to that of Police technology, and the face of the Colonel lights up.
“We have the latest homebuilt weapons and tools at our disposal. What we cannot build for ourselves, we gain as tribute from our lesser partners, the Italians the Iranians. The former might still be decadent Westerners, but they still lead the world in electronic surveillance and in cybernetic enhancement. Of course, the latter is banned in the Empire.”
He pauses, and I sense the interview coming to an end.
“Of course, we of the Korean and Japanese races need no such tools. We are perfect; those who fail to meet the standards their race and Emperor demands of them deserve no mercy or forgiveness.”
Sulemain
Banned
Basically I took Japan as it developed in OTL up until it's defeat, added a lack of the total discrediting of fascism ITTL (it was partially discredited in the 30s, but only partially), and a siege mentality. The Colonel isn't particularly unique in what he says, if he believes in the BS is another question.
Also, a whole host of OTL North Korea, which is quite similar to Imperial Japan. As I recall, OTL Japanese propaganda emphasised the "brotherhood" of the Japanese and Koreans.
The conclusion I've come to with authoritarian/totalitarian states is that if you're not actively opposing them, you are accepting them. You may not be active in your acceptance, but silent obedient consent is consent none the less.
Would they be speaking Japanese or Korean? That is an important question if the Dual Empire thing wants to be integrated into one.
Sulemain
Banned
All Koreans in government positions are required to be bilingual; in this case he is speaking Japanese to make a point.
However, Japanese government officials are only required to be bilingual if they work in Korea.
Ah. I must say, this dual empire thingy is very interesting.
It will get even more interesting when Korea becomes independent: a Japanese-speaking, racist uber-sweatshop? That sounds like one hell of a country to me. They'd totally stick with Japan even after independence.
Sulemain
Banned
Why should Korea become independent? And how? Ideologically and economically they are tied at the hip.
Sulemain
Banned
The ideology of the Empire underwent a big shift in the 70s from an offensive, expansionist mindset to a defensive, insular one.
No one In-Universe knows this, but the Dual Empire was planning to attack Taiwan before the Sino-Soviet War put payed to that plan.
That's actually the difference between authoritarian and totalitarian states: authoritarian governments are fine with passive acquiescence, but totalitarian ones demand active and enthusiastic support. The Dual Empire seems to be in the process of changing from a totalitarian state into something more garden-variety authoritarian.
Sulemain
Banned
An interesting conclusion. I'd argue Italy went from authoritarian, to totalitarian, to authoritarian again ITTL. A state can relax itself when it has total electronic hegemony over its citizens.
The Dual Empire is perhaps the nastiest in it's internal policy when it comes to Forth Way states, but even then they've moderated quite a bit from the seventies and eighties, whereby they were threatening to nuke anyone and everyone and the nationalist rhetoric was even more extreme. The Dual Empire itself was established in the aftermath of the Sino-Soviet War as it happens.
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Sulemain
Banned
I stay a night in Pyongyang in the “European Hotel”; an establishment that I am told is so riddled with electronics as to make PC World look puny by comparison. A few drinks with a Tyrolese German gives me a chance to practice that language, and make a new acquaintance in the progress; it’s good to spend the evening with someone.
I leave my lovely companion after a breakfast that I suspect would cost the average Korean miner a week’s wages, before going to catch my train to the North. The station itself is antiquated compared to its European counterparts, whereas one can travel from Paris to Konigsberg, from Vienna to Stockholm in Europe without having to show ones passport even once, here travel is a privilege granted to a certain few. Most Koreans, and Japanese for that matter, spend their lives in one place, and it takes exceptional talent and determination to achieve mobility, in a social, economic, political or even physical sense.
The decoration is that same mix that I saw at the airport, the beautiful tradition art style conflicting with the harsh, brutal, even horrifying images on display. The strange thing is, the effect on the local commuters, such as they are, seems to be limited, if it impacts upon them at all. Either familiarity breeds contempt, or they’ve taken the message so to heart that seeing it again no longer inspires more hatred in them.
The train journey itself involves an overnight trip, and thankfully I have managed to secure an overnight sleeper carriage spot. There is no internet on the train, nor much of it anywhere in this land. I therefore find the time to read, and relax.
A few stops later, as the night closes in, I find my journey being joined by another, a nondescript man in a business suit, who pays little heed to me. I do, however, find myself thinking about this strange country. All the other member states of The Fourth Way make pretensions, at the least, to engage with the world on terms other than raw aggression. Even Italy at least tries engage with the world, albeit advocating a form of technological totalitarianism that would give Blair nightmares. A system of government that is a third monarchy, a third military dictatorship and a third organised anarchy. I am reminded of the old saw that organised crime isn’t a thing that happens in Japan, because here, they call it government.
I doze off to thoughts of thoughts of my cosy flat in London, and sleep content in the fact I will soon return to it.
