Rethinking Representations of Asian Women

Rethinking Representations
of Asian Women
Rethinking Representations
of Asian Women
Changes, Continuity, and
Everyday Life
Edited by
Noriko Ijichi, Atsufumi Kato, and

Ryoko Sakurada
RETHINKING REPRESENTATIONS OF ASIAN WOMEN
Selection and editorial content © Noriko Ijichi, Atsufumi Kato, and
Ryoko Sakurada 2016
Individual chapters © their respective contributors 2016
Softcover reprint of the hardcover 1st edition 2016 978-1-137-53151-3
All rights reserved. No reproduction, copy or transmission of this
publication may be made without written permission. No portion of
this publication may be reproduced, copied or transmitted save with
written permission. In accordance with the provisions of the Copyright,
Designs and Patents Act 1988, or under the terms of any licence permitting
limited copying issued by the Copyright Licensing Agency, Saffron House,
6-10 Kirby Street, London EC1N 8TS.
Any person who does any unauthorized act in relation to this publication
may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for damages.
First published 2016 by
PALGRAVE MACMILLAN
The authors have asserted their rights to be identified as the authors of this
work in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.
Palgrave Macmillan in the UK is an imprint of Macmillan Publishers Limited,
registered in England, company number 785998, of Houndmills,
Basingstoke, Hampshire, RG21 6XS.
Palgrave Macmillan in the US is a division of Nature America, Inc.,
One New York Plaza, Suite 4500, New York, NY 10004-1562.
Palgrave Macmillan is the global academic imprint of the above companies
and has companies and representatives throughout the world.
ISBN 978-1-349-57133-8
E-PDF ISBN: 978–1–137–52528–4
DOI: 10.1057/9781137525284
Distribution in the UK, Europe and the rest of the world is by Palgrave
Macmillan®, a division of Macmillan Publishers Limited, registered in
England, company number 785998, of Houndmills, Basingstoke,
Hampshire RG21 6XS.
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Rethinking representations of Asian women : changes, continuity, and
everyday life / edited by Noriko Ijichi, Atsufumi Kato, Ryoko Sakurada.
pages cm
1. Women—Asia—History. 2. Women—Asia—Social conditions.

3. Asia—Social life and customs—History. 4. Women’s studies—Asia.
I. Ijichi, Noriko, 1966– editor. II. Kato, Atsufumi, 1975– editor.
III. Sakurada, Ryoko, 1975– editor.
HQ1726.R477 2015
305.4095—dc23 2015019560
A catalogue record for the book is available from the British Library.
Contents
List of Illustrations vii

Acknowledgments ix
Introduction: Pluralizing Images, the Sphere of

Everyday Life, and the Agency of Relatedness:
Representative Interventions for Women in Asia 1
Noriko Ijichi, Atsufumi Kato, and Ryoko Sakurada
1 The Mother’s Identity among the Korean Diaspora

Women of Japan 17
Jung-Eun Hong
2 On Encouraging Mothers of Multiple Children through

the Order of the Mother Glorious in Mongolia 35
Turmunkh Odontuya
3 Imperial Japan and the Female Skin Divers (Chamsu)

of Jeju Island, South Korea 51
Noriko Ijichi
4 Everyday Practices of Immigrant Vietnamese Women in

Japan in Obtaining Ingredients for the Food of Their
Homeland 69
Erina Seto-Suh
5 Divorced Newcomer Korean Women in Japan: The
Decision to Remain in Japan and Lifestyle Adjustments 87
Dukin Lim
6 Crafting Religious Selves in a Transnational Space:
Japanese Women Who Converted to Islam upon
Marrying Pakistani Migrants 105
Masako Kudo
vi C o n t e n ts
7 Working in the City and Rearing Children in the

Hometown: Women-centered Relationships of a
Patrilineal Chinese Family in Peninsular Malaysia 123
Ryoko Sakurada
8 A Concerned Mother of the Souls in the House:

The Agency of Vietnamese Elderly Women Who
Live Alone in Their Home Villages 139
Atsufumi Kato
9 A Regime Where the Woman’s Voice Is Heard:
Guanluoyin as a Form of Abortion Ritual in
Contemporary Taiwan 155
Grace Cheng-Ying Lin
10 The Role of Women’s Self-Help Networks in Anti-caste
Discrimination Movements in Nepal 173
Kanako Nakagawa
List of Contributors 191
Index 193
List of Illustrations
Tables
2.1 Women Awarded with Mother Glorious Order 42
5.1 Marriage in Japan 91
5.2 Divorce in Japan 91
5.3 Rate of Divorce among Marriages in
2000, 2005, and 2009 92
5.4 Characteristics of Informants 94
7.1 Outline of the Two Women’s Social
Backgrounds in 2009 128
8.1 Age Structure of the Vietnamese Population,
1979–2009 141
8.2 Distribution of the Elderly Population by
Area (Percent) 141
8.3 Living Arrangements of the Elderly in Vietnam,
1992/93–2008 (Percent) 141
10.1 Activities of the NKSS 184
10.2 NKSS Branch Activities 186
Figures
2.1 “Mother Glorious” First Class Order 39
2.2 The Number of Rewarded Mothers with the
First and Second Class Order of the Mother
Glorious (by Year) 41
3.1 Map of chamsu’s Diving Points in Japan 60
9.1 The Ritual Space at the Hall of Complete and
Virtuous Eternity 163
Acknowledgments
Most of the chapters in this volume are based on papers presented at

three panels conducted at the Annual Conference of the Association
for Asian Studies (AAS): the first, “Reconstruction of Intimate and
Public Spheres in Asia: Circumstantial Nexuses of People with
Childbirth and Child Care in Japan, Malaysia, Taiwan and Vietnam,”
was organized by Atsufumi Kato at the 2012 conference in Toronto;
the latter two, entitled “Images and Realities of the ‘Tenacity’ of Asian
Women: Gendered Agencies Moving In and Out of Korea” and
“Caring Mothers in the Dynamics of Moving and Staying: Cases from
the Post-Colonial Korean Peninsula, Multiethnic Japan, and Socialist
Vietnam,” chaired by Noriko Ijichi and Atsufumi Kato, respectively,
were held at the 2014 AAS-in-ASIA Conference at the National
University of Singapore. At these panels, some of the speakers’ travel
expenses were subsidized by the Kyoto University Global COE
Program for “Reconstruction of the Intimate and Public Spheres in
21st Century Asia,” the Shibusawa Foundation for Ethnological
Studies, AAS, and the Kyoto University Graduate School of
Agriculture, as well as two Grants-in-Aid for Scientific Research from
the Japanese Ministry of Education, Culture, Sports, Science and
Technology (MEXT), headed by professors Yoko Hayami and Motoji
Matsuda. We would like to thank Professor Danièle Bélanger, who
chaired the 2012 panel in Toronto, and Dr. Bryna M. Tuft, the dis-
cussant. We would like to extend our thanks to Professor Michiko
Yoshii, Dr. Young-ja Ko, and Dr. Tran Thi Minh Thi, who contrib-
uted their papers to the panels. Professor Masako Kudo, Dr. Kanako
Nakagawa, and Dr. Turmunkh Odontuya joined our project after
planning for this volume had begun.
Finally, we would like to express our gratitude to Rachel Krause,
Veronica Godstein, Alisa Pulver, Leighton Lustig, Ganesh Kannayiram,
and Milana Vernikova for their support in publishing this book.
Introduction
Pluralizing Images, the Sphere of

Everyday Life, and the Agency
of Rel atedness: Representative
Interventions for Women in Asia
Noriko Ijichi, Atsufumi Kato, and
Ryoko Sakurada
Women in Asia
The first thing we need to argue is whether we should bring together
case studies in this volume under the category of women in Asia.
Portraying people’s experiences as stories of a certain region, race, or
gender category may reveal many important aspects of their lives, but
such portrayal might conceal several indispensable details. Maybe
because of that, Trinh Minh-ha wrote that “[w]henever friendly edi-
tors of journals and anthologies asked me to contribute writing in the
area of race, ethnicity, class, gender and postcolonial theories, the only
work I sent out for publication was poetry” (2011, 13).
This volume, however, is not an anthology of poems but rather
a collection of academic papers in which identifying subjects, ether
tactically or tentatively, is somehow inevitable. The chapters in this
volume deal with cases of women in Asia, especially who have experi-
enced removal, separation, deprivation, and reunification. In particu-
lar, this volume focuses on the importance of family in Asia and
how Asian women’s lives are impacted by colonialism, nationalism,
and the (post–) Cold War regime; it also considers the influence of
drastic economic changes on their lives due to the rapid process of
2 N o r i k o I j i c h i , A t s u f u m i K at o, a n d R y o k o S a k u r a d a
globalization and neoliberal restructuring. We hope that the case

studies given here pluralize the image of women in Asia, make the
meanings of these women’s practices open to argument, and stimulate
readers’ imaginations about the predicament and affluence of their
lives in the same way that poetic language does.
If “one responsibility of the critic might be to read and write” so
that the institutional privileges of power on intellectual subjects are
taken seriously (Spivak 1988, 280), what we need to do in this volume
is to consider what kinds of representative interventions we can enact
to enable the representation of and self-representation by women in
Asia. Of course, we read not only academic articles but historians also
read primary sources, sociologists also compile statistics and question-
naire data, and anthropologists also study narratives and behaviors. To
be sure, we need to be aware of our own positionality when attempt-
ing to act as representatives: our positionality is based on the simple
idea that honest people should be rewarded, a folk sense of justice in
Asian societies. Being fully aware of the risks of representation that we
take, in this volume we describe these women’s everyday lives, speak
for them, and act as mediators to halt misrepresentations of them.
Our volume presents reflections on the interaction between the
politics of representation and the everyday practices of Asian women.
Based on historic and ethnographic approaches, the chapters here
indicate that in order to reveal how the ideological images of Asian
women are produced, circulated, appropriated, and pluralized, it is
necessary to investigate the mutual relationship between the forma-
tion process of ideological representation and people’s everyday prac-
tices that recontextualize or resist these images. In other words, the
objective of this volume is to reveal the interplay between the roles
Asian women are expected to perform—ideology—and what Asian
women actually perform—practice.
The main themes in this volume of gender representation and
everyday practices are addressed differently in each chapter. By utiliz-
ing the differences between chapters, this volume aims to dynamically
and comprehensively explain how gender representations influence
people’s practices and in turn how people’s practices challenge
representations.
Politics of Representation and

the Heterogeneity of the Lifeworld
First, this volume focuses on ideological representations of Asian
women. In modern history, Asian women have been the subjects
R e p r e s e n t at i v e I n t e r v e n t i o n s f o r W o m e n i n A s i a 3
of representation by the forces of imperialism, colonialism, and

nationalism. They have been represented by somewhat stereotyped
images, for instance as suppressed subjects awaiting the benefits of
civilization (Abu-Lughod 1998), as indigenous subjects who fascinate
and even corrupt Western men and children (Stoler 2010). Asian
women have often been represented as good wives and wise mothers
and regarded as the symbol of national unity and ethnic identity,
especially when people are exposed to the power of foreign coun-
tries or are separated and spread apart into different locations
(Chakrabarty 2000; Ochiai 2008; Koyama 2014). These images cir-
culate in many forms that conflict with these women’s real lives. At
the same time, women themselves appropriate and pluralize these
images to reconstruct their self-images, reconnect these images with
their actual lives, and regain their appearance in everyday life. The
first aim of this volume is to describe the various aspects of the rep-
resentation, circulation, appropriation, and pluralization of Asian
women’s images.
In this respect, most of the chapters focus on women on the move
(as well as women who choose not to move). Moving, staying, and
settling in new locations gives women and those around them oppor-
tunities to reconstruct their identity and create new relationships with
family members and local society. When their relatively reliable lives at
“home” become unstable, they usually initiate nonidentical, emer-
gent, and tactical practices and also recapture their self-representation
to accommodate new circumstances.
However, it is difficult to say that historic and anthropological
studies of Asian women have been successful in capturing these non-
identical, emergent, and tactical practices that undercut identical rep-
resentations. Dipesh Chakrabarty, who has conducted historical
analysis of the intellectual context of colonial India in which women
were represented as submissive but patriotic subjects, relates an anec-
dote about an incident that took place in his parents’ house in Calcutta
(1998, 476). The family was watching a television show in which a
young, intellectual Bengali woman was talking about contemporary
Bengali short stories. Chakrabarty could not listen to her because his
parents, his cousin, and the cousin’s wife were chatting enthusiasti-
cally about the manner in which she wore her sari and arguing over
whether she could become a good wife (she happened to be the fian-
cée of a member of their kinship group). Chakrabarty was at first frus-
trated by their idle talk, but then realized he had a sense of relief
in this situation because he understood that the fact that his parents
did not read what he had written was what freed him to develop a
“critical” academic-theoretical voice, which could be seen as “bad”

behavior in a Bengali kinship context. Though his parents did not
share the same intellectual concerns as he or the woman on TV, they
seemed to accept both him and the young woman, regardless.
In this episode, no one was able to share the concerns of the other,
but they all shared a space without denying one another’s existence.
Even his parents’ enthusiastic discussion of the young woman’s clothes
proves that there is no clear consensus on what makes good wives and
mothers. Just as philosophers of the Frankfurt School insisted on the
value of the nonidentical in order to resist the politics of standardiza-
tion, we need to keep our eyes on this heterogeneity of the lifeworld
so as to maintain a basis for resistance against the excess of identity
politics.1 The Subaltern Studies Group, in fact, cannot successfully
focus on this kind of heterogeneous reality in everyday life. After all,
Chakrabarty’s anecdote itself is literally a fragmented episode inserted
in the context of subaltern studies, which tends to depict ordinary
people’s behaviors as rational reactions to surrounding situations
based on their national or class consciousness.
Structuralism and Constructionism

From the outset, a holistic approach to representing different cultures
has been the core of descriptions of others within the modern social
sciences. This approach, appropriated by specialists for specialists, por-
trayed various ways of life as uniform aggregates (Rosaldo 1989, 50).
Within this, phenomena not considered patterned or systematic were
judged to be analytically inaccessible, labeled as exceptions, ambigu-
ous, and irregular.
Entering the 1960s, Fredrik Barth contended that structural func-
tionalism, which foresaw a pre-established harmony, could not explain
social change. Barth argued that behavior is not produced through
mechanized adherence to rules, but can only be understood by con-
sidering an individual’s consciousness and objectives (Barth 1969).
The individual Barth focused on here was the scheming pragmatist,
bargaining with others and manipulating circumstances to best fit his
or her own interests. His position was that individuals select categories
like “race,” “sexuality,” and “culture” depending on the situation.
This stance treated its subjects as volitional actors by focusing on indi-
vidual decision making.
Structuralism, which holds that society shapes individuals’ actions,
and the idea of subjectification, recognizing rational choice, were
produced by opposing human views within modern social science.

However, these two positions, seemingly antagonistic at a glance,
actually share common ground. That is, both structuralism and the
idea of subjectification harden borderlines like “race,” “sexuality,”
and “culture” that segment human image and identity, while estab-
lishing and substantiating a priori a consistent essence within them.
Such human segmentation became mainstream within conventional
modern science.
Following the 1980s, a position reconsidering the very existence of
human segmentation came to the fore, represented by Eric Hobsbawm
and Terence Ranger’s The Invention of Tradition (1983). The work’s
excellence lies in the argument that what first appears traditional and nat-
ural is actually a product newly invented by modernity and camouflaged
as “continuity” from the past. This stance criticized modern Western
thought’s view of humanity that stressed the consistency of identity.
Further, the “invention” perspective recognizes no essential existence
within phenomena; rather, it reads and deconstructs them as cultur-
ally constructed texts, expanding into a theory of constructionism.
However, this proposition does not necessarily apply to, for exam-
ple, zainichi people (Koreans in Japan), discussed by Jung-Eun Hong
in chapter 1 of this volume. With respect to the housing, employ-
ment, and education discrimination zainichi face in Japan, it is inap-
propriate to insist that ethnicity is something each individual selects.
At the same time, the status of zainichi can also be chosen. For chil-
dren with both Japanese and Korean parents, to “recognize oneself as
Korean” is indeed a personal choice. Furthermore, as outlined in the
chapter, there are cases in which zainichi Korean women “actively”
participate in organized activities while being marginalized at the
same time within such organizations, creating a peculiar environment
that cannot be attributed to nationalism.
Orientalism
Edward Said pointed out that modern Western thought’s peculiar
worldview created the context in which it was considered important
for humans to locate themselves within a racial framework (Said 1978).
Orientalism was not merely an existential/epistemological classifica-
tion demonstrating a fascination with the hitherto “unknown.”
The West selected the terminology used for discussing and describing
the Orient without any recourse for considering the accuracy/
inaccuracy of its content. In actuality, establishing an image of the
Orient as undeveloped, invariant, passive, and irrational was necessary

as a mirror for the West to construct a consistent image of itself. Then,
as the Western powers set out to colonize and broaden their spheres
of influence, colonized subjects were compared to Western nationals
(for whom uniformity was precedent) and violently exploited as
“backward, immature, and indecent.”
Colonies transitioned into “independent” nation-states. However,
with Orientalism still on the table, these countries were rearranged
within the “world-economy” system constructed by the imperial
powers. The main pillars of the “world-economy” are racism, modern
nation-states, and ethnic groups. Systematic racism operates ideologi-
cally to legitimize the social stratification of laborers and unequal dis-
tribution shaped by the “color line.” The imbalance of power between
the greater and lesser nations precipitated unequal exchange, leading
to the geographic concentration of capital. Ethnic groups fit into the
process of accumulating capital here as a way to maintain age- and
sex-based discrimination in nonmarket labor (Ong 2006). In other
words, they were arranged to produce the cheapest labor possible, as
we mention again in a later section. There, from the core to the
periphery, an outer layer of “traditional” culture was attached to
each occupational role and economic rank, creating the guise of
legitimacy.
In the 1980s, criticism of “Orientalism” and the “invention of tra-
dition” came to the fore. There are two main currents to this criticism.
The first finds the structurally dominant/subjugated dichotomy
decidedly one dimensional. The second critique comes from nones-
sentialist deconstructionists, who reject the existence of an “essence”
and interpret phenomena as culturally constructed texts. However, as
in the case of zainichi, we must be careful to remember that by adopt-
ing this relativist approach, it becomes very difficult to grasp the vio-
lence inherent in historically structuring individuals within a specific
category as “weak.” This is due to the existence of two broad patterns
for inventing cooperation in the modern West. First, the structurally
powerful produce cultural agency based on what is positive and conve-
nient for them. Then, the structurally weak design their own agency
dependent upon the categories discovered and enforced by the former.
Thus, inequality is imbedded in the process of forming cultural
agency. The Asian women discussed here undertook this imbalance at
first but maneuvered to create something more. While enduring the
lasting effects of imperialism even in the postcolonial period, global-
izing world systems, and nationalism, women on the move flexibly
built spheres of everyday life.
Practices, Tactics, and the Sphere

of Everyday Life
“Historians from below” share this debate concerning the sphere of
everyday life. Peter Burke and others espouse a history “from below,”
proposing a shift in the perspective from which we assess history and
society to the individual, with an emphasis on everyday life (Burke 1991).
In an attempt to break free of the rigidity of modernist historical
description and social consciousness, which grossly overemphasized
macro political economies, nations, and collective movements, these
“new historians” approached history at the level of everyday life,
focusing on the minutiae of individual behavior. Within the field of
anthropology, James Scott was the first to write from this historical
standpoint. Scott reported on “resistance from below” in the form of
escape, lies, and jokes; a web of unorganized and diverse individual
practices (Scott 1986). For such practice to truly oppose discrimina-
tion and exclusion—rooted not only in ethnicity, but all standardized
attributes like sexuality and health—it is necessary for individuals
divided by those stereotypes to unify. Yet what becomes the source of
strength when preparing to consolidate?
It is not always principles or advocacies that bring people together,
as Max Weber demonstrates. By defining ethnic groups as “human
groups that entertain a subjective belief in their common descent
because of similarities of physical types or of customs or both, or because
of memories of colonization and migration; this belief must be impor-
tant for the propagation of group formation; conversely, it does not
matter whether or not an objective blood relationship exists” (Weber
1978, 389). Weber points out the nonintrinsic nature of “essentialism.”
Here, he posits that “belief” serves as the opportunity for ethnicity to
be actualized. The source of “belief” is “native-country sentiment
(Heimatsgefuhl),” engendered by a “memory” of migration/
colonization and “childhood reminiscences.” (Weber 1978, 388)
These sources of consolidation are invisible. However, as compo-
nents of everyday life, they can alter meaning and change the tangible
world. Michel Certeau advanced the idea that among the possible
methods of resistance ordinary people can take within everyday life, the
“tactics” of the weak differ from the “strategies” of power structures.
“Tactics” are the form of resistance practiced by the subjugated, who
must constantly draw their power from outside sources (Certeau 1980).
“Tactics” are also an expression of not being totally bound by the uni-
fied whole. It can be said that daily existence is composed of repeti-
tive, varied, and specific practices. The average person living within
this reality cannot constantly be prepared to fight, to assert oneself as

an aboveboard individual or a representative of the socially vulnerable.
That being said, it is also not the case that people merely adhere to
discrimination without attempting to resist. Daily existence is the
practice of coping with various circumstances and situations in the
appropriate way at a given time. Certeau’s proposition of daily prac-
tice centers on the individual actor’s choice, but it fails to discuss how
a fragmented body can be unified.
By reinterpreting Certeau’s concept of everyday practice in the
field, we see that it is not singular and exclusive, but open as individ-
ual, diverse expressions. This is predicated on flexibility toward both
oneself and others. Thus, the practice of everyday life is neither the
pursuit of ideology nor the affirmation/acceptance of an imposed
framework, but an effort to displace and subtly reform that reality by
relying on one’s own acumen and personal devices. From the perspec-
tive of the sub-divided, rigid power structure, the specific practices of
everyday life are vague, sloppy, and inconsistent. However, human
sense and strength expand comfortably despite the magnitude of
structuration. It is this “malleability” that allows people to adopt a
prescribed “nature” in a given situation, to extemporaneously inno-
vate, or to fluidly transform into “someone else.” This quality is
already endowed; it is not newly discovered or constructed.
However, we also need to be cautious not to exaggerate the poten-
tial of the “tactics” of the weak in everyday life practices. Though it is
undoubtedly important to focus on the heterogeneous reality of the
lifeworld, embracing heterogeneity means nothing more than express-
ing surprise over the complexity of the real world. Instead, we need to
explain historical circumstances that enable or even force people to
make that kind of inconsistent decision-making and to live that kind
of mixed life. In this respect, chapter 3 by Noriko Ijichi is revealing;
she emphasizes the geographical sphere of the Japanese empire that
forced female skin divers in Jeju, an island south of the Korean
Peninsula, to become “tenacious.”
We also call readers’ attention to the issue of “decision-making.”
Most of the chapters in this volume argue about women’s subjective
and often tactical decision making. This is, of course, significant in
terms of emphasizing Asian women’s positive agency. In fact, as the case
studies show, Asian women often make independent choices even in
more or less passive situations such as dispersion and divorce, and these
decisions have an effect on broadening their spheres of everyday life and
promote their autonomy, even when their decisions are painful (see also
Oishi’s argument about “internal empowerment” [2005, Epilogue]).
However, describing women’s decision-making as positive choices

provokes theoretical and ideological problems.
Theoretically, it is not easy, or even impossible, to distinguish pro-
active decision-making from submissive decision-making. In addition,
there is also an ideological problem. As Nancy Fraser (2009) points
out, feminists’ efforts to emphasize women’s self-determination and
self-empowerment unexpectedly legitimates the flexible treatment of
female labor power in today’s neoliberal global economy. It is possible
that embracing Asian women’s autonomous decision-making results
in supporting an argument that attributes Asian women’s difficulties
to their own choices. To avoid this, it is necessary to carefully analyze
the historical, political, economic, and cultural circumstances that
force women to make decisions based on their own discretion in the
first place.
Additionally, as Fraser (2005) also argues, while relativizing Asian
women’s identities, we also need to focus on Asian women’s own
struggles for solidarity, participation, and representation beyond the
existing boundaries of gender, ethnicity, and other social categories.
It is necessary to reconsider the meaning of the nation, the ethnicity, the
family, and individuality for women amid the process of deconstruction
and reconstruction of identity. In fact, Asian women have tried to recap-
ture their own representation and have been struggling to create alter-
native political, economic, and emotional ties by appropriating the
existing categories attributed to them such as nationality, ethnicity,
locality, class and family, and creating alternative identities based on their
nonidentical experiences and practices in everyday life (Ryang 1997;
also see Kanako Nakagawa, chapter 10 in this volume).
Women on the Move: Reconstruction

of Relationships and Struggles
for Independence
As we mentioned above, most of the chapters in this volume focus on
women on the move. These chapters describe women’s efforts to
reconstruct relationships when they experience removal, separation,
and deprivation. Affected by the social changes and personal experi-
ences of migration, Asian women have tried to move, stay, work, con-
nect with others, and disconnect from others to secure their own lives
as well as those of their significant others. One example of such effort
is the reconstruction of intimate relationships, such as reframing the
family or the construction of solidarity outside the family for the sake
of childcare and elder care. To describe the wide range between
relatedness and independence of Asian women’s living strategies, it is

important to focus on people’s micro-politics of negotiation and com-
promise in everyday life that again relativize ideological principles.
By doing so, it becomes possible to capture the circular relationship
between ideologies and practices that produce or reproduce new
self-images and flexible relationships.
Today, Asian women are faced with a great transition. Political and
social changes in Asia since the 1980s, including the transition to the
post-Cold War regime, the development of a neoliberal global econ-
omy, and the decreasing birthrate and aging population, among other
issues, have stimulated the mobility of Asian women. They emigrate
and immigrate in various forms such as factory workers, care workers,
foreign brides, and refugees, and these have brought about changes in
the status of these women in the family and society at large. There is a
great body of research on their statuses and living conditions (e.g.,
Nelson and Seager 2005; Oishi 2005; Ong 2006; Haines et al. 2012).
The large-scale migration of women to urban areas and/or abroad
is not entirely a recent phenomenon, and is very common in all parts
of the world, but has become steadily and surely more significant in
Asia after the mid-1980s.2 According to Carolyn Sobritchea, when the
Philippines began to send workers abroad in the 1970’s, women
constituted only 12 percent of the total. However, the female ratio
gradually increased from 47 percent in 1987 to 69 percent in 2002
(Sobritchea 2007, 173). In contrast, prior to World War II, Peninsular
Malaysia had an unbalanced male sex ratio due to the mass influx
of immigrants from South China and South India, who were engaged
in the British colonial economy system in positions such as rubber plan-
tation and tin mining workers. Siew-Ean Khoo and Peter Pirie point
out that traditionally, women in Peninsular Malaysia have been more
restricted to the home than men, and their migrations normally occurred
during marriage or with their husband and family (1984, 126). More
recently, however, because of government policies and the effects of
urban economic development, the migration of women to towns and
cities seems to be increasing and may become an important factor in the
process of social change in Malaysia (see Strauch 1984; Ong 1987).
Asian women are also involved in wage employment since many
families find a dual income essential to meeting the rising costs of liv-
ing. Further, women living in industrial societies with wage econo-
mies try hard to balance the two roles of wage earner and caregiver.
These dual roles may result in changing other family members’ socially
constructed roles. For example, the model of the male as the exclusive
breadwinner of the family has shifted since most women also work as
wage earners, even in patriarchal societies in Asia. Thus, domestic or

urban immigration or spatial movement involves drastic relational
changes. For example, motherhood is a socially constructed notion
and is also relational. As Theresa Devasahayam and Brenda S. A. Yeoh
point out, motherhood involves different actors such as fathers and
children, whose ties with the women as mother figures are as much a
social construct as the mother’s ties with her husband and the father
of her children. Further, Devasahayam and Yeoh explain that it is
within this dynamic relationship among members of a family that gen-
der relations are constantly being played out on a day-to-day level
(2007, 6).
Immanuel Wallerstein was the first to theorize the ideological
ordering and distribution of labor within the world-economic system
(Wallerstein 1979). The consequence of market expansion was that
people from newly liberated regions began flooding into Western
European countries as “foreign laborers.” Even today, in the so-called
postcolonial age, people from Korea and Southeast Asia continue to
migrate to Japan in search of wage labor opportunities, as the chap-
ters by Noriko Ijichi and Dukin Lim discuss. Those who migrated
during the 1990s are referred to as “newcomers” and are included in
the framework of “foreign laborers.” In this way, they are distin-
guished from “oldcomers.” Neoliberalists regard “newcomer” migra-
tion as an individual’s autonomous choice. Lim’s case study, in
chapter 5 in this volume, of a “newcomer” Korean woman’s choice
is revealing in this context. The chapter focuses on Korean women
who remained in Japan and did not return to their home country
after divorcing Japanese men. It reads deeply into the “home” cul-
ture that was influential in making the decision to stay in Japan,
dissecting the various relationships these women form to maintain
their lifestyles abroad.
Indeed, people may skillfully cut and reconnect multiple networks
both in the original places and the destinations of emigration in order
to adjust themselves on a day-to-day level. As Janet Carsten (2000)
clearly discusses by using the anthropological term “relatedness,” it is
important to bear in mind that family or kinship is not a given condi-
tion by blood. Rather, new environments may foster new connections
and gender roles, especially among families on the move. Thus, we
should reconfirm the fact that not only genealogic terms describe
human connections; everyday practices and mutual negotiations
among neighborhoods, friends, and contractual relationships can
establish human connections as well. Though she carefully includes
Charles Stafford’s discussion based on the case of a patrilineal Chinese
village (Stafford 2000) in the edited volume Cultures of Relatedness,

Carsten’s argument of describing what “being related” in a local con-
text means is basically based on a bilateral descent society, such as in
Pulau Langkawi (Langkawi island), Malaysia. However, when apply-
ing the idea to a unilineal/patrilineal society directly, especially to an
East Asian society, things may be more complicated. As Stafford noted
by citing Freedman’s sentences as kinship and family is another matter
(Freedman 1979), while the ‘lineage paradigm’ is paramount in
Chinese social organization, family life and the ‘affairs of the hearth’
have generally been excluded from kinship (Stafford 2000, 37). We
should be careful in expanding the sphere of Carsten’s argument to
unilineal/patrilineal societies in Asia.
Several chapters in this volume deal with Asian women’s migration
and adaptation tactics in detail. As chapter 4 by Erina Seto-Suh vividly
describes, the gender role of Vietnamese immigrant women in Japan,
who had to settle with their families in a new land, has drastically
changed. Vietnamese women struggle to cook homeland delicacies in
Japan even though they have limited access to Vietnamese foods.
Their primary aim might be to prepare homeland dishes for their hus-
bands and children as caring mothers. However, since they have lim-
ited access to original ingredients, they try harder to obtain them by
negotiating with other ethnic groups, and planting and gathering natu-
ral herbs by the river. By doing so, “caring mothers” establish new con-
nections with other actors. Additionally, Ryoko Sakurada (chapter 7)
discusses the way women maintain family by utilizing outer resources
such as nursing mothers, post-maternity care institutions, sisters who
marry into other families, neighborhoods, and political powers.
Structure of the Chapters

In general, this volume begins with chapters on representation, and
then moves on to arguments about practice, finally returning to the
issue of connection between practice and (political) representation.
Chapters are arranged according to region and topics: there are five
chapters about Japan, three chapters about the Korean Peninsula and
Jeju Island, and two chapters on Vietnam. Readers can also selectively
read chapters following sub-themes such as the socialist regime,
migration, the family, and caring.
Chapters 1 and 2 shed light on the representation of womanhood
in socialist regimes from the historical perspective. Chapter 1 by
Jung-Eun Hong focuses on the cases of the revolutionary mother
campaign in the pro-North Korean community in the 1960s in Japan.
The chapter reveals that female activists in the campaign have not only
been the subjects of representation, but have also appropriated the
identities impressed upon them. In Chapter 2 by Turmunkh Odontuya,
the Order of the Mother Glorious, the award for mothers who raised
many children in socialist Mongol, is discussed.
Chapters 3 to 6 deal with the “tenaciousness” of Asian women on
the move, revealing historical, economic, and cultural factors that
have forced these women to remain strong. Chapter 3 by Noriko
Ijichi focuses on the female skin divers in Jeju Island, who had to
become strong enough to construct the sphere of everyday life beyond
the boundary between Korea and Japan under the Japanese imperial
geography and the (post-) Cold War political structure. Chapter 4 by
Erina Seto-Suh deals with Vietnamese refugee families in Japan, who
began to do various activities (from family networking to cultivation
and gathering) to obtain Vietnamese ethnic foods. The women in these
families unintentionally took on the role of guardians of ethnic culture
through the everyday practice of cooking. Meanwhile, Chapter 5 by
Dukin Lim discusses Korean women who immigrate to Japan for career
development, marry Japanese men, and end up divorcing them, then
finally decide to stay in Japan as single mothers. Finally, Chapter 6 by
Masako Kudo discusses Japanese women with Pakistani husbands who
try to obtain power in their Islamic family through, for instance,
becoming agents of their husbands’ businesses in Japan or learning
“authentic” Islam to have a voice in the family. These chapters reveal
the backgrounds and the roads their lives have taken, utilizing social
and political readings to examine “tenaciousness” without attributing
it simply to the nature of Asian women.
Further, chapters 1, 2, and 4 to 9 can be read as case studies about
mothering and caring. The case of the Chinese Malaysian in a rural
society who reconstructed kinship relationships among female mem-
bers beyond the patrilineal line for the sake of child rearing when the
younger generation moved to urban areas (Chapter 7 by Ryoko
Sakurada) problematizes a static picture of the “cultures of related-
ness” in Southeast Asia by revealing how the necessity of everyday life
creates a bilateral family. Chapter 8 on Vietnamese eldercare by
Atsufumi Kato argues that due to the increase of rural–urban mobility
and an aging society, the living arrangements for the elderly have
become an issue which requires proper justification. The case of an
elderly woman who decided to stay alone in her home village in order
to care for the altar of her husband and her son who was killed in war
shows the importance of self-representation (in this case, as a
heroic mother and a good wife) to women’s independence and
decision-making. Arguments in the volume, then, turn from practices

in the lifeworld to the issue of representation. Chapter 9 by Grace
Cheng-Ying Lin elaborates the interplay between the narrative prac-
tices of women who experience abortion, stories in which they meet
and compensate the fetus’s spirit by traveling to the world of the dead.
These cases show that we need to follow the travels of women, includ-
ing journeys to the imaginary, in difficult situations in order to under-
stand their realities and their ways of self-empowerment. In this sense,
multisited ethnography should become more mobile and extend the
target to imaginary worlds as well.
Lastly, Chapter 10 by Kanako Nakagawa deals with the political
solidarity of low-caste women in Nepal. This chapter describes how
the practical economic needs under the introduction of the market
economy forge relationships beyond the caste line. Further, the chap-
ter explains how women are at the node of such movements.
Notes
1 This anecdote was based on Takashi Osugi’s (2001) interpretation of
Chakrabarty’s episode and his own argument about the nonidentical
community.
2 For the detailed comparative study of the rural-to-urban migration ten-
dency in Europe and Asia, see Smith et al.’s discussion (1987).
References
Abu-Lughod, Lila ed. 1998. Remaking Women: Feminism and Modernity in
the Middle East. Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press.
Barth, Fredrik. 1969. Ethnic Groups and Boundaries: The Social Organization
of Cultural Difference. Oslo: Universitetsforlaget.
Burke, Peter. 1991. New Perspectives on Historical Writing. Cambridge:
Polity Press.
Carsten, Janet ed. 2000. Cultures of Relatedness: New Approaches to the Study
of Kinship. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.
Certeau, Michel de. 1980. L’Invention du quotidien, 1. Arts de faire. Paris:
Gallimard.
Chakrabarty, Dipesh. 1998. “Reconstructing Liberalism? Notes toward a
Conversation between Area Studies and Diasporic Studies.” Public Culture
10(3): 457–481.
—. 2000. Provincializing Europe: Postcolonial Thought and Historical Difference.
Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press.
Devasahayam, Theresa W. and Brenda S. A. Yeoh. 2007. “Asian Women
Negotiating Work Challenges and Family Commitments.” In Working and
Mothering in Asia: Images, Ideologies and Identities, edited by Theresa
Devasahayam and Brenda S. A. Yeoh, 3–26. Copenhagen: NIAS Press.
Fraser, Nancy. 2005. “Reframing Justice in a Globalizing World.” New Left

Review 36: 69–88.
—. 2009. “Feminism, Capitalism and the Cunning of History.” New Left
Review 56: 97–117.
Freedman, Maurice. 1979. The Study of Chinese Society. Stanford, CA:
Stanford University Press.
Haines, David W., Keiko Yamanaka, and Shinji Yamashita eds. 2012. Wind
over Water: Migration in an East Asian Context. New York and Oxford:
Berghahn Books.
Hobsbawm, Eric and Terence Ranger. 1983. The Invention of Tradition.
Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.
Khoo, Siew-Ean and Peter Pirie. 1984. “Female Rural-to-Urban Migration in
Peninsular Malaysia.” In Women in the Cities of Asia: Migration and Urban
Adaptation, edited by James T. Fawcett, Siew-Ean Khoo, and Peter C. Smith,
125–142. Boulder, CO: Westview Press.
Koyama, Shizuko. 2014. Ryosai Kenbo: The Educational Ideal of “Good Wife,
Wise Mother” in Modern Japan. Leiden: Brill.
Nelson, Lise and Joni Seager eds. 2005. A Companion to Feminist Geography.
Oxford: Blackwell.
Ochiai, Emiko. 2008. “The Birth of the Housewife in Contemporary Asia:
New Mothers in the Era of Globalization.” Translated by Stephen Filler.
In Asia’s New Mothers: Crafting Gender Roles and Childcare Networks in
East and Southeast Asian Societies, edited by Emiko Ochiai and Barbara
Molony, 157–180. Kent: Global Oriental.
Oishi, Nana. 2005. Women in Motion: Globalization, State Policies, and Labor
Migration in Asia. Stanford, CA: Stanford University Press.
Ong, Aihwa. 1987. Spirits of Resistance and Capitalist Discipline: Factory
Women in Malaysia. Albany: State University of New York Press.
—. 2006. Neoliberalism as Exception. Durham, NC: Duke University Press.
Osugi, Takashi. 2001. “Hidoitsusei ni yoru kyodosei he/ni oite [Toward/
On the Community of Non-identity].” In Jinruigaku teki Jissenn no
Saikochiku: Posto Koronial Tenkai Igo [Reconstructing Anthropological
Practices: After Postcolonial Turn], edited by Takashi Sugishima, 271–296.
Tokyo: Sekai-Shiso-Sha.
Rosaldo, Renato 1989. Culture and Truth: The Remaking of Social Analysis.
Boston, MA: Beacon Press.
Ryang, Sonia. 1997. North Koreans in Japan. Oxford: Westview Press.
Said, Edward Wadie 1978. Orientalism. New York: Pantheon Books.
Scott, James Campbell 1986. “Everyday Forms of Peasant Resistance in
South-East Asia.” Journal of Peasant Studies 13(2): 5–35.
Smith, Peter C., Siew-Ean Khoo, and Stella P. Go. 1984. “The Migration of
Women to Cities: A Comparative Perspective.” In Women in the Cities of
Asia: Migration and Urban Adaptation, edited by James T. Fawcett, Siew-
Ean Khoo, and Peter C. Smith, 15–35. Boulder, CO: Westview Press.
Sobritchea, Carolyn I. 2007. “Constructions of Mothering: The Experience
of Female Filipino Overseas Workers.” In Working and Mothering in Asia:
Images, Ideologies and Identities, edited by Theresa Devasahayam and

Brenda S. A. Yeoh, 173–194. Copenhagen: NIAS Press.
Spivak, Gayatri Chakravorty. 1988. “Can the Subaltern Speak?” In Marxism
and the Interpretation of Culture, edited by Cary Nelson and Lawrence
Grossberg, 271–313. Urbana, IL: University of Illinois Press.
Stafford, Charles. 2000. “Chinese Patriliny and the Cycles of Yang and
Laiwang.” In Cultures of Relatedness: New Approaches to the Study of
Kinship, edited by Janet Carsten, 37–54. Cambridge: Cambridge University
Press.
Stoler, Ann Laura. 2010. Carnal Knowledge and Imperial Power: Race and
the Intimate in Colonial Rule. Berkeley: University of California Press.
Strauch, Judith. 1984. “Women in Rural-Urban Circulation Networks:
Implications for Social Structural Change.” In Women in the Cities of Asia:
Migration and Urban Adaptation, edited by James T. Fawcett, Siew-Ean
Khoo, and Peter C. Smith, 60–77. Boulder, CO: Westview Press.
Trinh, T. Minh-ha. 2011. Elsewhere, Within Here: Immigration, Refugeeism
and the Boundary Event. New York; Abingdon, Oxon: Routledge.
Wallerstein, Immanuel. 1979. The Capitalist World-Economy. Cambridge:
Cambridge University Press.
Weber, Max. 1978. “Ethnic Groups.” In Economy and Society, Vol. 1, edited
by Guenther Roth and Claus Wittich, 389–395. Berkeley and Los Angeles:
University of California Press.
Chapter 1
The Mother’s Identity among the

Korean Diaspora Women of Japan
Jung-Eun Hong
The Korean Diaspora in Japan

One day in March of 2015, I received a phone call that carried the
news of my interviewee’s death. She had been the main character in
the documentary film Ms. Ryang; A Female Diver (Japanese title:
Ama no Ryan san). She passed away at the age of 98. The film reveals
the exclusion she faced for approximately 20 years before giving birth
to her first daughter, and also made clear that she identified as a
mother throughout her life.
Ryang Ui-heon was born and raised in Jeju Island of Korea under
Japanese colonial rule (according to Korean practice, family name pre-
cedes given name). She never attended school because she was a poor
Korean woman. During the Japanese occupation, she visited Japan
several times as a female diver who went deep into the sea to pick
abalones. She also lived in Osaka, Japan, for a brief period because of
her first husband’s job as a small trader. She returned to Jeju Island
before Korea’s liberation in 1945, but she relocated to Japan with her
family as a stowaway because of the April 3rd Incident of Jeju Island.
The incident was a series of events in which thousands of islanders
were killed as a result of clashes between armed civilian groups and
government forces between 1947 and 1954 because of various com-
plicated factors such as the general election that was only held in the
southern half of the peninsula (see Jeju April 3rd Peace Park’s Website
18 Jung-Eun Hong
“What Is the Jeju April 3rd Incident?”). Since her new husband was
an activist for the leftist Korean national movement in Japan (and very
rarely received payment for his services), Ryang had always worked to
earn a livelihood by diving, making rice-cakes, and sewing. She could
never visit her hometown, except for once in 2002. She was not even
able to attend her parents’ funerals on Jeju Island and live with her
daughter who had returned to South Korea because her husband and
sons supported the North Korean government. Despite her old age, she
could not stop working because her three sons, who returned to North
Korea in the 1960s, needed her aid. She had often sent them money, daily
necessities, and letters which she dictated to a scribe (she remained illiter-
ate all her life). Her travel came in the form of visits to North Korea,
where she would meet her sons and their families. She did this
almost every year from the 1980s onwards. Until her death, she
remained well connected to and concerned about her family in
North Korea.
Her life, in short, was very diasporic, lived as it was on the border
between South Korea, North Korea, and Japan. In her book Diaspora
without Homeland, Sonia Ryang (2009, 15) states, “People without
homeland are forever in exile, wandering, in search of home, land, and
security. Death is near, or at least so it feels for they do not know who
they are and where to live and die—by using this name or another, by
speaking more than one language depending on the need, they exist
as sojourners, foreigners, outsiders, outlanders, and therefore intrud-
ers, polluters, unwanted guests, unrecorded populations, people with-
out papers, people who do not belong in the dominant political
order.” Without a doubt, Ryang Ui-heon did just that. However, she
endured everything alone and became stronger by supporting her dis-
persed children. A leaning toward supporting—directly or indirectly—
the North Korean government was among her chief attributes and
had a strong influence on her life.
This chapter discusses how the mother’s identity among Korean
diaspora women has been historically constructed, focusing on Korean
female activists who participated in the leftist Korean national move-
ment in the 1960s. According to Butler (1990, 25), “there is no gender
identity behind the expressions of gender; that identity is performa-
tively constituted by the very ‘expressions’ that are said to be its results.”
Agreeing with Butler, this chapter is based on the idea that identity is
constructed by performativity. It will answer the following research
questions: (1) what kind of roles Korean diaspora women took on,
(2) how the role was practiced, and (3) what that process entails.
M o t h e r ’s I d e n t i t y a m o n g K o r e a n W o m e n 19
Before taking up the main subject, it is necessary to define the

objects and to explain the background. First, who constitutes the
Korean diaspora in Japan? I qualify these people as the Korean residents
in Japan who moved to Japan from the Korean peninsula “under the
Japanese colonial rule.” It can be stretched to accommodate Korean
stowaways during and after the Korean War. “Koreans in Japan,”
“Korean residents in Japan,” and “zainichi” are the different terms
used to describe this category of people. “Koreans in Japan” is the
most widely used terminology, which includes Koreans who migrated
to Japan after the normalization of diplomatic relations between South
Korea and Japan in 1965, namely Korean newcomers. “Korean old-
comers” can be used to describe Korean migrants who arrived in Japan
before 1965. “Korean residents in Japan” has an overtone of meaning
whereby a certain sense of actually belonging to homeland Korea is
communicated. Lie (2008) stresses the instability and complexity of a
postcolonial, diasporic identity in Japan called “zainichi” in his book.
Even though its meaning in the Japanese dictionary—residing in Japan
while hailing from foreign countries—is not merely to point to Korean
oldcomers, “zainichi” became a byword for them.
Secondly, why do we concentrate on the 1960s? At this time, many
changes occurred in the Korean diaspora community. For instance, the
project of repatriation, when large numbers of Korean residents were
sent from Japan to North Korea, was launched in December 1959.
Around 86,603 Koreans were “repatriated” by 1984 by the repatria-
tion agreement and its renewal between the Red Cross Societies of
both countries. This was done despite the fact that most of those “repa-
triated” hailed from the southern provinces of the Korean peninsula
that belong to South Korea today (Morris-Suzuki 2010; Ryang 1997).
Simultaneously, the number of Korean schools for Korean students
who would later be repatriated to North Korea had rapidly increased
and the leftist Korean national movement entered upon a period of
prosperity in the early 1960s. Moreover, in the case of women of the
Korean diaspora, the gender role of being a mother gained momen-
tum in the early 1960s. Since the 1950s, the mother has attained an
identity as an agent of social movements all over the world. This was
thanks to grassroots peace movements, as well as the movement for
the Mothers’ Congress organized on a nationwide scale in Japan from
the mid-1950s (Yamamoto 2004, 151). Hence, this chapter has cho-
sen to focus on the 1960s in order to understand how ideology dug
down into individuals and constructed and shaped their everyday lives
and identities.
20 Jung-Eun Hong
The Korean National Movement

in Japan and N YEOSUNG -D ONGMAENG
Almost two million Koreans moved to Japan during Japanese colonial
rule between 1910 and 1945. Although many of them returned to
their homeland after Korea’s liberation in August 1945, between
500,000 and 600,000 Koreans remained in Japan for unavoidable
reasons: poverty, work, relationships, and social unrest on the Korean
peninsula (Tonomura 2004). These Koreans formed numerous inde-
pendent organizations. By October 1945, Choryun, or League of
Koreans in Japan, had gathered together more than 300 independent
organizations that had been established for supporting Koreans
returning to their homeland, protecting Korean residents’ fundamen-
tal rights, and providing education for Korean children who would be
returning to the Korean peninsula. As the biggest Korean residents’
organization, Choryun had an elaborate organizational structure com-
prised of 1 central headquarters, 8 district councils, 48 local headquar-
ters, 624 local branches, and over 2000 local groups by June 1949.
Its members numbered 365,792. However, Choryun was dissolved on
the orders of the Japanese government, which was itself under the
influence of General Headquarters, the Supreme Commander for the
Allied Powers (GHQ/SCAP) in September 1949. The Korean
national movement typified by Choryun suffered a heavy blow. But
Chongryun, or General Association of Korean Residents in Japan, was
founded in 1955 and the Korean national movement was reorganized
(Chin 1998; Ri 1971).
Besides Chongryun, there is another organization called Mindan,
or the Korean Residents’ Union in Japan. As Chongryun’s rival orga-
nization, Mindan has officially supported the South Korean govern-
ment since 1948.
The first Korean women’s organization in the postcolonial era was
Nyeosung-dongmaeng, or Korean Democratic Women’s Union in
Japan, whose central headquarters was officially founded in 1947 as an
affiliated organization of Choryun. Bunyeobu, or Korean women’s
local group, was already conducting and organizing local activities in
1946 (when Bunyeobu was established is unknown), and its Osaka
headquarters, or Osaka Bunyeo-dongmaeng, had been founded almost
one year before the central headquarters. After establishing the central
headquarter of Nyeosung-dongmaeng in October 1947, all local head-
quarters, local branches and groups changed their name from Bunyeo-
dongmaeng to Nyeosung-dongmaeng.
Nyeosung-dongmaeng inherited its conception of Korean national-
ity and women’s liberation from the earlier organization. Its platform
was (1) to aim at Korean women’s complete liberation from political,