I awake to find the train nearing its destination, being offered kimchi and tea; it comes with the ticket and so I accept it; I am hungry and don’t know when I am to eat again. Gathering my bags after refreshing myself in the on-board washroom, I depart at the station. There a driver is once again waiting for me; the transport this time is a military jeep, which I am surprised to realise has Bugatti as its manufacturer. I find myself heading away from the station, in a North-Western direction.
The scenery gets more and more barren, and more and more militarised. Barb wire fences line the world, and I occasionally, through the trees, catch glimpses of tanks, helicopters and other, more deadly and devastating devices. My driver explains that this close to what he calls “The Northern Barbarians”, civilians do not come here.
We find ourselves at a reinforced checkpoint, pillboxes, machine guns and missile launchers. They’re two guard towers, and the driver explains I am allowed up one of them. I climb the stair case into the tower. Inside it is chill, and the slots open to the air. I take a pair of binoculars off the wall, and look through them. In the distance, I can see another checkpoint. This one does not have the Rising Sun flag over it; rather the hammer and sickle of the Soviet Union.
I pause, and catch my breath. Although it is many, many miles away from Moscow, from St Petersburg and Kiev, all the great cities of the Rodinia, it is still Russian soil. Not Polish or Turkish. Russian soil. The soil of the motherland. The soil of home.
“Are you quite alright Mr Putin?”
asks the driver, in flawless Russian.
“Yes, quite alright" I reply.
But it is a lie. 10 years is far too long for anyone to be separated from his country, even if he left it willingly.
I turn away from the guards and the driver, and hope my tears are due to the chill.
I leave my lovely companion after a breakfast that I suspect would cost the average Korean miner a week’s wages, before going to catch my train to the North. The station itself is antiquated compared to its European counterparts, whereas one can travel from Paris to Konigsberg, from Vienna to Stockholm in Europe without having to show ones passport even once, here travel is a privilege granted to a certain few. Most Koreans, and Japanese for that matter, spend their lives in one place, and it takes exceptional talent and determination to achieve mobility, in a social, economic, political or even physical sense.
The decoration is that same mix that I saw at the airport, the beautiful tradition art style conflicting with the harsh, brutal, even horrifying images on display. The strange thing is, the effect on the local commuters, such as they are, seems to be limited, if it impacts upon them at all. Either familiarity breeds contempt, or they’ve taken the message so to heart that seeing it again no longer inspires more hatred in them.
The train journey itself involves an overnight trip, and thankfully I have managed to secure an overnight sleeper carriage spot. There is no internet on the train, nor much of it anywhere in this land. I therefore find the time to read, and relax.
A few stops later, as the night closes in, I find my journey being joined by another, a nondescript man in a business suit, who pays little heed to me. I do, however, find myself thinking about this strange country. All the other member states of The Fourth Way make pretensions, at the least, to engage with the world on terms other than raw aggression. Even Italy at least tries engage with the world, albeit advocating a form of technological totalitarianism that would give Blair nightmares. A system of government that is a third monarchy, a third military dictatorship and a third organised anarchy. I am reminded of the old saw that organised crime isn’t a thing that happens in Japan, because here, they call it government.
I doze off to thoughts of thoughts of my cosy flat in London, and sleep content in the fact I will soon return to it.
I awake to find the train nearing its destination, being offered kimchi and tea; it comes with the ticket and so I accept it; I am hungry and don’t know when I am to eat again. Gathering my bags after refreshing myself in the on-board washroom, I depart at the station. There a driver is once again waiting for me; the transport this time is a military jeep, which I am surprised to realise has Bugatti as its manufacturer. I find myself heading away from the station, in a North-Western direction.
The scenery gets more and more barren, and more and more militarised. Barb wire fences line the world, and I occasionally, through the trees, catch glimpses of tanks, helicopters and other, more deadly and devastating devices. My driver explains that this close to what he calls “The Northern Barbarians”, civilians do not come here.
We find ourselves at a reinforced checkpoint, pillboxes, machine guns and missile launchers. They’re two guard towers, and the driver explains I am allowed up one of them. I climb the stair case into the tower. Inside it is chill, and the slots open to the air. I take a pair of binoculars off the wall, and look through them. In the distance, I can see another checkpoint. This one does not have the Rising Sun flag over it; rather the hammer and sickle of the Soviet Union.
I pause, and catch my breath. Although it is many, many miles away from Moscow, from St Petersburg and Kiev, all the great cities of the Rodinia, it is still Russian soil. Not Polish or Turkish. Russian soil. The soil of the motherland. The soil of home.
“Are you quite alright Mr Putin?”
asks the driver, in flawless Russian.
“Yes, quite alright" I reply.
But it is a lie. 10 years is far too long for anyone to be separated from his country, even if he left it willingly.
I turn away from the guards and the driver, and hope my tears are due to the chill.
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Hue. Even in the Japanese occupation era, I believe, a common tradition was putting raw egg in the tea(lack of nutrition deemed it so that everything needed nutrition). Perhaps that can be more interesting(and accurate) than kimchi.
And Hej, call me Vladimir!
Alex Richards
Donor
Oh fantastic twist there. And is that George Orwell being known by his actual name there?