economic, and social oppression, (2) to devote its energies to the
establishment and development of a progressive democratic nation,
(3) to contribute to world peace through Korean women’s cultural
efforts and international friendship. Its adopted code of conduct
included the issues that Korean women faced such as conferring fran-
chise and eligibility on women over 18, the abolition of licensed and
unlicensed prostitution, domestic abuse, and polygamy.
In previous studies on the Korean national movement in Japan, it
is difficult to find mention of Nyeosung-dongmaeng’s early activities.
Ri (1971, 18) briefly states that “there was no remarkable activity of
Nyeosung-dongmaeng because Korean women had a low-level of edu-
cation on the average and still had the conventional idea of predomi-
nance of men over women.” This observation requires more discussion
from a viewpoint that sees the organization as the first significant local
endeavor to better Korean women’s lives in Japan.
According to Kim and Kim (1994, 7–8), Bunyeobu, under the
Arakawa branch of Choryun (Arakawa Bunyeobu), was conducting
activities in February 1946 in Arakawa district, one of the largest
Korean enclaves in Tokyo. Arakawa Bunyeobu opened a night school
for teaching the Korean language, history, cooking, and western
dressmaking to Korean women. Campaigns for using traditional
Korean names were also conducted because Koreans had been forced
to change their Korean names to Japanese names during the Japanese
occupation and they still used it after the liberation because of dis-
criminations in the Japanese society. The purpose of these activities
was to wake Korean diaspora women from ignorance and to arouse
national consciousness.
While Arakawa Bunyeobu organized local Korean women, female
activists of Bunyeobu were called onigiri troops because they sup-
ported the male activists of Choryun in making onigiri, a Japanese rice
ball. In this relation between Bunyeobu and Choryun, we can find
that female activists took on a motherly role wherein they always
cooked a meal for family, even though they were conducting activi-
ties in the public sphere. The gender role of female activists who
participated in the Korean national movement was situated in the
ideological structure of the “good wife, wise mother” (Kim and Kim
1994, 13). Song (2007, 155) states that the gendered relation
between Bunyeobu and Choryun is rooted in the very basis of the
Korean women’s organization. In reality, Nyeosung-dongmaeng, the
successor to Bunyeobu, was created on the suggestion of male activists.
For example, Kim Chon-hae, one of Choryun’s founders, urged the
establishment of a Korean women’s organization. In other words,
22 Jung-Eun Hong
female activists of early Nyeosung-dongmaeng could not enjoy consid-

erable autonomy which might depart from Choryun’s direction and
mobilization. Mindan-Buinhwe, or Korean Women’s Association in
Japan (established in June 1949 as an affiliated organization under
Mindan) was similarly restrained. These Korean women’s organiza-
tions could be categorized as directed collective action. According to
Molyneux (1998, 229), such a women’s organization or movement is
subject to a higher authority and is typically under the control of polit-
ical organizations and/or governments, even if there is room for gen-
uine negotiation over goals.
In spite of the limitations, we should consider the efforts of these
organizations. First, it appears that early female activists had an inno-
vative idea. They used the concept of women’s liberation as founding
principle of Nyeosung-dongmaeng, though there were multiple minor-
ity issues they could have chosen on the basis of gender, ethnicity,
class, and literacy. Secondly, it can be also stated that activities of
Bunyeobu in support of Choryun were a strategy that attempted to
obtain approval from a conservative Korean diaspora community
undertaken in order to expand their activities into the public sphere
right after Korea’s liberation.
When Choryun was dissolved in 1949, Nyeosung-dongmaeng escaped
compulsory dissolution. When Chongryun was established in 1955 as a
successor to Choryun, Nyeosung-dongmaeng became affiliated to it.
Membership of Nyeosung-dongmaeng is open to all Korean women
over 18. However, Nyeosung-dongmaeng has been an organization
mainly for married women for various reasons. This is both because the
organizational system of Chongryun itself has several youth organiza-
tions under it and because of the activities of Nyeosung-dongmaeng
itself. This will be discussed more fully in the next section.
The First-Generation and Second-Generation

Female Activists of N YEOSUNG - DONGMAENG
Since the mid-1950s, the Korean diaspora community belonging to
Chongryun had striven to build Korean schools and open local branch
offices in all regions of Japan. By the 1960s, they began activities to
improve the educational environment of Korean schools, such as
undertaking the construction of concrete rather than wooden build-
ings, using financial aid that came in the form of education subsidies
from North Korea and donations from local Korean residents. Female
activists from Nyeosung-dongmaeng also visited Korean households to
raise funds.
Nyeosung-dongmaeng also borrowed money and built buildings. But it was

not easy to borrow money. I did not have a foreign resident’s registration
card. So I made plastic bags, and sold each of them for 500 yen. I made more
funds than anyone else. My friend and I sold them together and donated
20,000 yen at that time. Membership fee of Nyeosung-dongmaeng was 30 yen.
(Han, first-generation female activist
born on the Jeju Island of Korea in 1918)
Han, who had served in a local group of Nyeosung-dongmaeng as an

unpaid part-time activist in the 1960s, moved to Japan amid political
chaos in the Korean peninsula after Korea’s liberation. Three years
before the Korean War (1950–53) began, the April 3rd Incident
broke out in Jeju Island and lasted seven and a half years (1947–54).
The ideological confrontation between North and South Korea dur-
ing the Cold War led to a collision between punitive forces (the right-
wing forces including the army and the police) and armed forces
(the left-wing forces including students and farmers). According to
the South Korean government, an estimated 25,000–30,000 island-
ers were massacred during that time. Han’s husband feared for his
life because of his socialist activities on Jeju Island. Therefore, he
moved to North Korea alone before the outbreak of the Korean
War. Han stayed in her hometown with her child and eventually
crossed over to Osaka in 1952 during the Korean War, when police
monitoring became more intense. Because she was a stowaway, she
had no foreign resident’s registration certificate. Hence, she had to
sell handmade flowers or plastic bags to make a living. Despite her
financial difficulties, she managed to bring her son to Japan, send
him to a Korean school and also joined a project building a local
branch of Chongryun.
The major contribution made by first-generation female activists
such as Han was the raising of funds for construction of office and
school buildings. Their supplementary role in the activities of
Nyeosung-dongmaeng was partly due to the female activists’ low liter-
acy rate. Most first-generation female activists could not attend schools
due to multiple discriminations based on their gender, ethnicity, and
class, under Japanese colonial rule.
In contrast, second-generation female activists, especially those
born in Japan during Japanese colonialism, often received compul-
sory education in Japanese schools. They also learned hangeul, the
Korean alphabet, in youth schools or night schools set up outside of
the Japanese education system. They were able to read and write in
both Japanese and Korean. As a result, they could support the
24 Jung-Eun Hong
illiterate first-generation female activists in their activities for

Nyeosung-dongmaeng.
The appearance of literate Korean female activists is a very impor-
tant factor in the Korean women’s movement of Japan. Thanks to
their literacy, they were able to become leaders of their own activities,
and not serve merely as assistants to male activists. Ryu was one of the
second-generation female activists who opened a new direction for
Nyeosung-dongmaeng by starting a new activity. According to her oral
history, she organized the first mothers’ association of a Korean School
in Osaka, Japan.
The Performativity of Mothers’

Associations and the Mother’s Identity
Mothers’ associations, or Omoni-hwe in Korean, are a gathering of
parents whose children are students of Korean schools, membership is
limited to mothers only, as might be understood by the name. In fact,
fathers’ associations have been formed and begun activity since the
2000s in the Korean diaspora community. However, in comparison to
mothers’ associations, their activity continues to remain in the begin-
ning stage. The activities of mothers’ associations are mostly focused
on supporting Korean schools such as by providing school lunch
and raising school funds. All mothers’ associations aim to support
Korean schools with the cooperation of the local Nyeosung-dongmaeng
branch.
In case of Korean elementary schools in Osaka province, most moth-
ers’ associations were officially established in the 1970s, such as moth-
ers’ association of the 4th Osaka Korean Elementary School established
in 1971, mothers’ association of the East Osaka Korean Elementary
School established in 1974, and mothers’ association of the Middle
Osaka Korean Elementary-Middle School established in 1975 (Editing
Commission of Osaka Korean Ethnic Education 60 Years, 2005).
However, informal records collected from several narratives point to a
significantly different narrative. Unofficially, Ryu was the first president
of the mothers’ association of the 3rd East Osaka Korean Elementary
School (currently known as Ikuno Korean Elementary School) in the
early 1960s. When she served as head of a local Nyeosung-dongmaeng
office, her children attended the school located in Ikuno district of
Osaka, the biggest Korean enclave in Japan.
Since 1948, the number of Korean students attending Korean schools
had rapidly fallen due to the compulsory closure of Korean schools by
the Japanese government under the influence of GHQ/SCAP.
However, those numbers increased again between 1959 and the mid-
1960s thanks to the project of repatriation launched by Chongryun
(Tonomura 2004). In the case of Osaka, especially, many Korean
schools conducted classes in the playground because of a shortage of
classroom space during this time. For this reason, one interviewee
called the early 1960s the renaissance of Korean ethnic education.
Ryu said that her children were also repatriated to North Korea with-
out her and her husband in the mid-1960s when her first child gradu-
ated from elementary school. While her children were still students in
the Korean school, she was mobilizing the Korean mothers’ associa-
tion for the environmental improvement of the school. In fact, it is
not clear whether the name “mothers’ association” (Omoni-hwe) was
used at all at this time. But it can be found in the Hangeul Textbook for
the People published in 1953 (Lee 1953, 37).
According to Ryu, in the 1960s, the major activity of the moth-
ers’ association was to raise funds. By selling sesame oil on school
sports days, mothers made money and contributed it to school
funds. They would purchase and donate teaching aids such as an
organ for the Korean school. These activities are not very different
today. Ryu also opened a study room in the Nyeosung-dongmaeng’s
local office to take care of young Korean students for helping poor
working parents who did not have enough time to spend with their
children. It is similar to the after-school tutoring programs of
today.
That was a study room. At that time, students with good grades usually helped
other students. We all expected to improve all students’ grades. Yes, we did.
When children come back home after school, immediately they study a little,
and they play games or tell jokes with friends loudly. Then, mother tells her
children, “You are so loud! Play outside!” . . . When they can’t stay at home, if
it happened, let them just come to our office. And then, they begin to join our
study. Nyeosung-dongmaeng, of course, helped us, supported us. Nyeosung-
dongmaeng always tried to make mothers take notice of Korean schools more
and more. That’s why Nyeosung-dongmaeng supported Korean mothers by
taking care of their children after school at least.
(Ryu, second-generation female activist
born in Osaka, Japan, in 1931)
According to Ryu, on the day of an open class, the mothers’ associa-

tion set aside the time to communicate with parents for an hour
afterwards. At the meeting, she, as president of the mothers’ associa-
tion, appealed to parents and asked them to take an interest in their
children’s education. For instance, she explained the meaning of the
26 Jung-Eun Hong
red scarf worn by the Korean Children’s Union and asked mothers to
keep those scarves clean. All 10- to 15-year-old students of Korean
schools had to join the Korean Children’s Union. The wearing of the
red scarf is meant to communicate certain ideals. The color red sym-
bolizes the blood spilled by many communist sympathizers for the
Korean cause.
Mothers’ associations that were established by second-generation
female activists like Ryu have the following significance in the context
of the Korean women’s movement. (1) By taking advantage of their
status as mothers sending children to Korean schools, they extended
membership and participation in the Korean women’s movement to
many new candidates. There were many young, married Korean
women who were sending children to Korean schools and not partici-
pating in Nyeosung-dongmaeng’s activities. (2) By making the most
out of the opportunities to engage with Korean schools as students’
mothers, they extended the boundaries of their own activities. Their
activities became visible through Korean schools in the public sphere.
(3) By strengthening cooperation between Nyeosung-dongmaeng and
the mothers’ associations, they paid attention to the mother’s role in
social and political activism. Motherhood was a catch-all role for both
married and unmarried women. Consequently, the active mother’s
role has consistently been inserted into the universal agenda of the
Korean women’s movement.
The reason for my interest in the relation between Nyeosung-
dongmaeng and the mothers’ associations lies in the fact that the moth-
ers’ associations show how female activists played a particular gender
role in the Korean national movement. Essentially, female activists of
Nyeosung-dongmaeng never had a national identity. In a gendered sit-
uation like Bunyeobu standing behind Choryun, Nyeosung-dongmaeng
supporting Chongryun, and mothers’ associations supporting Korean
schools, female activists repeatedly played out a traditional role.
“Gender is the repeated stylization of the body, a set of repeated acts
within a highly rigid regulatory frame” (Butler 1990, 33). Similarly,
by repeatedly playing out the mother’s role in Korean schools, female
activists from Nyeosung-dongmaeng constructed the mother’s identity
in political scenarios. This was different from the identity constituted
by housework in family relationships because the mother’s identity
through participation in Nyeosung-dongmaeng had been expected
ideologically in the context of the Korean national movement.
Male activists have never been identified by the father’s role in a pri-
vate sphere. Calling someone “father” does not indicate role, activity,
or relation. It just confers patriarchal authority. Thus, the process of
constituting Korean identity is ideologically gendered in the context

of the Korean national movement.
It is not a coincidence that Nyeosung-dongmaeng’s cooperation
with the mothers’ associations in Korean schools was begun by female
activists and continues to be led by them today. The following section
discusses how the mother’s role had been emphasized ideologically in
the context of the Korean national movement, focusing on the rela-
tion between the Chongryun community and North Korea.
The Discourse of the Revolutionary

Mother and the Possibility of a
Subversive Reading
The political turning point when the mother’s role began to be
reflected in Nyeosung-dongmaeng’s agendas was the first Korean
Mothers’ Congress of Japan, which was held in Nigata in 1962. The
Korean Mothers’ Congress followed the first National Mother’s
Congress held in Pyongyang, 1961, by the chapter of Nyeosung-
dongmaeng, or the Korean Democratic Women’s Union, of North
Korea. At the National Mothers’ Congress, Kim Il-sung addressed
participants, stating that “the most important responsibility for raising
children is up to mothers” (Kim 1971, 226), and highlighted how
North Korean women were responsible for raising the next genera-
tion of communist contributors. The mother’s duties in the education
of children had been emphasized not only in North Korea but also the
Chongryun community in Japan.
Over 1,500 Korean women from all over Japan attended the
Korean Mothers’ Congress at Nigata and they discussed how to real-
ize Kim’s vision for the communist revolution in Nyeosung-
dongmaeng’s projects. Korean mothers’ duties in the education of
their children had also been emphasized and its mood had spread
systematically through the Chongryun community. For instance, a
summary of Kim’s speech had been put down as a chapter titled
“Mother’s role” in a textbook—Korean for Adults: High Level (Central
Propaganda Department 1964). It was being used in adult schools
where Korean women with low literacy were educated.
In the mid-1960s in North Korea, Kang Pan-sok, the mother of
Kim Il-sung, was celebrated as the ideal Korean woman. She had been
symbolized as the revolutionary mother and as the Korea’s mother.
In this context, revolution was seen as something practice communis-
tically, its participants viewed not as individuals but as a community.
To put it simply, a selfish mother desires only her son’s success, but a
28 Jung-Eun Hong
revolutionary mother raises her son to be a committed contributor

toward communist society. When Nyeosung-dongmaeng of North
Korea launched a campaign called “Learn from Madame Kang Pan-sok,”
North Korean women started to promote it by reading the book Learn
from Madame Kang Pan-sok ten times in Omoni schools (mothers’
schools). These places served as the centers for revolutionizing women
in the 1960s (Park 2001, 274; Sechiyama 2013, 218–19).
Kang Pan-sok was described as a character with strong will who
would send a child into the battlefield for her homeland’s liberation, an
image that was perpetuated through the literary works of North Korea.
Through her, the prototype of the mother in North Korea, a mother’s
duties and role were emphasized (Kim 1994, 175–6). In the early 1960s,
when the project of repatriation began, the nationalist sentiments of the
Korean diaspora community were growing stronger. It was not difficult
for these women to accept the narratives of Kang Pan-sok and view her
as their role model. Like Kang, who raised a child who became part of
the anti-Japanese movement, they wished to raise children as political
revolutionaries, who could contribute to the Korean cause.
In March 1968, Nyeosung-dongmaeng also launched the campaign
“Learn from Madame Kang Pan-sok.” According to the Central
Standing Committee of Nyeosung-dongmaeng, over 35,000 Korean
diaspora women worked on this campaign, and it became representative
of Nyeosung-dongmaeng’s overall movement, which had expanded to
the Chongryun community (Central Standing Committee 1992, 21–2).
Mothers came together for the learning (with a book, Learn from Madame
Kang Pan-sok) at the branch office in the early morning before children went
to school. We did it for an hour, and then, came back home for feeding the
children and sending them to school. . . . In those days, we also did another
learning with the biographies, you know, my country’s books. After we read
those, we shared impressions. At that time, we did very frequently the learn-
ing about Madame Kang Pan-sok, leader Kim Il-sung’s mother. Of the time,
our generation, the second generation was young. So, when we felt difficulty
reading the book in Korean, we listened to our country’s radio for learning.
We learned from Madame Kang Pan-sok on time. We understood many
things in so doing. One woman expressed dissatisfaction about her husband.
Of course, he was a devoted activist to Chongryun, but she thought differ-
ently. She said “I hate him, I hate him. He didn’t make a good salary. I saw
him walking with other woman on the street.” She got jealous. She probably
thought, she was undergoing hardship for family but why her husband went
out for pleasure. But after she did the learning, she changed. She began to
understand her husband’s activity little by little. Like that, we did activities
through the learning. If we gave someone advise, “Please, read this part of the
book once,” and then, they read it, reflected on themselves, and became to
support their husbands. Those activities were performed.
(Ryu, second-generation female activist
By reading Learn from Madame Kang Pan-sok and the biographies

written by anti-Japan revolutionaries in North Korea (biography series),
female activists internalized the discourse of the revolutionary mother.
They saw Kang Pan-sok as an ideal model: she was a daughter-in-law
who showed respect to her parents-in-law; a wife who devoted her life
to supporting her revolutionary husband; a mother who put her heart
into bringing up children who would one day become revolutionaries;
and a neighbor who maintained strong relationships with her neigh-
bors (Chosen Seinen Sha 1967). Because the revolutionary mother’s
role shown by Kang was rooted in the ideology of “Good Wife, Wise
Mother,” the traditional women’s role had been consequently
strengthened in the practices of female activists. This effect was caused
by limitations of the text itself and a typical reading by readers. Above
all, the book Learn from Madame Kang Pan-sok had only one main
character, Kang, readers automatically lacked an opportunity to show
diverse interpretations. Particularly, the character of Kang Pan-sok
focused on being a mother who raises a revolutionary, not being a
revolutionary herself (Ryang 2005, 114). Furthermore, female activ-
ists’ reading was a typical way to embrace gender norm as represented
in the text.
In contrast, the reading of the biography series created a new pos-
sibility for performativity for Nyeosung-dongmaeng’s female activists.
The biography series shows various female characters written by vari-
ous female authors. Therefore, readers were also able to attempt
diverse interpretations according to their personal capacities. Hong,
who was a teacher at a Korean school and an activist in Nyeosung-
dongmaeng, talks of a biography of a female revolutionary who devotes
herself to the anti-Japanese movement:
Nameless revolutionists, and their sacrifices. I came to know there are not
only well-known revolutionists, but also lots of unknowns by the biographies.
In particular, lots of female revolutionist beings. What the most unforgettable
biography is Kim Myung-hwa Omoni’s On the Path of Revolution. That Kim
Myung-hwa Omoni was . . . her husband fell during anti-Japanese struggle,
so, she was taking his role. She had her hair cut short, and entered the partisan
organization. She devoted her life to the revolution. By the way, she has a
baby. If we have a baby, we cannot fight. So, she left her baby in front of the
30 Jung-Eun Hong
other person’s house. After seeing the other person’s bringing up her baby,
she went into the mountains for the revolution. A lot of women read Kim
Myung-hwa’s, especially that Omoni’s biography and they were deeply
moved. Oh, what an unforgettable story of Omoni left her baby in front of
someone else’s house for getting into struggle on the path of revolution.
[*Omoni means “mother” in Korean]
(Hong, second-generation female activist
In the late 1960s, most female teachers retired once they became
pregnant. Hong, who was acutely aware of the difficulties teachers
faced in the Korean schools, saw the need to strengthen female activ-
ists’ abilities. Therefore, she planned the launch of the biography
series. This resulted in the establishment of a nursery facility in the
Korean school she attended. Female teachers collected money and
installed the room to support their colleagues in bringing up their
babies. The activities of these second-generation activists have some
things in common such as their agency as mothers and the space
of their revolutionary work being Korean schools. However, their
performativity is different from first-generation and older second-
generation female activists like Han and Ryu. In the case of Hong, her
performativity was as a female revolutionist who left or forsook her
baby for the accomplishment of revolution, not a mother who would
raise a child to contribute to the nationalist cause.
The purpose of the biography series of North Korea in the 1960s was
to inspire loyalty to their leader and the indomitable revolutionary spirit
(Cho 2012, 125–6). Hong abstained from a typical reading of idealiz-
ing the traditional woman and found a new image that took on a lead-
ing role in the biography series. This was a subversive reading that
deconstructed the typical one of female activists as mothers raising revo-
lutionaries. A subversive reading is a method of reading which decon-
structs social conventions about single origin, single identity, and single
interpretation. By practicing a subversive reading, the meaning of a text
can be expanded, the hidden meaning behind a text could be seen, and
multiple meanings of text can be created. In Hong’s case, expanding
the meaning of the female activist’s role from the biography was restrict-
edly practiced; of course, the possibility of her challenge lay in the fact
that the text itself showed various female characters.
One title which is worthy of notice is that about Kim Myung-hwa.
Hong repeatedly used the title Omoni for her, which means “mother”
in Korean. Most Koreans use a title when they call someone special,
for example, Patriot Ahn Jung-geun, Martyr Lee Jun, and Dosan An
Chang-ho (Dosan is his pen name). Most men are addressed by titles
derived from their career, but many women are called by titles based
on their gender such as Kang Pan-sok Nyeosa (Nyeosa means Madame),
Kim Myung-hwa Omoni, even Yoo Kwan-Sun Nuna (Nuna means
elder sister to brothers).
In The Indomitable Song: On the Path of Revolution, Kim Myung-hwa
is a character who gave up an individual desire for revolution. For exam-
ple, she said to her uncle-in-law who took care of her children in the
mother’s absence, if he really cared about her children, he should ask her
to fulfill her responsibility toward the liberation of the homeland until the
end of the revolution (Myung-Hwa 1961, 74–5). Despite Kim Myung-
hwa’s role as a revolutionary in the public sphere, Hong continued to call
her Omoni even though Kim left her position as a mother before partici-
pating in the anti-Japanese struggle. In other words, for female activists
participating in the Korean national movement in the 1960s, it was very
difficult to escape from a gendered position because they were only given
roles as a mother, a wife, or a sister, even in the public sphere.
Meanwhile, in what may seem a contradiction, Hong’s subversive
reading had the possibility to make cracks in the gender norms, even
though it was restricted. As mentioned earlier, female activists from
Nyeosung-dongmaeng had constructed the mother’s identity as a gen-
dered national identity through repeated use of the mother’s role in
Korean schools. In the context of Hong’s practice, she tried to sepa-
rate the revolutionary identity from Kim Myung-hwa’s role as a
mother, thereby making a new interpretation in the process of escap-
ing from the mother’s identity. However, her practice of calling a
female revolutionary “mother” has repeatedly surfaced in the text.
According to Butler (1990, 141), “the abiding gendered self will be
shown to be structured by repeated acts that seek to in their occa-
sional discontinuity, reveal the temporal and contingent groundless-
ness of this ‘ground.’ The possibilities of gender transformation are to
be found precisely in the arbitrary relation.” In comparison to this,
Hong seems to expect to give her subject national identity as a revolu-
tionary; however, she linguistically emphasizes her position as a mother.
The discordance between her practice and intent reveals the structural
contradiction of the Korean national movement. In conclusion, since
its very foundation of the Korean national movement is gendered, it is
very difficult to transform gender norms in the activities—in both the
private and public spheres—of female activists.
Conclusion
As mentioned in the introduction to this chapter, I discussed how the
identity of Korean diaspora women has been historically constructed
32 Jung-Eun Hong
as a mother. The answers to the three research questions this chapter

analyzed are as follows; (1) In the 1960s, the mother’s role for female
activists had been expected ideologically in the context of the Korean
national movement. (2) As a result, Korean diaspora women’s identity
had been constructed thus. (3) The process of constructing identity
reveals that the Korean national movement in relation to its women
was gendered, and, therefore, it was very difficult to transform gender
norms for the same women.
Although this chapter has focused on the 1960s, Korean women’s
life has been changed ever since. Today, members of Nyeosung-
dongmaeng and mothers’ associations of Korean schools still relate to
one another as mothers (they still call each other Omoni), despite
changes such as the decreased number of associations that participate
in the activist body’s undertakings. In comparison to the 1960s, the
Korean diaspora community is also going through many changes.
Now, the third-generation and fourth-generation female activists take
the lead in the Nyeosung-dongmaeng and mothers’ associations. The
thrust of their activities has changed from nationality to ethnicity. For
example, not only Korean women but Japanese women also partici-
pate in mothers’ associations in Korean schools as mothers who raise
Korean/Korean-Japanese children. That is why I use a plural noun
(mothers’ identities), not a singular noun (mother’s identity) for the
new generation of activists.
References
Butler, Judith. 1990. Gender Trouble: Feminism and the Subversion of Identity.
New York: Routledge.
Central Propaganda Department. 1964. Korean for Adults: High Level.
Tokyo: Gakuyu Shobo (in Korean).
Central Standing Committee. 1992. The Glorious History of Nyeosung-
dongmaeng: The 45th Anniversary of Establishing Korean Democratic
Women’s Union in Japan. Tokyo: Central Standing Committee (in Korean).
Chin, Hee-gwan. 1998. The Study on Chonryun (North Korean in Japan): The
History and Character. PhD diss., Seoul: Dongguk University (in Korean).
Cho, Eun-hee. 2012. “Political Utilization of Historical Memory: An Analysis
of a Memoir of the Anti-Japanese Guerrilla Participants.” Journal of Peace
and Unification Studies 4(2): 111–55 (in Korean).
Chosen Seinen Sha. 1967. Learn from Madame Kang Pan-sok. Tokyo: Chosen
Seinen Sha (in Korean).
Editing Commission of Osaka Korean Ethnic Education 60 Years. 2005.
Osaka Minzoku Kyoiku 60 Syunenshi. Osaka: Osaka Korean Educational
Foundation (in Japanese).
Jeju April 3rd Peace Park’s Website (“What Is the Jeju April 3rd
Incident?”). Available from <http://jeju43.jeju.go.kr/contents/EN/
what43.html?sso=ok>
Kim, Hyun-sook. 1994. “The Meaning of the Creation of the Feminine
Characters in the North Korean Literature.” Women’s Studies Review 11:
167–93 (in Korean).
Kim, Il-sung. 1971. “Kodomo no Kyoikuni Okeru Hahaoyatachi no Ninmu:
Zenkoku Hahaoya Taikai de Okonatta Enzetsu.” In Kim Il Sung Chosaku
Sensyu 3, edited by Party History Institute, 213–39. Pyonyang: Gaikokubun
Shuppan Sha (in Japanese).
Kim, Myung-hwa. 1961. The Indomitable Song: On the Path of Revolution.
Tokyo: Chosen Seinen Sha (in Japanese).
Kim, Young., and Pu-ja Kim. 1994. Dainiji Sekaitaisen (Kaiho) Chokugo
no Zainichi Chosenjin Josei Undo. Tokyo: Tokyo Women’s Foundation
(in Japanese).
Lie, John. 2008. Zainichi (Koreans in Japan): Diasporic Nationalism and
Postcolonial Identity. Berkeley: University of California Press.
Lee, Jin-kyu. 1953. Hangeul Textbook for the People. Tokyo: Gakuyu Shobo
(in Korean).
Molyneux, Maxine. 1998. “Analysing Women’s Movement.” Development
and Change 29(2): 219–45.
Morris-Suzuki, Tessa. 2010. Borderline Japan: Foreigners and Frontier
Controls in the Postwar Era. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.
Park, Hyun-sun. 2001. “Gender Socialization and Resocialization.” In Uni
fication and Women: Life of North Korean Women, edited by Korean
Women’s Institute, 255–77. Seoul: Ewha Womans University Press
(in Korean).
Ri, Yukan. 1971. Zainichi Kankokujin Rokuzyu Mannin: Mindan ChoChongryun
no Bunretsushi to Doko. Tokyo: Yoyo Sha (in Japanese).
Ryang, Sonia. 1997. North Koreans in Japan. Oxford: Westview Press.
Ryang, Sonia. 2005. Korian Diaspora: Zainichi Chosenjin to Aidentiti.
Translated by Kyoko Nakanishi. Tokyo: Akashi Shoten (in Japanese).
Ryang, Sonia. 2009. “Between the Nations: Diaspora and Koreans in Japan.” In
Diaspora without Homeland: Being Korean in Japan, edited by Sonia Ryang
and John Lie, 1–20. Berkeley and Los Angeles: University of California
Press.
Sechiyama, Gaku. 2013. Patriarchy in East Asia: A Comparative Sociology of
Gender. Translated by James Smith. Leiden: Brill.
Song, Eoun-ok. 2007. “Resistance to Colonialism: Identity that Korean
Women Create in Japan.” Hwanghaemunhwa 57: 148–78 (in Korean).
Tonomura, Masaru. 2004. Zainichi Chosenjin Shakai no Rekishiteki Kenkyu:
Keisei Kozo Henyo. Tokyo: Ryokuin Shobo (in Japanese).
Yamamoto, Mari. 2004. Grassroots Pacifism in Post-war Japan: The Rebirth of
a Nation. New York: Routledge Curzon.
Chapter 2
On Encouraging Mothers
of Multiple Children through
the Order of the Mother
Glor ious in Mongolia
Tur munkh Odontuya
Introduction
In this chapter, I will deal with the circumstances of Mongolian
women during the socialist period, which began in 19211 and contin-
ued for 70 years, in connection with the population policy imple-
mented by the state authorities. After the People’s Revolution in
1921, socialist Mongolia set itself a new goal of transitioning to an
agricultural and industrialized country. At the time, however,
Mongolia had a population of fewer than one million people and,
therefore, the required labor force was lacking. To address this situa-
tion, it was crucial for the Mongolian government to focus on increas-
ing the population and so implemented policies accordingly, one of
which was to award the Order of the Mother Glorious to mothers
who gave birth to and raised a number of children. Since 1940, within
the framework of the population policy implemented by the state,
women who raised multiple children have been rewarded with the
order, their children have been given benefits, and they themselves
have been allowed to retire early, taking the number of children into
consideration. Pregnancy and giving birth, which were considered the
natural duty and biological purpose of the child-bearing gender, have
36 Tu r m u n k h O d o n t u ya
been encouraged and rewarded by the Order. In addition to this, con-

trol and regulation policies have also been implemented. For example,
abortion has been prohibited, and a childless tax imposed on adults.2
In Sougen no Kuni wo Kaeta Jyoseitachi [Women Who Changed the
Country of Grassland], Konagaya Yuki concluded that the Mongolian
government policy, implemented in order to increase the size of the
population, was the most important policy related to the indepen-
dence of the country. With Mongolia being situated between China
and Russia, its two giant neighbors, the size of the population was an
indicator of the country’s power (Konagaya 1999, 2003).
The Order of the Mother Glorious was first issued in 1957 and two
versions of the Order were awarded: the Second Class of the Order of
the Mother Glorious was awarded to mothers who raised at least five
children and the First Class of the Order of the Mother Glorious was
bestowed upon those who raised at least eight children.
In socialist Mongolia, the Orders of Writing Merit and Military
Merit were created in 1926 and established a system of recognition
and reward. Between 1936 and 1976, seven new orders and thirteen
medals were created (Terbish 1977). The state began to award
orders and medals to citizens who played an active part in social
development.
Mongolians have always seen having a child as a luxury and there-
fore think happiness in life lies in having as many children as possible.
This is the traditional way of thinking, but in a socialist society, having
several children was regarded as an indicator of being civilized and
more personally virtuous. With the scarcity of contraceptive pills and
other medicine, controlling pregnancy through calendars was not an
easy task. Furthermore, it created the assumption that those who con-
trolled pregnancy were highly educated, people with a good career or
those who were capable of finding rare contraceptive medicines, or
elite groups of the society who had access to special stores that served
only ministers or chairmen. However, rewarding women who raised
multiple children with the Order was not an absolutely appropriate
system in terms of being respectful toward women. In other words,
women had different attitudes toward rewarding women for giving
birth. In this chapter, I will examine various attitudes and points of
view from the state and individuals in regard to rewarding women
with the Order of the Mother Glorious based on the experiences and
recollections of women who lived at the time.
In brief, surveys of Mongolian women are divided, generally, into
the socialist era and postsocialist era. In surveys conducted through-
out the socialist era, it is common to note commentary on how the
M ot h e r G lo r i o u s O rd e r 37
state liberated women from social oppression, took measures to

improve their education and health, tackle unemployment matters,
and provide them proper living conditions and opportunities. Also,
these were mainly statistical studies whose facts and data focused on
applauding the work, lives, and struggles of female workers and herd-
ers, as well as female intellectuals who were contributing to the social
enhancement, development, and progress of Mongolia. In other
words, surveys conducted at the time were dominated by propaganda
and an ideologized content that emphasized how the socialist state
was settling women’s issues, and justifying the implementation of its
policies. As for the postsocialist era, surveys conducted by domestic
and foreign research organizations and researchers are dominated by
the problems imposed on and changes made to women’s lives by the
transition to the social system, highlighting issues such as women’s
poverty, unemployment, and increase in the number of female heads
of households. From the studies and findings of renowned Mongolian
scholars and researchers on policies of population increase, it can be
said that the majority of them concluded that due to measures taken
by the socialist state for women’s welfare, healthcare, and good work-
ing environment they were able to actively participate in social life and
the creative process of the society. Besides this, they were provided
with all conditions to take care of their children and educate them for
the future. The theme was referred to many times in work by Mongolian
researchers such as Sonom Udval (1981), Elchinbuu Chimedtseren
(1969, 1970, 1973, 1975), and Chadraabal Shanikhuu (1975), and
top priority was given to good care and concern, and convenient
working and living conditions due to the population policy imple-
mented by the socialist state. Thanks to this, women played active
roles in social creation and construction, along with raising their chil-
dren and preparing future generations. In this chapter, we shall con-
centrate on the narratives of women who lived at the time of socialism
and are still alive.
The Order of the Mother Glorious

On April 1, 1957, the law of the Order was passed by the fourth ses-
sion of the People’s Great Khural3 of the Mongolian People’s Republic.
The law rewarded a mother of multiple children with an Order, and
her state pension was increased accordingly. The reason the govern-
ment employed such an incentive was that women with multiple chil-
dren were believed to be essential to building socialism in the country
and raising the new generation.
Thanks to this law, the state began, from 1958 onwards, to award
women who raised more than eight children the First Class Order of
the Mother Glorious and 200 tugriks, while women who raised five
children were given the Second Class Order the Mother Glorious and
100 tugriks. In comparison to workers’ average salary (approximately
400 to 500 tugriks a month) the monetary benefit was equal to
between a quarter and nearly half of the regular monthly pay for a
worker.
Other socialist countries also awarded mothers with multiple chil-
dren incentives. For instance, the Soviet Union did so from 1944
and Bulgaria from 1950, and so it was possible that Mongolia fol-
lowed these socialist examples. As for the explanation for the title of
the order, it was initially named “the Maternal Glory” in the original
law passed in 1957, but changed to the Order of the Mother Glorious
in the resolution made by the Presidium of the People’s Great Khural
in 1958.4
However, the meanings of “Maternal Glory” and “Mother
Glorious” have slightly different connotations, but there were no res-
olutions or decrees found to account for the renaming of the order.
According to my own reading, during its adoption the law was named
“Maternal Glory” and perhaps it was renamed during production,
and the inscription carved on the order was “Mother Glorious”
(Figure 2.1) Mass media and newspapers continued to use both terms
interchangeably for the Order. The “Mother Glorious” is considered
to be a relatively typical and fixed concept, and so I have continued to
use this term throughout the chapter.
The Order is oval-shaped and carries in the center the image of a
young woman holding a boy. It is encircled with a golden-yellow
ornamental leaf pattern, with the words “Mother Glorious” embossed
at the top of the medal upon a red background, and the number “1”
or “2” at the bottom within a white frame denoting the First or
Second Class nature of the Order. The Order is 4.65 centimeters
high, 3.9 centimeters wide and is ormolu-varnished. The Order was
originally designed by Dendev Luvsanjamts, the distinguished art lau-
reate of the People’s Republic of Mongolia (Gerelsuren and Altai
2008). While bestowing praise, Mongolians portray the beauty of a
woman as one with ruddy cheeks, thin eyebrows, a thick braid of long
black hair, and a chaste and humble demeanor. The woman depicted
in the Order is wearing the national Mongolian dress (deel) with two
buttons and her combed and split hair shows her young age. The baby
boy indicates the esteemed patriarchy as the male is considered to be
the continuation and successor of lineage. The medal is comprised of
Figure 2.1 “Mother Glorious” First Class Order
red, blue, green, and yellow colors. For Mongolians, red is, along with
being the color of progress and prosperity, a symbol of socialism, and
its rise. Traditionally, blue symbolizes the eternal sky, as well as unity
and peace. Moreover, it represents the people, the state, and the
nation. Red and blue are the colors which make up the Mongolian
flag. Typically, green represents nature and earth. As for yellow, it
represents the golden sun, as well as being a symbol of Buddhism
(Ariyasuren and Nyambuu 1991). Additionally there is number sym-
bolism in the design. Mongolians prefer even numbers. In particular,
they consider the number eight as one that attracts happiness. Thus,
eight pieces of leaf decoration are depicted in the design.
The Order of the Mother Glorious was first made in the Monetnii
Dvor factory5 in the Soviet Union, and then it began to be manufac-
tured in the mint and ornamentation factory in Ulaanbaatar. All the
materials and documents regarding ordering and transferring Orders
and ribbons are stored in the 1959–1974 files in the Central Archive
of Mongolia.6 The numbers in which the Order were made can be
seen in the archive, such as in an excerpt from a 1965 document,
which reveals that an order of 20,000 Second Class Orders of the

Mother Glorious were not able to be made in due time, and a 1968
document which shows that 3,000 pieces of the First Class Order and
5,000 pieces of the Second Class Order were ordered.
The image, color, and pattern of the Order reflect the traditional
way of life and symbolism of Mongolians, though socialist propaganda
was escalating quickly at the end of the 1950s and the traditional way
of living and customary values had become devalued thanks to a
strong wave of socialist ideology. In another words, it can be said that
the socialist government of Mongolia used traditional ethics, values,
and attitudes of the nation to encourage women to help increase
population.
Reward-Based Encouragement System with

the Order of the Mother Glorious
Candidates for the Order of the Mother Glorious were approved by
the Presidium Meetings of the People’s Great Khural. To identify a
candidate for the Order, the mother had to make a request and fill in
an application and submit it to the head of her residential district
(Khoroo) or work place. The application had to include such docu-
ments as the Civil Identification card, a Certificate of Marriage, a
Certificate of Birth, and Health reference. The response notice took
from six months to one year following the input of the request. The
ceremony in which the Order was awarded took place on March 8,
International Women’s Day, in the cultural palaces and movie theaters
of the local district.
Figure 2.2 shows the number of mothers rewarded the First and
Second Class Order of the Mother Glorious. As is clearly shown, the
number of women rewarded increased sharply in 1970 and 1980. In
the quantitative index, there were 3,140 mothers in 1960, 5,474 in
1965, 6,987 in 1970, 7,774 mothers in 1975, and 7,431 mothers
who received the Order in 1980—and the population of Mongolia
increased accordingly during this period (Gerelsuren and Altai,
2008, 12). In 1960, the population of Mongolia was 936,000, and
it reached 1,634,000 in 1980. It can also be seen that the annual
average population increase was 2.6 percent in 1963, 2.7 percent in
1969, and reached 2.9 percent in 1979. From 1970 to 1980, the
population rose by almost 3 percent (Badrakh 2002).
According to a survey conducted in 1963, for women with more
than four children, the average age at the time of the birth of their
first child was 19 (83.4 percent) or 20 (39.5 percent), with only
8000
7000
6000
5000
4000
3000
2000
1000
0
1960 1965 1970 1975 1980 1985 1990 1995 2000 2005
The number of rewarded mothers
with Mother Glorious, 1 Class
The number of rewarded mothers

with Mother Glorious, 2 Class
TOTAL
Figure 2.2 The Number of Rewarded Mothers with the First and Second Class Order
of the Mother Glorious (by Year)
Source: Gerelsuren and Altai (2008)
16.2 percent in the age range of 25–29 (Badamgarav 1971, 45). So,
it can be concluded that the average age of these women falls in the
18–24 range. Furthermore, if we assume that a mother gave birth to
five or six children at an interval of three or four years, a mother would
have met the requirement for the Order of the Mother Glorious at the
age of between 30 and 44 years.
As shown in Table 2.1, the female population of Mongolia reached
600,000 in 1969. Women between 30 and 44 accounted for the about
one-seventh of the female population or 87,494. In 1970, 6,987
women were awarded the Order of the Mother Glorious, which equates
to approximately one-twelfth of the women in the 30–44 age category.
The number of women bestowed this award can be compared to
how women were awarded with other orders and medals at this time.
A total of 3,589 people, were rewarded with various orders and medals
Table 2.1 Women Awarded with Mother Glorious Order
Female Women aged Number of women Number of women

population 30–44 years old awarded with the awarded with the
(thousand) MG Order MG Order
60.0 (1969) 87,494 person 6,987 person (1970) 1 person/12.5 per person
Source: Statistik (1975, 1985, 1999); Gerelsuren and Altai (2008)
(not counting the Mother Glorious) in 1970. Of these rewarded indi-

viduals, only 299 were women (Statistik 1975). In conclusion, annually
7,000–8,000 mothers were awarded the Order of the Mother Glorious
in the 1960s and 1970s. Of the women in the 30–44 age category, one
woman in ten was awarded the Order. In other words, issuance of the
Order of Mother Glorious Order became widespread.
Giving birth to and raising many children and being rewarded for it
became the norm, and it should be considered what this means and
how it indicates how important it is for Mongolians to have a baby and,
especially, have a large family. Japanese scholar Kamimura Akira stated
that “[b]abies are born surrounded with special love and esteem.
Raising children is the most important life goal for the Mongolians.”
Furthermore he described raising a child and having multiple children
in connection with the pastoral and nomadic way of life. He concluded
that nomadic cattle husbandry is directly dependent on the number of
capable workers among family members, so having multiple children is
connected with becoming a prosperous and rich family (Kamimura
1997, 52). Russian scholar Ivan Mikhailovich Maiskii, who conducted
research in Mongolia in 1919, observed child abduction and kidnap-
ping cases which took place in the capital and central areas. There were
many instances of child abductions in the capital with little or no deter-
rent to the kidnappers. It was written that a kidnapped child was
brought to the countryside and if the family that took him/her in was
rich and prosperous, they raised the kidnapped child as their own and
as a successor to the family (Maiskii 2001, 68–69). Baabar noted that
for Mongolians, having a child before marriage was quite a normal
phenomenon. A newborn is referred to as a child born on fire and is
enormously cherished and pampered by the grandparents, and a new-
born with unknown parents shall be raised with the same love and
parental care. The daughters-in-law who raised many boys were revered
as devoted daughters-in-law by their parents-in-law (Baabar 2002, 12).
From the facts, we can see that Mongolians adored children, and
raising children was a deed beneficial to animal husbandry. Having

multiple children did not go against social economy and psychology.
Encouragement through Awarding the

Order and Women’s Attitudes
Meanwhile, what was the perception of mothers when the state began
to award women who gave birth to multiple children with such Orders?
Let us consider these women’s stories and the feelings and thoughts
they had when being awarded with Order of the Mother Glorious.
Case 1.
I was awarded with the 1st and 2nd Class Order of the Mother Glorious.
I was overwhelmed and had a feeling of self-pride.
(Born in 1932, a cook, mother of 11 children)
Case 2.
I was awarded with 2nd Class Order of the Mother Glorious in 1979. I had a
feeling of encouragement and doing more for the homeland, and think the
order is a kind of recognition or valuable merit for being a mother and raising
children. When I received the Order, I had a new deel [traditional Mongolian
dress], and afterwards, there was a banquet to celebrate it.
(Born in 1948, factory forewoman,
mother of seven children)
Case 3.
I received my 2nd Class Order of the Mother Glorious Mother in 1981. Of
course, I was very glad because it is the state order. I still now wear it on
national holidays.
(Born in 1950, a nurse, mother of five children)
The women quoted above were proud to be awarded with Order of

the Mother Glorious and they remember it with pride. They ordered
a special deel (traditional Mongolian dress) for the ceremony, and
arranged a banquet with relatives and co-workers. Those mothers still
proudly pin their Orders to their deels and costumes while in public on
national holidays. Being awarded with the Order was one of the hap-
piest events they experienced in their lives. However, it can be seen
from the following recollections that not all women shared this posi-
tive attitude toward the Order.
Case 4.
I was awarded with both the 1st and 2nd Class of the Order of the Mother
Glorious. It was nothing to be boastful about, but somehow it was also a little
bit embarrassing. The order was granted at the party organized by the work
place on International Women’s day on 8th March and I received an invitation.
You had to take part in it because it was organized by the work administration.
After handing out the Order, there was a musical performance, social dancing,
and disco. After the party, the performance was more pleasant.
(Born in 1957, storekeeper at the collective farm,
mother of eight children)
Case 5.
I got an invitation from the Committee, but I had no opportunity to take part
in it. I couldn’t participate and honestly, didn’t want to.
(Born in 1958, a builder, mother of five children)
Women such as the mother in Case 4, for instance, participated

because it was organized by the work administration, and others, such
as the woman in Case 5, could not take part and had no intention of
doing so. Therefore, it can be concluded that some women reluc-
tantly attended the award ceremony. If they did not take part in the
activities organized by the work administration, they were labeled and
judged as being socially inactive and therefore irresponsible workers.
Also, the mother in Case 4 stated that she did not see the award as
something to be boastful of and even viewed it as a little embarrassing.
There were many women who said that receiving the award seemed a
little embarrassing. In another instance, a female employee said that
she had had children with only a short gap between births.
I gave birth to five children at my young age, so when I was awarded with the
Order, I was very embarrassed. As soon as I came down the pulpit, I took my
Order from the upper flap of my deel.
It appears that many mothers and, in particular, relatively young

women were not happy. It is obvious that there were many factors
affecting attitudes, such as personal behavior of the woman, profes-
sional position, educational level, and background. In my point of
view, the women’s surrounding environment, and the attitude of those
around her had the most impact. For instance, the story of the woman
in Case 6 draws attention to others’ attitudes toward women with
multiple children, even though she was not presented with the Order.
Case 6.
You cannot manage your life, if you just give birth and stay at home. So the
mother was decried as an unskilled person who was only capable of giving birth.
(Born in 1944, accountant, mother of three children)
It can be seen then that awarding and encouraging mothers of mul-

tiple children had different aspects in state or governmental sphere
and in individual spheres. In other words, even though the state
encouraged women to give birth and raise several children, others
were disrespectful toward them. Even while state encouraged births,
awarded Orders, and lauded the women, some considered that, on
the contrary, the women were only capable of giving birth and had
none of the knowledge needed to manage their personal lives.
In connection with this, the point has to be raised of how women
managed family planning at that time. Regardless of individual inter-
est and desire, where was the real necessity to raise many children? Did
the woman make such decisions on the basis of discussion with family
members? Did women themselves want to have many children and
how did they manage their pregnancies and births? Let us take into
account the family planning of women at that time.
Case 7.
There were a few people who would teach us about contraceptive methods
and knowledge. It was kind of closed theme. Of course, women talked about
who was pregnant and who gave birth. We didn’t ask or talk about contracep-
tion that much.
(Born in 1950, nurse, mother of five children)
Case 8.
Contraception was not taught or told to us at all. I used to work as a head of
the trade union at my work. We always invited well-known actors, workers,
chiefs etc. for talks. Contraception was sold only at a special store, and was a
kind of a rare commodity at that time. Special stores served only ministers,
heads and executives.
(Born in 1944, accountant, mother of three children)
From the women’s stories, it can be seen that, at that time, contracep-
tion was rare and of limited usage, so women were not able to conduct
family planning. Also, women had poor knowledge of contraception,
there was a lack of contraceptives, and birth control pills were not sold
in public. It can be understood that the state and government did not
deliver and control contraceptives systematically. Due to limited
knowledge of contraception, and with no birth control pills on sale,
women had difficulties in regulating pregnancies. Gradually, in case of
pregnancy, it was difficult to choose whether or not to give birth. The
cook (case 1), who gave birth to 11 children, said, “If you got preg-
nant, you gave birth. There was no other consideration at all. So it
happened, you got pregnant.” However, we do not know what she
had in her mind about contraceptives; she probably did not use any
contraceptive methods and when she got pregnant, she gave birth
since she had no other recourse. Another nurse, who gave birth to five
children, said that if women got pregnant, they had no other option
apart from giving birth.
In Modern Mongolia: From Khans to Commissars to Capitalists,
Morris Rossabi concluded that women considered pregnancies a civic
duty rather than an individual family decision and thus had an inordi-
nate number of birth (Morris 2005, 152).
As he said, pregnancy, birth, and family planning was not within
the framework of the family, but a matter of state and government.
Thus, pregnancy and birth was regulated regardless of individual
choices. That is, pregnancy was imposed as a social duty rather than a
personal choice, so giving birth to more children was encouraged
actively instead of personal planning and interest. Regulation of preg-
nancy and birth is connected with knowledge of contraception and
medication as well as curtailing of freely available abortion. Because at
that time the state implemented policies to increase the population,
contraception and medicine were restricted through the policy and
rules, which also meant that public dissemination and distribution
were prohibited. Furthermore, general knowledge on woman’s biol-
ogy and regulation of contraceptives was not provided, and abortion
was prohibited by law. Mothers, individuals, and family did not have a
choice in matters of pregnancy and birth.
Conclusion
The essence of a reward is to glorify an individual’s achievements and
lift his or her reputation. However, rewarding woman who gave birth
to many children has an ambiguous meaning as, for the state and indi-
viduals, different attitudes were conveyed. There are many women
who are grateful for being assessed and rewarded with the Order by
the state, but other women had differing views about it. Some held
that it diminished a woman’s reputation, conflicted with the individu-
al’s status, and gave rise to the understanding that such women were
incapable of doing anything except giving birth, and were unable and
helpless to manage their own personal lives. The reward was related to
the social mentality of socialism that held that a woman should work
for a society, though there was also the understanding that women
with good family planning were the ones who had good personal
organizational skills, performed social activities well, and did not
waste time with childbirth.
Finally, we have to deal with the gap between traditional and social-
ist ways of thinking and look beyond the policy of encouraging moth-
ers to give birth to multiple children and instituting a system of
rewarding a woman who raised many children. In short, it can be
understood that modern lifestyles had an influence on the old, tradi-
tional way of thinking.
Notes
1 History of Mongolian development is divided into three stages: prerevolu-
tionary period (till 1921), socialist period (1921–1991), and market eco-
nomic period (since 1991).
2 For more detailed study, see Odontuya (2014).
3 People’s Great Khural is the name of former national assembly of the
People’s Republic of Mongolia.
4 Central Archive of Mongolia. Materials and documents related with the
Great Khural’s Presidium of the People’s Republic of Mongolia Φ-11 T-1
XH 1619, 1620.
5 Mint and Ornamentation factory.
6 Number of the cover HD 11-2. Treasury unit XH 1038.
References
Ariyasuren, Ch., and Nyambuu, Kh. 1991. Mongol yos zanshliin dund tailbar
toli [Medium Definition Dictionary of Mongolian Customs and Culture].
Ulaanbaatar: Suulenkhuu Publishing House (in Mongolian).
Baabar. 2002. Mongorujin [Mongols]. Ulaanbaatar: Monsudar Publishing
House (in Japanese).
Badamgarav, N. 1971. BHMAU-iin Emegteichuud,khuukhed [Women and
Children of the People’s Republic of Mongolia]. Ulaanbaatar: State Publishing
House (in Mongolian).
Badrakh, Ts. 2002. “Mongol Ulsiin Khun amiin too, usultiin tuukhen khan-
dlaga, orchin uyd ankhaarakh zarim asuudal [Population Size, Historic
Growth Trends, and Some Modern Issues of Mongolia].” Mongoliin khun
amiin setguul [Population Journal of Mongolia] 6:9–18 (in Mongolian).
Chimedtseren, E. 1969. Mongoliin emegteichuud shine amidraliin zamd
1921–1931on [New Life Journey of Mongolian Women 1921–1931].
Ulaanbaatar: State Publishing House (in Mongolian).
Chimedtseren, E. 1970. “Emegteichuudiin amidrald garsan ergelt bol capital-
ist bus khugjliin chukhal ur dun mun [Breakthrough at the Women’s Life Is
the Significant Outcome of Non-capitalist Development].” BNMAU-iin
capitalist bus khugjliin tuukhen turshlagiin asuudal [Points on Historical
Experiences of Non-capitalist Development of the People’s Republic of
Mongolia], 263–276 (in Mongolian).
Chimedtseren, E. 1973. BNMAU-d emegteichuudiig niigmiin darlalaas chuluul-

sun tuukhen turshlaga [Historical Experiences of Women’s Disyoke in the People’s
Republic of Mongolia]. Ulaanbaatar: State Publishing House (in Mongolian).
Chimedtseren, E. 1975. “Mongoliin emegteichuudiin oyun sanaanii amidrald
garsan uurchlult [Changes in Mental Lives of Mongolian Women].”
BNMAU-d emegteichuudiin asuudliig shiidverlesen tuukhen turshlaga
[Historical Experiences of Solving Women’s Issues in the People’s Republic of
Mongolia], 17–25 (in Mongolian).
Gerelsuren, N., and Altai, D. 2008. Mongoliin emegteichuudiin baiguullaga
Tkuuhen tovchoon 1924–2008 [Women’s Organization of Mongolia. Historic
Almanac 1924–2008]. Ulaanbaatar: Urlah Erdem Publishing House (in
Mongolian).
Kamimura, Aki. 1997. “Idou to Jinsei no Hushime: Hito no Issyou [Human
Life Migration and Milestone of Life].” In Mongoru: Kurashiga wakaru
Ajia Tokuhon [Mongolia: Knowing Life of Asia], edited by Yuki Konagaya,
52–60. Tokyo: Kawade Shobou Shinsha (in Japanese).
Konagaya, Yuki. 1999. “Sougen no Kuni wo Kaeta Jyoseitachi [Women Who
Changed the Country of Grassland].” In Shakai Henyou to Jyosei: Jenda no
Bunkajinruigaku [Social Change and Women: Cultural Anthropology of
Gender], edited by Kubota Sachiko, 4–35. Kyoto: Nakanishiya (in Japanese).
Konagaya, Yuki. 2003. Mongoru Koku ni okeru Nijuu Seiki [Mongols in the
20th Century]. Osaka: National Museum of Ethnology SER41:1–230 (in
Japanese).
Maiskii, I. M. 2001. Orchin uyiin Mongol Avtonomit Mongol 20-r zuunii garaan
deer [Contemporary Mongolia Autonomous Mongolia upon the Twentieth
Century]. Ulaanbaatar: Sogoo Nuur Publishing House (in Mongolian).
Morris, Rossabi. 2005. Modern Mongolia: From Khans to Commissars to
Capitalists. California: University of California Press.
Odontuya, T. 2014. Shakaishugi Shakai no Keiken: Mongorujin Jyoseitachi no
Katarikara [Experience of Socialist Society: Narratives of Mongolian
Women]. Sendai: Touhoku Daigaku Syuppankai (in Japanese).
Shanihuu, Ch. 1975. “Mongoliin emegteichuud sotsialist baiguulaltand idevkh-
tei oroltsogchid mun [Women of Mongolia Are Active Participants of Socialist
Formation].” BNMAU-d emegteichuudiin asuudliig shiidverlesen tuukhen
turshlaga [Historical Experiences of Solving Women’s Issues in the People’s
Republic of Mongolia], 25–34 (in Mongolian).
Statistik BNMAU-iin Said nariin zuvluliin dergedekh Statistikiin Tuv Gazar
[Central Statistics Office under Council of Ministers of the People’s
Republic of Mongolia]. 1975. BNMAU-iin Emegteichuud [Women of the
People’s Republic of Mongolia]. Ulaanbaatar: State Publishing House (in
Mongolian).
Statistik BNMAU-iin Statistikiin Tuv Gazar [Central Statistics Office of the
People’s Republic of Mongolia]. 1985. BNMAU-iin Emegteichuud Mongoliin
Emegteichuudiin V ikh khurald zoriulsan statistikiin emkhtgel [Women of the
People’s Republic of Mongolia, Statistical Booklet Dedicated to the Fifth
Women’s Forum of Mongolia]. Ulaanbaatar: State Publishing House (in
Mongolian).
Statistik Mongol Ulsiin Statistikiin Tuv Gazar [Statistics Office of Mongolia].

1999. Mongol ulsiin emegteichuud, eregteichuud [Women and Men of
Mongolia]. Ulaanbaatar: Statistics Office of Mongolia (in Mongolian).
Terbish, Ts. 1977. BNMAU-iin odon,medali,aldar tsoltuuniig ankh khurteg-
chid, tuukhen toim 1926–1976 [Order, Medal and Title: Pioneer Conferees of
them Historic Overview 1926–1976]. Ulaanbaatar: State Publishing House
(in Mongolian).
Udval, S. 1981. Khuvisgaliin 60 jil, Mongoliin Emegteichuud MAHN-aas
Emegteichuudiin talaar avsan arga khemjeenuud [Sixty Years Anniversary
of the Revolution: Measures on Women taken by the Mongolian People’s
Revolutionary Party]. Ulaanbaatar: State Publishing House (in Mongolian).
Chapter 3
Imper ial Japan and the Female

Skin Divers (C H A M S U ) of Jeju
Isl and, South Korea
Noriko Ijichi
Examining the Framework of Female Skin

Divers ( CHAMSU ) in Jeju Island, South Korea
Today, it is quite rare to find female skin divers in regions outside of
Japan and South Korea. Jeju Island, the topic of this chapter, is the lead-
ing region in South Korea for female skin diving. Studies on chamsu, the
female skin divers of Jeju Island, commenced during the colonial period
as a field of Japanese research on the Korean peninsula, and have since
expanded to incorporate folkloristics, ecology, and geography as well.
This scholarship was later taken up in South Korea at the end of the
colonial period, focusing mainly on aspects of physical prowess and
social structure. Given that chamsu formed the economic nucleus of
their region, maintaining the home and raising children, myths were
constructed on the Korean mainland about these “tenacious” women.
Behind this was the reality that there were no income opportunities for
men on the island other than small-scale fishing and migration until the
tourism industry was introduced in the 1980s. Further, due to their
unique method of fishing, chamsu received special attention for their
“peculiarities,” and were treated as mirrors reflecting both the history
and culture of Jeju Island and were used to gain foreign appeal as well
(Choa et al. 2006). From this interpretation, however, it is exceedingly
difficult to envision the actual everyday life of chamsu.
52 Noriko Ijichi
Taking historical dynamism into account, this chapter attempts to

interpret the everyday life of chamsu—who continue to migrate to Japan
in search of work—while closely examining their daily experiences.
These women have migrated overseas to dive as hired labor since the
end of the nineteenth century. The Japanese colonization of Korea set
the stage for this movement. While these circumstances forced many
to dive, mainly along the Korean Peninsula and in Japan, we observed
cases of those who remained in Japan for the long term in addition to
those who returned to Jeju Island. Chamsu’s labor migration to Japan
halted briefly following the end of colonial rule, but continued domes-
tically, as diving wages had become a main source of income. Until the
liberalization of overseas travel in 1989, many traveled to Japan as
stowaways, including those women who made a living as divers upon
arrival. Given the shrinking number of Japanese female divers—
referred to from here on as ama—and the great demand for high-
grade shellfish, there are chamsu operating in Japan to this day.
As opposed to Jeju Island, where diving is possible only two weeks
a month, Japan offers the chance to dive year-round by changing
locations. These earnings continue to support their livelihoods upon
traveling back to Jeju Island. In this way, chamsu lived in a socially and
historically charged environment in which they had to become
“tenacious.”
Foremost, this chapter provides a general outline of the implemen-
tation of the market capitalist economy during the colonial period as
well as the internal and external conditions of the Korean Peninsula’s
liberation from Japanese colonization in 1945, which produced vari-
ous environmental changes that forced chamsu to widen their sphere
of action. Further, through a specific example of chamsu whose labor
migration to Mie Prefecture, Japan, is ongoing, this chapter considers
the manner in which they have adapted to modifications in the post-
war social structure that initially prompted their migration.
Analytical Approaches to Migration

A wealth of research exists to date regarding migrant laborers—
defined as those who leave the home in order to work—like chamsu.
Beginning with push-pull factor analysis in the fields of economics and
statistical demography and followed by the world-systems theory, best
represented by Wallerstein, research on international labor migration
as a product of globalization is currently shifting to a debate concern-
ing the unification of Bruno Latour’s actor-network theory (Latour
1987) and transnational network theory.
I m p e r i a l J a pa n a n d t h e C H A M S U o f J e j u I s l a n d 53
Chamsu’s labor migration from Korea to Japan, which began with

Imperial Japan’s colonial rule and continues to this day, was built into
the world system. Further, this labor migration, beginning in the early
twentieth century, persisted as a means for supplementing labor short-
ages and satisfying demand in the Japanese fishing industry. In con-
trast, chamsu were stratified by the illegalization of their work within
colonization and subsequent globalization, and ethnicized as well,
given that diving women exist only within Japan and Korea; migrants
filled the gaps left by native Japanese ama.
However, this chapter does not view chamsu’s labor migration as
entirely regulated by the macrolevel social structure, but recognizes a
certain autonomy in their decisions. It is clear that their migratory pat-
terns were accelerated and complicated by modern mobility “beyond
borders.” Further, it is possible to discuss chamsu’s labor migration,
established on familial, clan, and racial (ethnic) diaspora networks, in
terms of the deterritorialization of the nation-state (Urry 2000).
However, the focus of this argument is not the “decentralization of
actors,” the stance adopted by Urry and other actor-network theorists.
Chamsu’s decision to migrate does not mean total liberation from
the home nation, as Brenda Yeoh fears. Indeed, by considering their
choice to leave home in terms of Asian familist ideology, it is as if chamsu
are updating the “tenacious women” image heretofore conferred upon
them (Yeoh 2005). However, in regard to the latter, this chapter exam-
ines the historical background of image production without regarding
it as a given. Further, the analytical stance this chapter adopts is consid-
erably different from the gender studies perspective of “feminized
migration” developed by Yeoh. In other words, rather than focusing on
each individual’s independence, this chapter takes as its object the
diverse, complex familial and communal relationships enveloping
chamsu. That is, due to the dominating world systems of colonization,
which first impelled overseas movement, and subsequent globalization,
it is only through careful interpretation of chamsu’s labor migration—
the conditions of which were the result of daily compromise, negotia-
tion, and adaptation to a specific surrounding environment—that we
can observe the manner in which they constructed their everyday life
without being completely absorbed by the host society.
Japanese Colonial Control and

the Commercialization of Marine Goods
In 1879, Japanese mariners equipped with diving apparatuses set sail
for the Korean seas as “pioneers.” While there was only one apparatus
54 Noriko Ijichi
in use at the outset, the number rapidly expanded to between 300 and
400 by 1906, leading to rampant overfishing and a marked decrease
in the number of catches. Promulgated in 1908, Korean Fishing Laws
encouraged reproduction and set restrictions on fishing sites and the
number of ships, but the destruction of marine resources in the seas
around Jeju Island was already well underway (Yoshida 1954).
The main marine products exported from Korea to Japan by Japanese
mariners were Gelidium alga, funori seaweed, and dried sardines.
Among these, Gelidium alga and funori seaweed were also hand-
gathered by chamsu, the latter being an indispensable material in the
textile industry which catalyzed modern Japanese industrialization.
Gelidium alga, in contrast, became a product essential for foreign
exchange at the start of the Meiji Period, when international demand
soared and overtook domestic interest. In 1892, Japan exported agar
to England, Germany, France, Russia, the United States, Canada,
India, Australia, the Kingdom of Hawaii, Hong Kong, China, and
Korea—twelve countries in total. From this, it can be stated that the
collection of Gelidium alga in Korea was a vital source of capital for
Imperial Japan to fuel its expansion. Further, the application of agar,
obtained from Gelidium alga, diversified with the onset of moderniza-
tion, leading to varied usage in food, industrial products, medicines,
and in academic research as well (Nomura 1951).
In addition to Gelidium alga and funori seaweed, Ecklonia cava alga
was marketed as well. Iodine extracted from the ashes of this alga and
kelp was not only employed in disinfectants and other medicinal prod-
ucts, but was also a critically important raw material in the production
of gunpowder. With the onset of the Russo-Japanese War in 1904,
iodine became imperative for this purpose. The demand for iodine sky-
rocketed during World War I, and while Japanese agar manufacturers
competitively purchased Ecklonia cava alga at this time, business stag-
nated after the fighting settled down in Europe. Following the Liutiaohu
Incident in 19311, the demand for Ecklonia cava started to rise again.
Due to this change in demand, Jeju Island chamsu, formerly uninter-
ested in this alga, began harvesting it during the summer months.
Skin Diving as Wage Labor: Jeju Island

CHAMSU and Japanese AMA
As marine products from the Korean seas were commercialized by

Japanese merchants, Jeju Island chamsu were employed to collect the
necessary raw materials. Following the commencement of overseas
labor migration in 1892, chamsu’s operating regions expanded
alongside the advancement of the Japanese Empire from the Korean

Peninsula to Japan, China, and Russia. Chamsu set out for Pusan by
steamship, where they would then board merchant-commanded fish-
ing boats bound for various diving sites (Masuda 1976). These mer-
chants both recruited and directed chamsu, but were under the direct
control of Japanese traders. Notwithstanding, there are cases of
chamsu who engaged in migrant fishing labor without establishing a
contract with a merchant (Eguchi 1915). At this time, Japanese ama
had already begun working in the same territory.
Japanese male divers advanced into Korean waters as well, but as their
main objective was abalone, the battle for seaweed collection was waged
entirely between Japanese ama and Jeju Island chamsu (Kim 2007).
However, the presence of ama in this region gradually diminished
over time. Wage disparity was the primary reason: in the 1910s, the
wage ratio of Japanese ama to Jeju Island chamsu working in the
Korean Peninsula was 7:1. In sum, ama’s opportunities for employ-
ment waned as chamsu were favored as cheap labor.
It must not be understood that chamsu were mere victims to the
exploitation of colonial rule. In response to the poor labor conditions
imposed on those operating off the Korean Peninsula, in 1918, volun-
teers from Jeju Island began organizing unions to protect the rights of
chamsu; negotiations between the administration in Jeollanam-do and
Gyeongsamnam-do, the main fishing district, resulted in a project for
their establishment within the Korean Seaweed Corporation. The Jeju
Island Diving Union was subsequently founded in 1920. Following
this, however, relations within the union deteriorated when the
Jeju Island legislature came to head the diving union and mutual
profit became a central matter of interest. Nevertheless, chamsu
actively opposed this structural exploitation, culminating in the
Anti-Colonization Conflict of 1932 in Jeju; these efforts, however,
were suppressed.
Widening Fishing Grounds: Skin

Diving in Japan
In 1903, 11 years after labor migration to the Korean mainland began,
chamsu looked to Japan as their next region of employment. According
to data from the Jeju Island government, the number of chamsu who
migrated overseas to find work in 1934 exceeded 5,000, with catches
of approximately 700,000 yen, while catches from the 5,300 operat-
ing within the island totaled just 270,000–280,000 yen. From this, it
is clear that income from the female diving industry was significant
56 Noriko Ijichi
enough to vastly influence the island’s economy as a whole (Jeju

Municipal Office 1935).
Chamsu voyaged to Japan either by fishing boat or a ferry running
between Japan and the Korean Peninsula. A ferry route directly con-
necting Jeju Island and Osaka opened in 1923, three years after the
founding of the Jeju Island Diving Union. Following the First Sino-
Japanese War, the Russo-Japanese War, and World War I, the ground-
work for industrialization was expanding within Japan by the start of
the twentieth century. In Osaka, which surpassed Tokyo as an indus-
trial city at the time, the demand for labor was especially high. Under
the confines of colonial rule, Jeju Islanders journeyed to Osaka on the
direct ferry in search of a cash income. Here, they were employed as
cheap labor; it goes without saying that chamsu were included among
these labor migrants. It is said that as many as one in five islanders has
experienced this trip to Osaka (Sugihara 1998, 55). Presently, Osaka
has the largest population of zainichi Koreans2 in Japan, approximately
half of whom have their roots in Jeju (numbers based on 2010 data).
Industrialization in prewar Osaka and ease of access via direct ferry
catalyzed the labor migration that fostered the current conditions.
From the Colonial Period to Liberation

According to the August 10, 1923, edition of the Osaka Mainichi
newspaper chamsu began operations in Osaka Port in 1913. From
this article, written ten years after diving began in Osaka, it is clear
that chamsu traveled with their infants to Japan. Furthermore, this
article demonstrates that if, hypothetically, earnings were split fifty-
fifty with their employer, divers still brought in six times the wages
of a day-laboring migrant farmer in Jeju Island (Jeju Island
Government 1929, 83) and three times that of a rubber factory
worker in Osaka, a position many Jeju migrants filled at this time
(Sugihara 1998, 160).
Materials besides marine products were collected in the city as well.
The headline of a 1934 article in the Osaka Asahi newspaper reads
“Mountain of scrap iron discovered on sea-bottom off Kobe Port by
Korean female skin diver.” From 1931 onward, as the Japanese mili-
tary economy flourished in preparation for war with China, used scrap
iron sold out at ten to twenty percent the normal rate. Chamsu thus
widened their collection scope to adapt to the exigencies of the period.
Amidst the military economy of the latter half of the 1930s, urban
chamsu gathered scrap iron while those operating in rural districts col-
lected only Gelidium alga. Demand for Gelidium alga skyrocketed, as
it was utilized widely in manufacturing military products; Japanese

regional divers were initially employed to cover this heightened
demand, but chamsu were hired soon thereafter due to the former’s
high costs and a lack of manpower. At the start of the 1940s, fishermen
and coastal area residents mobilized all through Japan to collect Ecklonia
cava alga to meet the military demand for seaweed. Following this
trend, chamsu took to the seas to gather Ecklonia cava as well. Further,
chamsu were hired to dive for abalone as replacements for Japanese male
divers, who were drafted and sent to the battlefield at this time.
Those who migrated to Japan to skin-dive were not full-time
chamsu. Indeed, chamsu engaged to work in any region of Japan
would pass through Osaka to catch the ferry back to Jeju Island.
Among those I interviewed, there was a chamsu who, upon ending
her skin diving duties, visited her village enclave in Osaka, where she
continued profiting as a subcontracted residential garment-maker
before finally going home. She explained that these earnings were
intended to “purchase a good field,” and were subsequently used for
“paying her younger sister’s medical bills.” In 1945, however, this
way of life was abruptly thrown out alongside the colonial economic
structure. That is, during the colonial period, Jeju Islanders were
dependent upon remittance, imports, and cash funding from chamsu
in Japan and other migrant laborers alike (Ijichi 2000, 86–93).
This flow of capital came to a sudden halt immediately after 1945.
From Liberation to the Liberalization of Overseas Travel

The Korean Peninsula was freed from Japanese colonial rule in 1945,
but local infrastructure was devastated to the point that swift repair
was impossible. On top of this, an uprising opposing the delegate
election for the establishment of an independent South Korean gov-
ernment on April 3, 1948, erupted into thorough suppression and a
series of massacres by the military and police; a tragedy known as the
“Yon San Incident.” With the outbreak of the Korean War soon to
follow, Jeju Islanders’ livelihoods became unstable. In Hengwon-ri,
located in northeastern Jeju where I based most of my fieldwork, it
was said that villagers finally gained a sense of stability in the latter half
of the 1980s. As Jeju is a volcanic island, citrus cultivation in the
south expanded after the 1970s while the use of pesticides in the late
1980s led to the promise of mass production of onions and garlic in
the north: it was at this time that islanders first experienced cumula-
tive profits from land-based agriculture. Apart from that, profits from
the sea were a constant pillar supporting the lives of Jeju Islanders.
58 Noriko Ijichi
Until the liberalization of overseas travel in 1989, chamsu were bound

by law to operate domestically, limiting their labor migration to the
Korean coasts.
While there were divers who voyaged beyond the present-day 38th
Parallel after independence, the establishment of the Republic of
Korea and the Democratic People’s Republic of Korea in 1948
restricted fishing grounds to regions south of the divide, leading to
concentration in the resource-rich districts of Gyeongsangnam-do
and Gyeongsanbuk-do. Profits from chamsu were instrumental to the
Jeju way of life following liberation. Numerically speaking, the num-
ber of chamsu increased to almost 20,000 in 1960 (Izumi 1966, 290),
while overseas earnings doubled those from operations within Jeju
(Kang 2001, 79). Wakame seaweed was the leading catch in the period
after the Korean War; this ceased by the end of the 1960s, however, as
it was a military supply used during wartime (Won 1988, 111).
The introduction of wetsuits in the 1970s engendered a major
change in chamsu activity on Jeju Island. Wetsuits, brought back to
the island by a Jeju-born Japan resident, had a massive impact on the
divers’ mode of operations. Chamsu had donned sojuni to that point,
or diving suits made from mere cotton cloth. It is said that during the
winter, chamsu returned to shore to warm up next to bonfires after
just ten minutes in the sea. By wearing wetsuits, high-class chamsu
could dive for an estimated six straight hours. The improved efficiency
led to overfishing, however, and restrictions on collecting turban shell
during the breeding season (July through August) were enacted in
1973 by the Fisheries Cooperative; prohibitions on gathering abalone
during the same season soon followed. Moreover, the fishing grounds
of each village were divided into three sections for the purpose of
resource allocation around this time, a system that remains in place to
this day. The diving schedule on Jeju Island is matched to the ebb and
flow of the tides: a one-week collection period starts from the day
high tide comes in the morning, making for a total of 15 working days
a month. On top of this stringent system, changes in the types of
shellfish collected were matched by additional operating time limits.
Entering the 1980s, the tourist industry developed within Jeju
Island, leading to a growth in turban shell and hijiki seaweed exports
to Japan. Chamsu, who were 14,143 strong in 1970, reduced and aged
gradually to just over 5,000 in the 2000s. Despite this, turban shell—
the main item collected by female skin divers—comprised 25 percent
of all profits from catches within Jeju Island. In the 1980s, over 80
percent of all marine exports were collected by chamsu, and accounted
for nearly a 100 percent acquisition rate of foreign currency from sales
(Jeju Fisheries Cooperative History 1989, 580–581). However, unit

prices were constantly dictated by the rise and fall of the Japanese mar-
ket, and catches diminished due to stock and aquatic pollution.
When viewed in this light, it is as if the everyday lives of chamsu
were entirely determined by outside forces. Indeed, their everyday
lives widened greatly as a consequence of Japanese colonial rule and
the introduction of the capitalist market economy at the end of the
nineteenth century. Yet the establishment of national borders follow-
ing liberation and the splitting of the Korean Peninsula into north and
south nation-states imposed further boundaries on their mobility.
Despite this, chamsu were able to reestablish a lifestyle and an operat-
ing sphere that crossed these national boundaries—which drastically
reduced their mobility—by utilizing past relationships. Moreover,
chamsu do not dive merely for economic gain: equipped with a spe-
cific skill set and intuition cultivated within the culture and society of
Jeju Island, chamsu responded to sweeping, uncontainable changes
in the outside world at their own pace, using their own judgment.
One aspect of this adaptability can be observed in the chamsu who
continued to skin-dive in Japan following liberation.
Continued Skin Diving in Japan 3

Labor migration to Japan—legal during the colonial period—was pro-
hibited in 1945. However, many women from Jeju Island were already
living in Japan prior to liberation, and many came to Japan as stow-
aways from the postwar period until the liberalization of overseas
travel. These women also operated as chamsu (An 2008; Ijichi 2008).
KB, who currently runs a kimchi shop in the Korea Town in Osaka’s
Ikuno Ward, which boasts the highest number of zainichi Korean
residents in the country, journeyed to Japan as a stowaway with her
husband in 1956, following her parents who migrated before libera-
tion. KB sold kimchi in a rented storefront in the Korea Town for six
years until she was able to hold her own shop, all the while traveling
as far as Kochi Prefecture with chamsu recruiters to skin-dive during
her spare time. KB’s standard employment opportunities were
extremely limited given that she had migrated to Japan as a stowaway,
a major factor in her decision to work as a chamsu. Further, to Jeju
Island diving women, work in Japan meant capitalizing on the chance
to profit through a previously acquired skill set.
Regardless of their migration period, the preferred destinations
for female skin divers like KB in Japan were Wakayama, Kobe, Miyake
Island, and so on (Kang 1993; Lee 2001). These operating locations—in
60 Noriko Ijichi
Kobe Osaka
Mie
Jeju Island
Wakayama
Miyake Island
Figure 3.1 Map of chamsu’s Diving Points in Japan
use to this day—closely reflect those of the prewar period. The reasons
for this were the aging Japanese ama matched with a lack of diving
successors.
Let us examine Mie Prefecture, one the chamsu’s main diving
regions. Chamsu vanished from southern Mie for a brief period fol-
lowing the War—during which local divers migrated to work in their
stead—but reemerged around 1980 in response to a labor shortage,
brought on by the aforementioned aging of ama (Figure 3.1).
I first met KT, a female diving supervisor from Mie Prefecture, in
1994; she was recruiting chamsu in Hengwon-ri, Jeju at the time.
KT possessed four shellfish and seaweed collection permits in Mie
Prefectural waters, where she ran a skin diving and compressor diving
business employing chamsu from Jeju Island. A second-generation
zainichi Korean born in Osaka, KT’s first chamsu experience had been
in Japan. Then, around 1980, she started hiring Koreans living in
Japan, as well as three-month residents—usually those visiting rela-
tives on a tourist visa following the Treaty on Basic Relations between
Japan and the Republic of Korea. She began “supervising” while
continuing to dive herself. Labor migration from Hengwon-ri to Mie

Prefecture began in 1985: the motivation for KM, a Hengwon-ri
native who had lived in Japan since the prewar period, was to take over
an operating region that her son’s parents-in-law had become unable
to manage. KM initially employed chamsu within Japan, but was dis-
appointed when the number of catches barely increased. To work as a
chamsu, skin diving experience alone is not necessarily sufficient to
make ends meet. Intuition and ability gradually dull if one does not
dive continuously. As a result, rather than relying on chamsu residing
in Japan, she called upon her younger sister, who was diving regularly
in Hengwon-ri at the time. KT learned of KM’s recruiting idea and set
out on a trip to Jeju Island herself. KM ultimately quit supervising in
the Mie skin diving industry in 1989 when she became unable to
arrange a financial bid. At that time, there were four zainichi Korean
and two Japanese supervisors in Mie Prefecture. While clarifying the
details of this period and the various circumstances for Japan-born
Korean supervisors remains a topic for consideration, it is certain that
the right of permanent residence was required for Koreans in order to
place a bid. A former fishing union leader relates that the isolation of
fishing villages and aging of the diving population, as well as cheaply
imported shellfish and seaweed from abroad, precipitated reduced
profits in the region. In order for fishing cooperatives to stay afloat,
villages were forced to start selling their operating posts.
Making Migration Possible

From 1988 onward, chamsu were able to make round-trips to Japan on
a 15-day short-term visa. The peak year to date lists as many as 200
chamsu who migrated to Mie Prefecture to dive. KS, a Hengwon-ri
native, skin dove under KT’s supervision for almost ten years, beginning
in 1991. Their meeting was by happenstance. In 1988, 60-year-old
KS was engaged in odd jobs, working as a cleaning lady at the hotel
her husband’s parents managed in Tokyo and washing dishes at her
sister-in-law’s cabaret club in Osaka. A conversation with KT, who
happened to sit next to her on the return flight to Jeju Island,
prompted her to start visiting the waters off Mie Prefecture. Following
this, KT called upon her daughter-in-law and IK, also living in
Hengwon-ri, to travel with her; IK then extended the invitation to her
niece, and the network branched outward to others from there.
The relationship between second-generation zainichi Korean KT—
the employer—and temporary laborers like KS and IK was stratified in
terms of residence qualifications. This relationship was reversed,
62 Noriko Ijichi
however, in Jeju Island: that is, although her roots trace back to Jeju
Island, KT’s lack of actual experience there forced her to rely on KS and
IK during recruiting trips.
After her husband departed for Tokyo in the 1970s, IK raised her
six children alone by farming and skin diving. She made her first trip
to Japan in 1988, when she was 57 years old. As her husband shares
his surname with KS’s husband, the two formed a close bond, open-
ing the door for IK to work at the same hotel, where she made
500,000 won in three months. Rather than toil in an unfamiliar hotel
job in Tokyo, however, it was both more practical and profitable to
use her skills as a chamsu; she found work skin diving in Sado Island
and Miyazaki Prefecture by searching for diving recruiters through
travel companies upon returning to Jeju Island. Then, through an
invitation from KS, she began traveling to Mie, where she dove
from 1993 to 1997.
The won was weak and the yen strong at the time KS and IK
migrated to-and-from the Mie seas. During the unrestricted diving
period, which began in September 1994, an “upper-class” chamsu
could earn a profit of 750,000 won a day by collecting 100 kilograms
of turban shell (approximately 7,500 won per kilogram). Even “lower-
class” chamsu over 60 could get by with just ten kilograms at this rate.
Moreover, with only fifteen days a month permitted for diving—
sometimes cut down to just seven by inclement weather—catch quan-
tity varied from day to day. However, diving periods differ for each
fishery in Mie: for example, a diving site open from September to
December operates daily as a basic rule of thumb. Chamsu took
advantage of this schedule by shifting from site to site, which enabled
them to dive almost year-round. Upon visiting a diving site in Mie
with her in September 1995, IK told me that she had earned 900,000
won by skin diving nearly all 15 days. Shares were split fifty-fifty with
the supervisor at the time. The average unit price for turban shell on
Jeju Island dropped to just 4,900 won per kilogram that year, mean-
ing that a full month’s work in Hengwon-ri would not amount to that
one could earn at Mie Prefecture. Greater potential for profit in Japan
due to differences in the countries’ commodity prices was a determin-
ing factor in this labor migration.
Yet the opportunity for high wages was not the only reason chamsu
parted from Jeju Island. IK explains: “In the [Jeju] village, expensive
months require as much as a million won for festival expenses and
wedding and funeral gifts, known as pujyo. Visits to the great hall cost
from 70,000 to 100,000 won, a trip to the temple costs 12,000 won,
and so forth; as such, even if we made 100,000 won working in the
sea, we would be left with only 20 or 30,000” in the end. Chamsu

managed to avoid these incidental expenditures by skin diving abroad.
Another reason for labor migration was that to chamsu, becoming
unable to dive spelled retirement, a sort of declaration of being
among the elderly. In other words, their life purpose was to continue
skin diving. While operating in the seas near their village was of course
a possibility, the chance to break out and dive elsewhere, given that
farming duty and family affairs were in order, was proof of their active
service. However, chamsu’s home duties were not limited to diving,
but extended to land farming as well. As such, emptying the home for
labor migration meant that someone needed to tend to the fields in
their absence. While some relied on family members, those living alone
were dependent on assistance from the surrounding community.
In order to make this request, it was necessary to participate in group
work in the fields, attend assemblies with contemporaries, and give
catches from the sea as presents—in other words, establish in advance
a bond of mutual give-and-take within everyday life. The Jeju Island
lifestyle, built upon the custom of reciprocity to augment insufficien-
cies in people, resources, and information, was reconstructed over
time alongside major social and temporal changes (Ijichi 2004). It was
this mutual cooperation that made the chamsu’s migration patterns
possible.
Conclusion
As we have seen thus far, chamsu skin dove from the colonial period
to the present, migrating throughout Jeju Island and various regions
between Japan and the Korean Peninsula to do so. From the end of
the nineteenth century, chamsu constantly responded to changes in
price and target shellfish within the capitalist market economy by
moving about and operating in the seas where they could collect the
highest-valued products of the time. From the days of colonization to
the present, chamsu operated as cheaper, higher-skilled divers than
Japanese ama, adapting to the assorted demands of regional markets
and fisheries.
Chamsu were not mere pawns of macro-level social change, however.
During the anticolonial conflict, a response to exploitation at the
hands of colonizers, various campaigns to safeguard the interests of
migrant workers against the colonial power, and demonstrations to
protect Jeju Island’s fisheries from pollution articulated the chamsu’s
dynamic resistance. Circumstances in Japanese society after Korea’s
liberation—particularly the manner in which chamsu present in Japan
64 Noriko Ijichi
prior to liberation were stripped of their citizenship and suddenly

deemed foreigners—were extremely complex; issues regarding the
resident status of laborers and history in Japan were further compli-
cated by personal exigencies and the division of the Korean Peninsula.
As a result, chamsu were accustomed to seeing the people in their lives
migrate disparately in search of employment. Despite the imposition of
national borders, which severed the range of their mobility following
colonization, the region remained connected from chamsu’s perspective,
and forays into Japanese society after Korea’s liberation were just one of
many migrations. When directly faced with a crisis, people built fluid and
flexible bonds to skillfully maneuver around national and financial
restrictions and expand the range of possibilities open to them.
It is clear from this case study that chamsu did not respond to
recruitment in pursuit of simple economic gain, but based on each
individual’s set of circumstances, chose labor migration as a means to
apply their skills and knowledge, operating as female skin divers while
living in, or regularly commuting to and from, Japan. Chamsu live
under the same roof at diving sites, departing for and returning from
the sea together. Yet if they do not hail from the same village, chamsu
are in the dark regarding their associates’ names and personal history,
and do not attempt to clear this matter up; rather, they respect each
other as temporary comrades, sharing fragmented anecdotes of their
pasts and the simple pleasure of working together. Further, no bind-
ing contract or obligatory work period exists between chamsu and
their supervisors, who share a keen awareness that theirs is an “illegal”
enterprise in Japan. And while chamsu all contribute to household
chores like preparing meals, making diving tools and drying Gelidium
alga together, the choice to change fishing posts or return to Jeju
Island is made at each individual’s discretion. This interaction is con-
siderably different from the culture of Jeju Island, where chamsu act
collectively as members of the village diving association. At a glance,
migration may appear to be an extension of globalization, an attempt
by individuals to liberate themselves from the confines of the local
community. Yet the sweeping reality of “illegal labor” renders chamsu
powerless as individuals. Rather, it is the environment in which
chamsu apply their skills that is globalized. From colonization onward,
chamsu forged fluid and uncertain relationships to capitalize on their
widely expanded industry.
Despite the persistent illegality of their work, the existence of
chamsu who continue to dive seems to reflect numerous problems
within the global maritime market and Japanese fishing villages.
In actuality, from the close of the nineteenth century to the present
day, their everyday lives have been subject to the changes in Japanese-
Korean geopolitics. Therefore, we must interpret chamsu’s labor
migration in search of a place to utilize their skills and experience
within this global movement. But migration was not the outcome of
personal judgment alone: chamsu’s decision to leave home was also
supported by those who covered for them in their absence. We must
bear in mind that this mutual aid was not rigid, but produced by a sort
of improvisational cooperation. This is not cooperation in the sense of
equal parties receiving an equal share, but is created within the net-
work of one’s personal connections and expectations, far different
from common knowledge and modern authority’s demands for con-
sistency and maximization (Cohen 1985; Matsuda 1998).
Even now, as if to skillfully evade the various financial and legal
troubles pressed upon them by the state, migrant chamsu build versa-
tile and indeterminate bonds, sharing and expanding their potential in
order to continue diving. It is not a process of globalization nor one
of absolute localism, but rather the expression of an autonomous life-
style rooted in flexible self-judgment.
Notes
1 On September 18, 1931, the Kwantung Army, a section of the Japanese
Imperial Army dispatched to the Liaodong Peninsula, bombed Japan’s
South Manchurian Railway near Liutiaohu Lake in the suburbs of
Mukden. The Japanese blamed the act on Chinese militants, using it as
an excuse to invade and occupy Manchuria; this initiated the sequence of
events known today as the Manchurian Incident.
2 This term refers to those who migrated and established their lives in
Japan prior to the end of World War II; the fifth generation is presently
being born.
3 I extend my sincerest thanks to the chamsu who generously agreed to my
interviews. In order to protect their anonymity, they are referred to only
by their initials in this text. While slight changes were made when neces-
sary regarding detailed personal information, it by no means inhibits the
understanding of their everyday lives. Interviews conducted overseas were
made possible by the following research grants. (1) “Empirical research
concerning the creation of fishing culture in the Japanese-Korean Seas as a
process of adaptation to social change following the 19th century” (Project
leader: Noriko Ijichi) The Toyota Foundation, Japan. 2005–2007.
(2) “An Environmental Anthropological Study on Creation and Trans-
figuration of the Water/Forest-related Life-worlds in a Small Community”
(Project Leader: Motoji Matsuda), JSPS Grants-in-Aid for Scientific
Research(C). 2006–2009. (3) “Empirical research of the labor conditions
of Zainichi Koreans” (Project Leader: Noriko Ijichi), JSPS Grants-in-Aid
66 Noriko Ijichi
for Scientific Research(B), Japan. 2009–2012. (4) “Research concerning

the creation and transformation of local networks and communities underly-
ing Japanese-Korean international migration” JSPS Grants-in-Aid for
Scientific Research(C), Japan. (Project Leader: Noriko Ijichi), 2012–2015.
References
An, Mi-jeong. 2008. “Osaka Jaeil Jejuin yeoseong ui iju wa gwihyang” [The
Migration and Return Home of Osaka zainichi Korean Females from Jeju
Island]. Tamla Bunka [Tamla Culture] 32: 179–218. Jeju University
Tamla Cultural Research Center (in Korean).
Choa, Hye-kyung et al. 2006. Jeju Haenyeo wa Ilbon ui Ama [Jeju Island
Chamsu and Japanese Ama]. Seoul, Korea: Minsukwong (in Korean).
Cohen, Anthony P. 1985. The Symbolic Construction of Community. London:
Tavistock.
Eguchi, Yasutaka. 1915. “Saishuu-tou Dekasegi Chamsu” [Migrant Laborer
Chamsu from Jeju Island]. In Chousen Ihou [Korean Bulletin], edited by
Toho Kyokai, 166–170. Keijyo, Empire of Japan: Chosen Soutokufu
(in Japanese).
Ijichi, Noriko. 2000. Seikatsu sekai no souzou to jissen—Kankoku Saishuu-tou
no seikatsushi kara [The Creation and Practice of Everyday Life: Life
Histories of Jeju Island Korea]. Tokyo: Ocha no Mizu Shoten (in Japanese).
Ijichi, Noriko. 2004. “Seikatsu kyoudou genri no konkou to souzou—Kankoku
Saishuu-tou no seikatsu jissen kara” [Creation and Mixture of Collaborative
Lifestyles Principles: From the Life Practices of Jeju Island, South Korea].
The Japanese Journal of Cultural Anthropology 69 (2): 292–312
(in Japanese).
Ijichi, Noriko. 2008. “Kankoku Saishuu-tou Chamsu no idou to seikatu bunka”
[The Migration and Lifestyle Culture of Chamsu from Jeju Island, South
Korea]. In Kokusai hikaku kenkyuu sousho1: Toushindai no guroobarizeeshon—
Orutanatebu wo motomete [International Comparison Studies Series 1:
Desiring a Life-size Alternative to Globalization], edited by Norihiro
Nakamura and Eikou Kurita, 121–149. Tokyo: Akashi Shoten (in Japanese).
Izumi, Seiichi. 1966. Saishuu-tou [Jeju Island]. Tokyo: Tokyo University
Press (in Japanese).
Jeju City Marine History Editorial Committee. 1989. Jeju Suhyeopsa [The
Marine History of Jeju Island]. Jeju, Korea: Jeju City Maritime Industry
Cooperative Union (in Korean).
Jeju Municipal Office. 1929. Saishuu tousei youran [Jeju Island Statistical
Handbook]. Jeju, Empire of Japan: Chollanamdo.
Jeju Municipal Office. 1935. Saishuu tousei youran [Jeju Island Statistical
Handbook]. Jeju, Empire of Japan: Chollanamdo.
JIA (Japan Immigration Association). 2010. Zairyu-gaikokujin Tokei [Statistics
on Foreigners Registered in Japan]. Tokyo: Japan Immigration Association.
Kang, Dae-wong. 2001. Jeju Jamsu Gwonik tujaengsa [The History of Jeju
Island Chamsu’s Fight for Their Rights and Interests]. Jeju, Korea: Jeju
Bunka (in Korean).
Kim, Su-hwui. 2007. “Ilje sidae namhaean oejang eseo Jeju Haenyeo ui
eojang iyong gwa geu galdeung yangsang” [Chamsu’s Usage of and
Conflicts Regarding South Pacific Fisheries during the Japanese Imperial
Period]. Chiyok gwa Yoksa [Region and History] 21: 297–322 (in Korean).
Latour, Bruno. 1987. Science in Action: How to Follow Scientists and Engineers
Through Society. Cambridge: Harvard University Press.
Lee, Song-ye. 2001. Umi wo koeru Saishuu-tou no Chamsu: Umi no sigen wo
meguru onna no tatakai [Chamsu Crossing the Seas: Females’ Fight for
Aquatic Resources]. Tokyo: Akashi Shoten (in Japanese).
Masuda, Ichiji. 1976. Masuda Ichiji Chirigaku ronbunshuu [Ichiji Masuda’s
Geography Papers Collection]. Tokyo: Kokin Shoten (in Japanese).
Matsuda, Motoji. 1998. Urbanisation From Below: Creativity and Soft
Resistance in the Everyday Life of Maragoli Migrants in Nairobi. Kyoto:
Kyoto University Press.
Nomura, Yutaka. 1951. Kanten no rekishi chirigaku [The Historical Geography
of Agar]. Osaka: Osaka Prefecture Economics Department, Fisheries
Section (in Japanese).
Sugihara, Toru. 1998. Ekkyou suru tami: Kindai Oosaka no Chousenjinshi
Kenkyuu [Border Crossers: Historical Research of Koreans in Modern Osaka].
Tokyo: Shinkansha (in Japanese).
Urry, John. 2000. Sociology Beyond Societies: Mobilities for the Twenty-First
Century. London: Routledge.
Won, Hack-hee. 1988. Saishuu-tou ni okeru Chamsu gyogyou no henbou to
seisan keitai [Transformation in the Diving Industry and Lifestyle of Jeju
Island]. Rissho University Geography Studies. Tokyo: Rissho University
Japan-Korea Committee for the Collaborative Academic Research of Jeju
Island, South Korea, 102–118 (in Japanese).
Yeoh, Brenda S. A. 2005. “Transnational Mobilities and Challenges.” In A
Companion to Feminist Geography, edited by Lise Nelson and Joni Seager,
60–73. Oxford: Blackwell.
Yoshida, Keiichi. 1954. Chousen suisan kaihatsushi [The Developmental History
of Korean Maritime Industry]. Shimonoseki, Japan: Chosuikai (in Japanese).
Chapter 4
Everyday Practices of Immigrant

Vietnamese Women in Japan in
Obtaining Ingredients for the
Food of Their Homel and
Erina Seto-Suh
Discussing the Relation with Vietnamese

Women in Japan and the Society by
Their Daily Food
When immigrants, including refugees, migrate from their hometown,
they bring their own culture and habits to a new location. In the pro-
cess of acculturation, immigrants, especially first-generation immi-
grants, maintain the habits of their home country and, as far as
possible, try to obtain specific ingredients and other aspects of the
culture of their homeland. Maintaining habits and culture in a new
location is necessary for immigrants to retain their psychological well-
being. Furthermore, culture is bound up with people’s self-identity in
the context of settlement (Valtonen 2004, 77). Therefore, the first
generation creates various everyday practices to build a more comfort-
able living space. In particular, first-generation immigrant women
usually play a major role in their households as provisioners of a space
compliant with their ethnic culture and norms through their labors in
the domestic sphere. However, it is comparatively more difficult to
acquire the necessary ethnic supplies in their new society than it
was in their homeland. Thus, immigrant women often encounter
70 E r i n a S e to - S u h
problems that differ from those they faced in their hometown and
have to find new measures to negotiate them.
This study focuses on immigrant Vietnamese women in Japan and
investigates how their everyday practice of obtaining the food of
their homeland is negotiated. The study focuses on cooking as an
aspect of care for the family, which may contribute to themselves,
their families and ethnic community. If Vietnamese immigrant
women prepare the cuisine of their hometown in circumstances dif-
ferent from those in Vietnam, they must obtain the ingredients in a
different way by creating an everyday practice for themselves and
their family; for example, gathering, planting, group purchasing, or
networking with fellow Vietnamese or other residents for obtaining
such ingredients. Through describing how homeland foods are
obtained in the daily life of immigrant Vietnamese women in Japan,
this study discusses their relation to the surrounding society and their
ethnic community; additionally, it examines these women’s position
in their families.
Migration, Women, and Cooking

Immigrant Women’s Domestic Work
Immigrant women are placed in a double minority status through
migration. They are marginalized as an ethnic minority in the settle-
ment society and as women from their own ethnic community. These
women are compelled to struggle between traditional patriarchal gen-
der roles and their ethnic issues.
Previous studies (e.g., Hart 2005) on Asian immigrant women
have focused on their labor, due to the fact that much immigration is
caused by the economic disparity between the south, north, urban,
and rural; much work also foregrounds the many women engaged in
emotional labor, for instance, household workers, sex workers, and so
on. This highlights the position of immigrant women in both the
receiving and the sending countries’ societies, their strategies for sur-
vival, and how they care for their families. Still, those studies have not
done enough to examine their domestic work for their families.
Women work out simple ways of fulfilling daily chores in order to
make their families and themselves more comfortable. By focusing on
this domestic labor we may be able to rethink how families are cared
for amid the oppression of traditional norms and living conditions.
Nazil Kibria (1993) indicated the loss of authority of Vietnamese
men in Vietnamese American families through migration. The study
I m m i g r a n t V i e t n a m e s e W o m e n i n J a pa n 71
highlighted how difficult it is for Vietnamese men to find employment

and gain English skills in the United States, thus rendering them
unable to contribute to their families. Vietnamese men lost their
authority as the primary breadwinners and feel malaise. As a result,
wives gain power and freedom from Vietnamese traditional patriarchy
and come more easily to embody Western gender norms than their
husbands. But their social position is still vulnerable. They also aspired
toward middle-class life-style. Therefore, they continued to support
traditional family systems and expect that male power is restored
(Kibria 1993, 142). Thus, their gender power balance shifts from the
situation in Vietnam; nevertheless, some Vietnamese women attempt
to maintain the role of family caretaker, encouraged by their identity
as mothers.
Homeland Food for Immigrants

Previous studies related to ethnic food businesses have not adequately
clarified how the essential ingredients are obtained, as these studies
focused on the possibility of them as businesses. They have led to the
impression that ethnic minorities are only able to easily access food
through ethnic businesses. But this is contradicted by the necessity of
the livelihood of ethnic minorities. If the population of the ethnic
minority is small, the business is difficult to manage.
For immigrants and refugees, eating the food of their homeland is
not only a source of nutrition but of healing, nostalgia, and provides
the possibility of forging an ethnic identity in an alien setting. The
reciprocal recognition of eating the same food differentiates a mem-
ber of a group from those of other groups, reinforces their identity
(Lupton 1996, 25), and contributes to the formation of the ethnic
community and the maintenance of bonds. The next generation gen-
erally learns food habits and culture from their mothers first. However,
these habits and culture are often placed in an inferior position to
mainstream culture, making the next generation unable to consider
them in a positive light. For these reasons, ethnic food provides an
effective means to analyze the labor of immigrant mothers in their
household and host society.
Method
This study conducted in-depth interviews with eight Vietnamese
women who have settled in Himeji, a medium-sized city in Hyogo
Prefecture in west Japan. The content of these interviews consists of
basic information (early life, the composition of family, daily sched-

ules), as well as information on eating habits in Japan and what
ingredients are needed and how they obtain them in the new settle-
ment. The ages of the subjects ranged from the 40s to the 50s.
Seven are refugees and one of them is the spouse of a refugee.
Participant observation of two households was conducted by visiting
informants’ homes and sharing a meal on several different occasions
in order to experience their living conditions, the relationship
between parents and children and women’s domestic work, and
their eating habits. All of the above surveys were conducted between
July 2009 and May 2014.
Vietnamese Immigrant Women’s Lives in Japan

Himeji has a high concentration of Vietnamese people. About 2,000
Vietnamese are recorded as residents here in 2015. The total
Vietnamese population of Japan was 85,000 as of June 2014.1
Vietnamese immigrants began to settle in Japan during the 1980s.
In April 1975, the Vietnam War ended with the advent of the com-
munist regime. Many Vietnamese escaped from their mother country
as refugees. Some were called “boat people,” escaping by boats. Many
feared persecution by the new administration due to connections with
the ex-South Vietnamese government, while others intended to make
a better life abroad as the Vietnamese economy worsened, reducing
some to poverty. The total number of Vietnamese refugees may
amount to about 1.6 million including families that the refugees
brought over through the Ordinary Developing Programme (referred
to as ODP).2
Upon entering Japan, refugees typically stay in a public or private
reception center to train for resettlement in Japan, including studying
the Japanese language and receiving help to find employment and
accommodation.3 After most refugees have stayed for about six
months, they begin living independently. About 9,000 Vietnamese
refugees settled in Japan before the Japanese government ended the
intake of refugees in 2005 (Koizumi 1991). Moreover, after the
Vietnamese government allowed the refugees to return briefly to
Vietnam in 1987, many young refugees returned to their hometowns
and found spouses. Following this, many spouses immigrated to
Japan during the 1990s. At present, not only refugees and their rela-
tives and spouses but also skill trainees have migrated to Himeji. The
city has experienced a greater increase in its Vietnamese population
than its peers.
To summarize many Vietnamese immigrant women’s life histories:

they were forced to leave their homelands and live in an unknown
location against their will due to the political and economic situation
in Vietnam. Following immigration, these women were often forced
to engage in manual labor due to their poor command of Japanese.
After completing training in a center, they are scattered all over Japan
in order to find employment. Many move in order to find better wages,
lower rent, and the presence of other Vietnamese. In the case of
Himeji, there are small, heavily industrialized factories, such as tanner-
ies, meat processing centers, and a turnery. As a result, the population
has become highly concentrated in certain areas.
Such women, connected to their ethnic network, get married,
(some get married in Vietnam) and bring up children. They may keep
in touch with families and relatives in Japan, Vietnam and other coun-
tries through a transnational network. They send remittances to their
families in Vietnam although their own living situation may not be
stable. They may take in family members from Vietnam, assisting
them in finding residence in Japan. Thus, they may have to take care
of not only their husband and children but also brothers and sisters.
Regardless of whether they have migrated from Vietnam and become
married, they play the role of daughter, elder sister, and mother in
their natal family in unfamiliar environments.
Some Vietnamese were able to obtain their own detached houses
from public housing in the 2000s. That is an indication of an eco-
nomically stable life, in part due to the advancement of their family’s
economic situation in Vietnam. In contrast, many small factories
where Vietnamese previously worked have closed since the Japanese
economic downturn of the 1990s. The workers may have lost their
jobs and been forced to find new ones. But it is not easy for them
because of their old age. This appears to be an indication of the polar-
ization of their lives. In this situation, Vietnamese women take on
more of the burden to support the family finances. Although
Vietnamese men often work hard and go home late in order to obtain
a good salary, many women choose an occupation that allows them to
return home in the evening. They seem to be obliged to take care of
their children until the age of 20.
Domestic Work for Cooking

Here I describe daily life in the case of two Vietnamese women, Lien
and Thuy, to understand the difficulties of obtaining ingredients for
traditional Vietnamese food.
Case 1: Lien’s Day

Lien usually wakes up at 6:30. She prepares breakfast for her family.
Breakfast in her household is usually bread and milk. She goes to work
at around 8:00. After she finishes her work by around 18:00, she goes
to the supermarket to buy ingredients for dinner and another dish for
her children because they will not eat the Vietnamese food she cooks.
This may be of various kinds. In this survey, Lien bought sushi because
her daughter, who was a high school student at the time, likes it, and
the supermarket had a discount on it after 17:00. She serves her
daughter sushi and instant miso soup. But her son, who is in his 20s
and works in the tannery, usually goes to dinner with his friends and
avoids eating Lien’s cooking. Her husband usually comes home
around 20:00 or 21:00. Before he arrives, the children have finished
eating dinner. However, she waits for her husband in order to eat din-
ner with him. While waiting for her husband, she does housework,
including some washing and cleaning. She also tends to her house
garden, except during the winter.
On holidays, she sometimes goes to a fish market early in the morn-
ing. She cleans the house and does the laundry. And she cooks com-
plex Vietnamese dishes. Some skill is needed in order to cook soup
well, such as the bún bò Huêˊ. This cuisine was originally invented in
Huế, a city at the center of Vietnam. At present, it is popular all over
Vietnam. The cuisine is mostly cooked in homes or restaurants in the
south. Bún is a kind of rice noodle. In order to cook the soup, some
lemongrass, other herbs, pork bones, and chunks of oxtail are usually
added. After the soup is finished, bún, tofu, and another vegetable is
put in. To cook bún bò Huêˊ, Lien usually purchases bún in the
Vietnamese food shop her friends run out of their house and picks the
lemongrass and other herbs in her kitchen garden. She buys the chunk
of oxtail from her sister. She usually buys meat from the Vietnamese
who work in the slaughterhouse. As chunks of oxtail need two or
three hours to become soft, Lien can only cook this dish on the
weekend.
During breaks from her domestic work, she takes care of her kitchen
garden and the farmland near her house that she has borrowed from
neighbors, or spends time talking with her sister or friends.
Case 2: Thuy’s Day

Thuy usually gets up at 5:00. She cooks for her family: she prepares a
lunch box for her daughter and makes another dish for her family. She
puts out Vietnamese dishes such as fried spring rolls (cha ̉ giò) and puts
bò nướng lá lôˊt, a dish of shaved beef steak rolled in a leaf of lá lôˊt, in

her daughter’s lunch box. She cooks eggs sunny-side up, and so on,
for breakfast, sometimes making miso soup (not instant). She plants
some things in her kitchen garden because she cannot purchase them
anywhere near her house. She has been working part-time in a nursing
home for the elderly since 2011. She goes to work at 6:15. At 9:15,
she goes home and proceeds with the household chores. In the after-
noon, she works in her small Vietnamese shop and prepares dinner for
the family. At 16:00, she goes to work again. After she returns at
19:00, she spends time with her family. She often delivers Vietnamese
ingredients, for instance, herbs and vegetables she or her friend have
grown, to Vietnamese people living outside Himeji with her husband
in their own car and visits other Vietnamese friends. Alternatively, she
takes care of the kitchen garden.
On holidays, she attends Mass at the church near her house. After
that, she sometimes sells Vietnamese food to others in her city. If she and
her husband are away from home, her mother takes care of the children.
In the evening, they return to their house and spend time with their
children when eating the dinner Thuy or her mother has prepared.
Vietnamese women assist in raising children and performing
domestic work in each home, conforming to Vietnamese paternalistic
gender norms (Werner and Bélanger 2002). However, most
Vietnamese parents do not have the same amount of time to take care
of their children that they would have had if they lived in Vietnam.
They cannot speak Japanese well and they often come home late from
work. This was especially true during the 1990s when factories were
experiencing busy times. Consequently, some second-generation
Vietnamese feel uncomfortable with their mothers’ Vietnamese cui-
sine, because they are accustomed to Japanese cuisine through snacks
at home or school lunches. Hence, ethnic culture is not often as indis-
pensable for the second generation, as they are often more adapted to
the culture of the new society. The second generation often rejects the
habits and culture of their parents, and cultural conflict occurs between
generations at home. The mothers of the second generation are no
longer able to do as they had done in their homeland. However, all
informants are attempting to discover a good way for their children
and husbands to eat well. In the case of Lien, she buys other dishes in
the supermarket for her children because she is not familiar with
Japanese cooking. She has to prepare the food for her husband or
children as individuals. In the case of Thuy, she seasons her cooking
with Japanese soup stock for her children. She says, “I think that the
number of Vietnamese children who prefer not to eat Vietnamese

cooking increasing is strange because they are Vietnamese first.” She
is usually concerned about feeding her own cooking to her children.
As stated above, the time and work associated with cooking
accounts for the women’s daily workloads not being reduced. These
women are sometimes forced to do things in a different way from how
they would be done in Vietnam. This extends to obtaining the needed
ingredients.
How to Obtain Homeland Food?

Needed Ingredients for Homeland Food in Japan:
Vietnamese Food Culture
Broadly, Vietnamese food culture is formed by geographical and natu-
ral constraints and is influenced by the neighboring countries.
Cantonese food culture especially has a great influence on Vietnam
cuisine. Also, Vietnamese food culture took in French culture during
the colonial period. Furthermore, different areas have different char-
acteristics. In this study, all informants were from the south. But some
informants’ families migrated to the south from the north in 1954.
Thus, their food habits cannot easily be defined, because of the mix-
ing of south, north, urban, and rural, as well as of social classes.
Families’ and individuals’ tastes are also formed differently. When dis-
cussing how an ethnic group eats their food, it is possible to lapse into
essentialism. To avoid this, this study has clarified the needed ingredi-
ents from the results of interviews and participant observation while
also referring to Pham (2001) and Le (2011). The following are some
of the ingredients that need to be obtained in Japan.
● Dried food, for example, rice paper and dried rice noodle, Chinese
star anise
● Condiments, for example, fish sauce and five-spice powder
● Perishable food
Meat: For example, pork trotter, pig’s ear, pig entrails, deer and
wild boar
Vegetables and herbs: For example, Chinese water spinach, various
mints, gourds and bitter melon

Seafood: For example, clam, razor clam, Spanish mackerel and
Indian mackerel
The means to obtain the ingredients for cooking differs based on the
characteristics of each ingredient. Dried food is easy to transport over
a distance. Perishable foods, however, are difficult to obtain if Japanese

markets do not sell them. Some vegetables, herbs, and seafood are a
particular specialty of Southeast Asia. If Japanese markets carry these,
they are usually more expensive than in Vietnam.
Even if the ingredients look the same as those found in Vietnam,
the quality is sometimes different. For instance, many informants
complained that Japanese broiler chicken meat is too soft. Generally,
Vietnamese chicken is firm, as it is usually raised with the floor feeding
technique. Some informants stated that Japanese vegetables have little
aroma. In the case of seafood, they use fish similar to those used
in Vietnam. They are unsure of the Japanese name and call them by a
Vietnamese name but remark that the fish are not quite the same as in
Vietnam. They are different in color and shape from the Vietnamese
fish. All of this is to say that they find replacements for their own food
and sometimes give up eating it, acknowledging that they are unable
to find the food they want to eat.
The Way to Obtain Homeland Food

When Vietnamese refugees started to settle in Japan at the end of
the 1970s, there were fewer foreign nationals than at present, because
Japan was not actively accepting immigrants or refugees. There were
no ethnic food shops except for small Korean4 shops in Himeji. This
section clarifies how the Vietnamese improvised and continued their
eating habits in the process of resettlement.
Dried Food
At the start, when the Vietnamese began to settle in Himeji, they were
familiar with the Chinatown in Kobe. Kobe is a main town in western
Japan. It is a forty-minute train ride from Himeji, costing 1,000 yen
(about 10 USD). The city has a Chinatown, as it had been an impor-
tant port town from modern times and many Chinese migrated there.
As mentioned above, Vietnamese food culture was influenced by that
of China, and the two cultures share some common ingredients. One
informant said that a Vietnamese was found there initially and that
individual spread the information among the rest of the Vietnamese in
Himeji. However, the distance from their home to the Kobe
Chinatown was too great to undertake a daily commute. So many
Vietnamese went once a month in a group and purchased a month’s
supply of various ingredients. If they were not able to carry everything
back with them, they would ask the shop to mail it to their homes.
During the 1990s, it became more convenient to access Chinatown
because many Vietnamese in Himeji were able to purchase a used car.

This also meant that family finances were more stable than before.
When they wanted to go to Chinatown, they were able to go jointly
by car with relatives or friends to cut down on the cost. Thanks to the
car, the transfer of goods became much easier.
The attitude of the Vietnamese government concerning overseas
Vietnamese had been changing over this period. They encouraged
Vietnamese living abroad to send remittance money and allowed tem-
porary homecomings, starting with the launch of the Ðô ̉i Mới reform
program in 1986. At first, many Vietnamese found this difficult to
believe. However, many Vietnamese visited their homes during the
1990s as a result of this policy. Those who took trips home brought
needed ingredients back from Vietnam and shared them with relatives
and acquaintances. Additionally, relatives in Vietnam sent ingredients
to Japan in return for remittances.
The permission to return to Vietnam strengthened cross-border
bonds. Most informants who are refugees have overseas relatives in
the United States, Australia, France, and so on. Dispersed families
were able to meet again at home in Vietnam and began to contact
each other with more ease than before. Some informants receive
mailed Vietnamese foods and ingredients from relatives living in other
countries. Since those countries have a longer history of accepting
immigrants than Japan, and therefore ethnic markets for Asian immi-
grants are more developed, relatives in other foreign countries were
able to obtain Vietnamese food more easily. Some informants stated
that “products made in the United States are better quality than those
made in Vietnam.”
Even if some are unable to get in touch with their relatives in
Vietnam or other countries, they are able to ask others who are in
contact with their relatives to purchase them. Needed ingredients are
obtained as a group purchase. Vietnamese in Japan send appliances
and blankets (one Vietnamese woman said blankets made in the
United States are stiff and that Vietnamese prefer Japanese blankets).
Vietnamese women invite each other to purchase in bulk in order to
obtain ingredients cheaply and efficiently.
In the mid-1990s, exchanges seemed to decrease in frequency. The
reason is that Vietnamese in Himeji had begun to open small
Vietnamese stores. After the Japanese government changed its immi-
gration policy in 1990, the number of new foreign residents increased.
In urban communities, immigrants opened small food shops.
Consequently, Vietnamese immigrants began to find it easier to pur-
chase routine ingredients by ordering them from shops in the urban
area, even without Vietnamese immigrants having to construct the

sales-chain themselves.
Thuy was one of the initial owners. She spoke about the motivation
for opening a Vietnamese food shop below.
When I moved to Himeji, I was surprised that there were no shops to buy and
eat Vietnamese food. The town was very different from Yokohama. Firstly, I
felt sad and lonely. After a while, I took heart again to live in Himeji and
decided to run a small Vietnamese shop for other Vietnamese in Himeji.
Thuy first settled in Yokohama near Tokyo. This city is a larger city
than Himeji. It also has a port area and a Chinatown that is bigger
than that of Kobe. It was easy for her to purchase the needed ingredi-
ents there or in other Asian food shops. Her interview indicated that
Himeji is not a convenient place to get ingredients for Vietnamese
immigrants. As she had connections with Asian food shops in
Yokohama, she placed orders with them to purchase ingredients made
in Thailand and sold them from her home.
Most of the food shop owners are married women, but house-
wives like Thuy are few in number. Because Thuy wanted to manage
the Vietnamese food shop, she tried not to take up another job.
However, her husband lost his job at the end of the 2000s and she
began to work part-time in 2011. Other women who have lost work
for reasons such as childcare, dismissal from their jobs, disease, or
aging also began to run small shops to earn extra money. In many
cases, their husbands also work in the shop on weekday nights and
holidays.
In the 2000s, ethnic food became more popular in Japan. General
markets in Japan began to carry Vietnamese ingredients such as fish
sauce, rice noodles, and rice paper. However, all of those surveyed
only touched on the changes of these products in the interview and
not on their use of real commodities sold in the Japanese general mar-
ket. It is to be inferred that the ingredients in the Japanese market are
too expensive for Vietnamese to purchase routinely; instead, they rely
on building relationships and gaining knowledge without depending
on general markets.
In the case of dried foods, informants are able to buy the necessary
ingredients near their homes. Vietnamese ingredients that are brought
home as souvenirs of their homecomings are exchanged. And some
Vietnamese still visit Chinatown in Kobe, but more so to enjoy
Chinese foods and the mood in Chinatown, which is similar to that of
their homelands.
Meat
Almost all Vietnamese immigrants in Himeji work in small factories.
All informants except Thuy have had experience working in the tan-
nery factory in Himeji. In Japan, the leather industry developed in the
buraku community. Buraku refers to the descendants of outcast com-
munities in the premodern era (Neary 2009). They often engage in
work that other people usually avoid, for example, slaughtering, tan-
ning, and cremation. Himeji has a buraku community mainly con-
cerned with the leather industry and meat treatment centers. These
industries faced labor shortages in the 1970s owing to the high eco-
nomic growth of Japan. Many factories took on Vietnamese refugees
and immigrants to meet the shortage, regardless of their gender, and
Vietnamese reside in the area because there are many dwellings, for
instance, public housing.
Some Vietnamese working at slaughterhouses obtain meat and ani-
mal organs there. Generally, Vietnamese men are engaged in manual
work, for example, slicing or curing meat, and women usually cut the
meat finely or pack it. They build relationships with other Vietnamese
and other colleagues, mainly Japanese. They use these networks to
obtain needed ingredients. Japanese did not generally eat organs,
oxtail, or pig feet and ears until the 1990s, and therefore Vietnamese
could obtain them easily and cheaply. Vietnamese working at the
slaughterhouses would sell the meat obtained at their workplace to
other Vietnamese. If they were to carry the meat to small tannery
factories, workers would purchase it individually.
Since the 1990s, general markets have begun selling organs and
other previously unused parts because Japanese food-consumption
habits have changed thanks to the ethnic food boom. Currently, few
Vietnamese manage to sell this meat efficiently. Some Vietnamese buy
it at meat shops that residents from Tokunoshima (an island belong-
ing to the Kagoshima Prefecture, in the south of Japan) run in Nagata
area, Kobe. Nagata also includes a buraku community, as in Himeji,
and there are small factories and cheap housing there. Tokunoshima
natives and Koreans have been immigrating there since before World
War II because of the low cost of living. Certain Tokunoshima natives
run a meat shop handling various pig meats, for example, internal
organs and pig ears. Because Tokunoshima natives and Koreans eat
various parts of the pig, this shop did good business. After the intake
of Vietnamese refugees began in the 1980s, many Vietnamese settled
down there, beginning to purchase from this shop. Kawagoe (2009)
has indicated the relationship is joined by food culture because the
ingredients they eat overlap with those of other ethnicities. Vietnamese
in Himeji would go to the shop to obtain various pig meats as well. It

is conceivable that their ethnic networks extended throughout these
districts and that they were able to share the useful information in this
way. Many Vietnamese would stop on the way to Chinatown until the
1990s. Some Vietnamese who work or maintain friendships in Kobe
would still go to this meat shop through the 2000s.
Moreover, some informants purchase deer and boar meat from
hunters from rural areas in Hyogo Prefecture. Eating deer and boar
meat is a feature of Vietnamese culture in the middle of Vietnam.
Almost all informants are only able to eat such meat when they receive
it as gifts from their acquaintances. However, Thuy is sometimes able
to purchase the meat directly from a hunter one of her Vietnamese
friends introduced to her. She usually purchases an almost whole deer,
and her husband cuts it into pieces for preparation.
Fresh Seafood
Most informants went fishing and shellfish gathering in the 1990s.
The number of times that informants have been since then has fallen
after their children grew up and daily life became busy. However, Lien
goes shellfish gathering with her husband and friends many times a
year, especially during the early summer. She usually sells the shells to
other Vietnamese or shares them.
Most informants purchased fresh seafood at the morning fish
bazaar, a municipal fish market on Sundays in Himeji established in
the late 1990s. Because Thuy lives further from the bazaar than oth-
ers, she doesn’t usually go to. Lien and her husband go to buy seafood
about twice a month. It takes about 20 minutes to travel to the bazaar
from their home. How the fish is purchased is described below in a
field note, taken on a Sunday.
After leaving home at 5:30 in their own car, Lien and her husband
pick up a few other Vietnamese. These co-passengers have no car
because it has not been that long since they came to Japan. They know
each other from their workplace, or others have introduced them.
They arrive at the market at 6:00 but the bazaar is not yet open. They
talk to each other while waiting and check the seafood that is being
prepared for sale. When the bazaar opens, the Vietnamese who speak
Japanese negotiate prices while the others watch. Then they share the
fresh seafood in the corner of the bazaar. They also drop into other
Vietnamese homes on their way back in order to deliver the fish that
acquaintances have asked Lien to buy. Thanks to the morning bazaar,
they can get fresher seafood more easily and cheaply than at the
supermarket.
Vegetables and Herbs

For their first settlement, Vietnamese refugees took up residency in
public housing or company housing. Thus, they were only able to
grow vegetables and herbs in planters inside their homes or in vacant
places, for example, riverbanks or communal lands attached to public
housing. But Japanese law and the autonomic rules of public housing
developments prohibit all residents from using these areas. Growing
them in vacant places can often cause trouble with other residents,
limiting the use of this option.
Thus, some Vietnamese refugees came to borrow farmland from
Japanese in the 2000s in order to plant their own vegetables. In the
case of Lien, the farmland she uses to grow her vegetables and herbs
is a place that her husband’s relative first borrowed from her neighbor.
They obtained a detached house in the second half of the 1990s. They
joined the residents’ association, befriending one member. This per-
son had a small piece of farmland beside her house. But she couldn’t
take care of it because she and her husband were old and their legs had
become weak. Nothing was planted on their farmland. Lien’s relative
found it and asked her to use it. As a result of negotiation, they are
able to rent it for only 5,000 yen a year. Lien’s relative invited Lien
and her husband to grow herbs and vegetables. They are thus able to
grow various kinds of vegetables and herbs that are difficult to plant in
the planter and narrow vacant places, thanks to their ability to culti-
vate farmland.
Her relative shared the following about cooking Vietnamese gourd
soup for the first time in Japan. “The fragrance of the soup brings
back memories of Vietnam. It was like I was in Vietnam.” However,
the owner decided to use the farmland for parking in 2011. The fam-
ily thus lost the use of the farmland. In fact, Lien’s relative also became
tired of growing plants. But Lien moved to a detached house in 2008.
She found unused farmland in the front of her new house. The owner
of the land is an elderly woman who lives alone. She grew a few veg-
etables in a corner of the land for domestic consumption. Lien asked
her to lend a section of her farmland and agreed to plow her farm in
exchange. The owner granted her request. Lien usually shares the har-
vest or sells it to other Vietnamese immigrants in spring and
summer.
As in the case of Lien, there are two catalysts that allow Vietnamese
to borrow farmland. First, the number of Japanese who take care of
their own farmland has decreased because the landowners are aging.
Hence, the rate of abandonment of cultivated land in Japan has
increased and the management of land is becoming a social problem.
Vietnamese refugees who utilize abandoned farmland help the
Japanese owners manage it. The second reason why Vietnamese immi-
grants contact Japanese farmland owners is that when incomes and
lives become stable, they begin to desire detached houses. There has
been an increase in houses for sale in buraku communities because
these communities are discriminated against, and houses are cheaper
than in other areas. As a result, many Vietnamese move from public
housing to their own detached houses and begin participating in their
new neighborhood community associations. Vietnamese then find
that their neighbors have unused farmland and they work out a way to
borrow this land through daily relations in their neighborhood.
Discussion
The means used to obtain homeland foods have proliferated in the
process of resettlement. The first generation of Vietnamese had to
find the necessities while being restricted by Vietnamese and Japanese
policies, social situations, and natural settings. First, they were only
able to utilize residential environments. Their living spaces were
shaped by local history, including the migration of other ethnicities.
Some had a similar food culture, so the Vietnamese were able to uti-
lize their ethnic food shops. However, this was insufficient as these
sites were far from their homes and uneconomical to visit regularly.
Thus, they obtained leftover or unused food through relationships in
their workplaces, for example, animal organs. Additionally, they
planted the required herbs and vegetables in vacant places or planters.
However, local Japanese society is often strict about utilizing common
places without permission. These activities are often prohibited by
other residents; only a few herbs and vegetables can be grown in the
planter. These are then shared among their relatives and friends.
Sharing across the border became easier through the Vietnam govern-
ment’s change in policy. Vietnamese were able to take a short trip
home to have a reunion with the members of their family overseas.
Their transnational network became stronger and they obtained vari-
ous ingredients through it. Some began to open Vietnamese food
shops in the corners of their homes. A background factor to this
development is the ethnic food boom that came to Japan, as well as
the increase of Asian immigrants from the 1990s onwards.
Consequently, the necessary ingredients became locally available.
Moreover, living conditions became stable and the Vietnamese immi-
grants moved to detached houses in local communities and joined the
local residents’ associations. As a result, they used farmland that the
Japanese did not use to grow various herbs and vegetables. They now
share or sell the produce to other Vietnamese who do not have access
to farmland. New Vietnamese immigrants in Himeji glean informa-

tion from Vietnamese living in the local community and other places,
sometimes also utilizing their relationships with the Japanese. They
apply the knowledge from Vietnam to their living space in order to
obtain the needed ingredients.
Conclusion
Clarifying how homeland food is obtained demonstrates how
Vietnamese women manage domestic work not only in their own
households but also in Japanese society. Vietnamese women and men
usually cooperate in gathering and planting. Particularly in the case of
fields, husbands assist their wives in cultivating vegetables, for exam-
ple, watering plants and plowing the field into furrows. In two house-
holds, the husbands mainly take care of the fields.
Obtaining homeland food for Vietnamese immigrants is not only
domestic work, but also recreation. Cooking is mainly the mother’s
job in all the informant households. They cook Vietnamese cuisine for
themselves and their first generation families. But they often face a
change of taste while cooking for their second generation. Ingredients
are sometimes purchased by men and some husbands also help in food
preparation but women generally do the cooking and seasoning. And,
it is notable that the exchange of ingredients and negotiation of farm-
land is the role of the women in many cases. They apply their knowl-
edge to their environment and negotiate with other residents. Ties are
strengthened through exchange, which is also one way to obtain
money on the side for the family accounts.
Most research on Vietnamese women immigrants in Japan focuses
only on the problems they face in living there. There are problems to
be solved, but this emphasis sometimes makes the fact that they
increasingly enjoy their daily life less visible. The first generation has
figured out various means of obtaining homeland food in a differing
cultural setting. Eating the food of their homeland creates new con-
nection with their ethnic network and local society. Vietnamese women
are the main contributors to these new connections.
Notes
1 The Japanese government report 2014.
2 The Vietnamese government signed an “Orderly Departure Programme
(ODP)” with UNHCR in 1978. With this memorandum, the government
allows Vietnamese to leave Vietnam only in cases with a humanitarian
motive; for example, the need to meet their family. Vietnamese refugees
often bring their aged parents from villages in Vietnam.
3 Refugees included people from Laos and Cambodia where also a Socialist
came to power and some people escape from the new regime. These are
known generically as Indochinese refugees. In the case of Japan, the gov-
ernment asked for a decision by Cabinet to intake refugees offering sup-
port for resettlement in Japan in 1979.
4 Koreans came to Japan under the influence of Japanese colonization.
References
Hart, Mechthild.2005. Women, Migration, and the Body-Less Spirit of
Capitalist Patriarchy. Journal of International Women’s Studies 7(2): 1–16.
Kawagoe, Michiko. 2009. “Politics of Modaegami: War and Cross-border
Kobe Talks after the Great Earthquake.” PhD dissertation, Osaka University
(in Japanese).
Kibria, Nazil. 1993. Family Tightrope the Changing Lives of Vietnamese
Americans. Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press.
Koizumi, Koichi. 1991 “Resettlement of Indochinese Refugees in Japan
(1975–1985): An Analysis and Model for Future Services.” Journal of
Refugee Studies 4(2): 182–99.
Le, Ann. 2011. Little Saigon Cookbook: Vietnamese Cuisine and Culture in
Southern California’s Little Saigon. Guilford, CT: Globe Pequot Press.
Lupton, Deborah. 1996. Food, the Body and the Self. London: Sage Publication.
Neary, Ian J. 2009. “Burakumin in Contemporary Japan.” In Japan’s
Minorities: The Illusion of Homogeneity, 2nd ed., edited by Michael Weiner,
59–83. London and New York: Routledge.
Pham, Mai. 2001. Pleasures of the Vietnamese Table. NY: Harper Collins Publishers.
Valtonen, K. 2004. “From the Margin to the Mainstream: Conceptualizing
Refugee Settlement Processes.” Journal of Refugee Studies 17(1): 70–96.
Werner, Jayne and Danièle Bélanger. 2002. “Introduction: Gender and
Vietnam studies.” In Gender, Household, State: Ðô ̉i Mới in Việt Nam,
edited by Jayne Werner and Danièle Bélanger, 13–28. Ithaca, NY: Cornell
University Press.
Chapter 5
Divorced Newcomer Korean

Women in Japan: The Decision
to Remain in Japan and
Lifestyle Adjustments
Dukin Lim
Introduction
In recent years, a rapidly increasing trend in international marriage has
emerged in some Asian countries such as Japan, Korea, and Taiwan,
displaying the common characteristics of an aging population, a short-
age of wives, a low fertility rate, and delayed marriage (Oishi 2005).
In terms of international marriage in Japan, scholars have argued that
migrant women endure long-term hardships as a result of moving to
Japan for marriage. There is also a noticeable tendency or bias in the
literature to examine only the motivations of women who enter into
international marriages, with Asian brides particularly likely to be
represented as “marriage migrants,” which often carry negative con-
notations of economic motivations (Constable 2005, 2–4; Piper and
Roces 2005, 4). Researchers have also stated that women’s motives
for international marriage in Japan are mainly economic (Sugaya
1995). The dramatic increase in international marriages in the country
began in the 1980s and the number reached 34,393 in 2009. Among
international marriages in Japan, the rate for Korean women followed
the same trend. Korean brides in the 2000s (a) came mostly from the
cities, (b) were older and had higher education, and (c) had a higher
88 Dukin Lim
rate of divorce than those Korean who women came to Japan in the
1980s. Regarding the flow of Korean female migrants, there are two
types of push factors: social and gender. Korea experienced rapid
democratization and subsequent globalization, thus promoting inter-
national travel and exchange, along with the hosting of the Seoul
Olympics in 1988, which helped spread a positive image of Korea
across the world (Sasagawa 1989). With globalization, many foreign-
ers started visiting Korea, resulting in an increase in international
marriages. Moreover, due to rapid urbanization, women increasingly
moved to cities, which caused an imbalance in the proportion of males
to females. Yu (2013) pointed out that this particular social change
contributed to the increase in female marriage migrants. Women who
moved to the cities could not find marriage partners so international
marriage became an attractive option. Another major reason was the
Asian financial crisis in 1997. In addition to gender factors, there is
the norm of the preferred age for marriage in Korean society; if a
woman is past the “best age” to marry, people around her start to put
pressure on her (Sasagawa 1989). This perspective of the Korean tra-
ditional family system pushed highly educated and older women out
of Korean society, leading to the growth in this demographic in the
Japanese marriage market (Yu 2013). The high rate of divorce and
remarriage in Korean society also made it difficult for women to lead
stable lives (Sasagawa 1989). Moreover, after returning to their homes
in cases of divorce, many women encountered hardships due to pres-
sure from their families and social prejudice. However, Nakazawa
(1996) analyzed that unlike other foreign marriage migrants in Japan,
Korean marriage migrants chose migration for reasons such as to
study abroad, to look for new experiences, and to find a better job.
Women who decided to come to Japan by themselves made the deci-
sion to get married in order to have a better life. This put them in a
different starting position from women who came to Japan through
matchmaking agencies.
Furthermore, given the increasing number of international mar-
riages between Korean wives and Japanese husbands, the number of
divorces has also increased. However, some female migrants decide to
remain in Japan and try to overcome their hardships even after divorce.
This chapter, therefore, examines firstly the process of marriage and
divorce considerations among Korean female migrants in an interna-
tional marriage; secondly, the period after divorce, as well as the dif-
ficulties encountered; and thirdly, the changes in the women’s lives
after the divorce, in relation to themselves, their families including
their children, and their communities. The chapter then provides an
D i v o r c e d N e w c o m e r K o r e a n W o m e n i n J a pa n 89
overview of Korean newcomers, especially Korean female migrants in

Japan, as well as a statistical outline of marriages and divorces of
Korean female migrants in Japan. It next outlines the data and meth-
ods of the research. It then outlines an investigation of the marriage
process for female migrants and covers the reasons given for divorce.
Finally, the chapter discusses the reasons the women choose to remain
in Japan and their lives afterward.
According to statistics published by the Ministry of Justice of
Japan, the second largest group of foreign residents in Japan is Koreans
(578,495 in 2009) following the Chinese (680,518 in 2009). Korean
immigrants in Japan can be divided into two groups: oldcomers and
newcomers. Oldcomers came to Japan prior to or soon after 1945
during World War II and consist of people who built the foundations
of their lives and their families in Japan. Of the total number of
Koreans in Japan, 71 percent have obtained a special category visa
called special permanent residence, which identifies them as oldcomer
Koreans and allows them to stay in Japan permanently as Japanese
citizens, although they are not afforded voting rights. Korean new-
comers, however, are usually Koreans who have come to Japan over
the last few decades and do not have special permanent residence sta-
tus. They call themselves “newcomers” to distinguish themselves from
Korean oldcomers. Korean newcomers are concentrated in self-
employed businesses in retail and personal service trades, and have
established new Korean towns in major Japanese cities (Yoon 2004).
Most of these newcomers, who were born and raised in Korea, came
to Japan during the 1980s in search of jobs or for various other
reasons. The newcomers hold varying visa types, such as permanent
residency visas, spouse visas, family stays visas, and others. Unlike the
Korean migrants who came to Japan while Japan occupied Korea as a
colonizer, the newcomers moved to Japan after South Korea had
already become an independent and industrialized nation. In my
research, I have focused on Korean newcomers who come for distinct
reasons, which puts them in a different situation from the Korean
oldcomers who were mostly born and raised in Japan.
Overview of Korean Migrants in Japan

Korean Female Migrants in Japan
Based on government data, Yu (2013) divided the influx of Korean
female migrants in Japan into three periods. The first period was
from 1978 to 1982, in which the percentage of Korean female
migrants in Japan soared to 31.5 percent, with the influx stopping in
90 Dukin Lim
1982 at 35.6 percent. In this period, since the world economy was
gravely affected by the oil crisis—a major turning point in global
migration (Koser 2010)—females from Asia left their own countries
for economic reasons, such as to find a job or attain a stable lifestyle.
During that time, there were significant limitations on finding good
jobs because most women resided in Japan under entertainment
visas. They could not receive enough support with regard to learning
Japanese or get psychological counseling to ease their predicaments.
The second period lasted from 1987 (36.1 percent) to 1993
(44 percent). During this period, the increase started again because
the Korean government declared a complete deregulation on travel-
ing abroad in 1989, which made it easier for Korean females to move
to Japan. In the third period from 1996 to 2000, the number
increased again from 43.8 percent to 46 percent. This increase was
largely due to the Asian financial crisis in 1997, which affected a lot
of Korean women.
Marriage and Divorce of Korean Migrants in Japan

Not surprisingly, Japan, as a leading economic player, has seen a grow-
ing number of international marriages over the past two decades fol-
lowing the increase in the number of foreign migrants (Table 5.1).
While in 1970, only 5,546 marriages were international, this figure
reached 34,393 in 2009, translating into roughly 1 in 20 marriages
(Ministry of Health, Labour and Welfare 2010a). Moreover, the pattern
of international marriages has also shifted, as can be seen in the data.
Whereas in 1970 the majority of international marriages (61 percent)
were between Japanese brides and foreign (non-Japanese) grooms, by
1975 the balance had reversed itself with the Japanese husband and
foreign wife union becoming more common. This latter trend increased
to the extent that in 2009, 78 percent of international marriages regis-
tered in Japan were between a Japanese man and a foreign woman.
With the increase in the number of international marriages since
the latter half of the 1980s—the time of Japan’s bubble economy,
with rapid and large increases in asset prices, money supply and credit,
and the expansion of economic activity (Okina et al. Shiratsuka
2001)—divorce among couples in international marriages has also
risen (Table 5.2).
The number of divorces between international couples rose from
7,992 in 1995 to 19,404 in 2009, which comprised 7.7 percent of all
registered divorces.
Table 5.1 Marriage in Japan
1970 1980 1990 2000 2005 2007 2008 2009
Total marriage 1,029,405 774,702 722,138 798,138 714,265 719,822 726,106 707,734
Japanese marriage 1,023,859 767,441 696,512 761,875 672,784 679,550 689,137 673,341
International marriage 5,546 7,261 25,626 36,263 41,481 40,272 36,969 34,393
Japanese husband–foreign wife 2,108 4,386 20,026 28,326 33,116 31,807 28,720 26,747
(Korean wife) (1,536) (2,458) (8,940) (6,214) (6,066) (5,606) (4,558) (4,113)
Japanese wife–foreign husband 3,438 2,875 5,600 7,937 8,365 8,465 8,249 7,646
(Korean husband) (1,386) (1,651) (2,721) (2,509) (2,087) (2,209) (2,107) (1,879)
Source: Ministry of Health, Labor and Welfare (2010a)
Table 5.2 Divorce in Japan
1995 2000 2003 2004 2005 2006 2007 2008 2009
Total divorce 199,016 264,246 283,854 270,804 261,917 257,475 254,832 251,136 253,353
Japanese divorce 191,024 251,879 268,598 255,505 246,228 240,373 236,612 232,362 233,949
International divorce 7,992 12,367 15,256 15,299 15,689 17,102 18,220 18,774 19,404
Japanese husband–foreign wife 6,153 9,607 12,103 12,071 12,430 13,713 14,784 15,135 15,570
(Korean wife) (2,582) (2,555) (2,653) (2,504) (2,555) (2,718) (2,826) (2,648) (2,681)
Japanese wife–foreign husband 1,839 2,760 3,153 3,228 3,259 3,389 3,436 3,639 3,834
(Korean husband) (939) (1,113) (1,098) (966) (971) (927) (916) (899) (982)
Source: Ministry of Health, Labor and Welfare (2010a)
92 Dukin Lim
Table 5.3 Rate of Divorce among Marriages in 2000,

2005, and 2009
2000 2005 2009
International marriages with 43.05 43.25 61.13

Korean spouses
International marriages 34.1 38.82 56.43
Japanese marriages 33.06 36.6 34.74
Total marriages 33.1 36.67 35.8
Source: Ministry of Health, Labor and Welfare (2010b)
The divorce rate was higher among international marriages than

for Japanese-only couples, as we can see in Table 5.3.
Furthermore, while the rate of divorce for Japanese marriages
increased only slightly, the rate for international marriages increased
significantly from 34.1 percent in 2000 to 56.43 percent in 2009. In
particular, the divorce rate of international marriages with a Korean
spouse increased the most, to 61.13 percent in 2009, significantly
higher than the average divorce rate.
Data and Methods

This chapter is based on independent fieldwork conducted on Korean
female migrants in Japan from 2012 to 2014. To collect the qualitative
data, I conducted in-depth interviews with seven female migrants
(once married to Japanese men) living in Tokyo and its surrounding
prefectures, sourced through snowball sampling and community web-
sites. The reasons for choosing urban areas as the research site were
the choice of working and raising children in terms of education, exis-
tence of ethnic communities, and the timing of migration based on
the concentration in urban areas. Compared to married women in
rural areas, married women in cities tend to be older, have higher edu-
cation, and have more experience of working in companies in Japan.
The ages of the women ranged from 40 to 60, and their back-
grounds in Korea had varying socioeconomic levels, which burdened
the women with the responsibility of supporting their families in
Korea, or not having the choice to return to Korea after the divorce.
Most of the women had never been married prior to migrating to
Japan, and one woman had divorced a Korean man in Korea before
moving to Japan. Another two women remarried Japanese men after
divorcing their first Japanese husbands. Three women had relatives
and friends living in Japan before or around the time of their arrival.
Therefore, they were easily able to obtain information on schools
and jobs, which made their start easier than other female migrants. In
this sampling, I included Koreans with long-term stay visas (working
visa, family stays, spouse visa, or permanent resident visa) but did not
include short-term stay visas such as tourism, business, or visiting rela-
tives, because these women might have had different motivations and
personal backgrounds compared to those who came with student,
business, or spouse visas (Table 5.4).
Korean Female Marriage and Divorce

in Japan
I summarize the experiences of the respondents on marriage and
divorce from the interviews as follows.
Finding the Marriage Partner

There are generally two ways in which the women met their Japanese
ex-husbands: through work or through introductions. Two of the
women, Lim and Yoo, met their ex-husbands through their work at a
manufacturing company when they first came to Japan. Because they
spent most of their time at their work place, they had no chance to
meet people outside. Lim worked with her ex-husband at the same
company, but in a different unit. Yoo’s husband was the manager of her
unit and they became close and went on walks around Tokyo over the
weekend. The other five women were introduced to their husbands
either through friends or through a matchmaking agency in Japan.
Marriage Struggles and Causes of Divorce

From the interviews, I categorized the causes of divorce into four
main elements: failure to negotiate cultural differences, isolation,
financial restriction, and domestic violence. These four elements were
experienced by most of the respondents in one way or another. The
first element is “failure to negotiate cultural differences.” According
to Ito (2005), foreign wives in Japan tend to be suppressed by Japan’s
male-oriented society. Five of the informants experienced suffering
during their marriage because of the dominant nature of their hus-
bands. Lim, who was married for 15 years, described her marriage as
“failure of keeping two cultures in one house.”
He did not give me a chance to decide things by myself. Even though I

wanted to send my children to Korean school to keep the balance between
Japan and Korea, my ex-husband did not let me do it. I wanted to teach my
Table 5.4 Characteristics of Informants
In Japan Marriage How they Level of Visa

No. Name Age (years) period met Children Current job Job in Korea education status
1 Lim 50 23 15 Work 1 Self-employed Self-employed University PR

2 Yoo 61 19 12 Work 1 Self-employed Employee Community N
college
3 Song 45 10 3 Introduced 1* Self-employed Employee University PR
4 Won 45 14 7 Introduced 2 Part-time Employee High school PR
5 Jin 50 17 14 Introduced 1* Part-time Employee High school N
6 Woo 57 20 8 Introduced 2 Part-time Self-employed High school PR
7 Jung 52 29 12 Introduced 1* Part-time Employee High school PR
N = naturalization, PR = permanent resident visa.
* Child attended Korean school.
children Korean language and culture, because I believe they should experi-
ence both cultures as a kid from two different nationalities. My husband,
however, thought it was not necessary and it will make our kid more confused
in terms of identity.
When she first came to Japan, Lim worked at a manufacturing com-

pany referred to her by a friend. She met her husband at the company
in which he was the manager and she was a contract worker. Since she
had studied Japanese before coming to Japan, they were able to
converse easily and they became friends and began a relationship
before marrying ten months later. When they dated, they had small
arguments about cultural differences related to the language barrier,
perceptions of history, and religion, but they overcame these as time
went by. However, when their child was born, differing opinions on
child raising became problems for them. Lim wanted to raise her child
as a global citizen who could understand both Korea and Japan, while
her husband wanted to raise his child as a Japanese citizen.
Another concern was the differing views regarding Lim’s family in
Korea. After her marriage, Lim sent money to her family for events
every three months. From doing so, she felt a sense of satisfaction
derived from participating in and contributing to family events, even
though she was not able to be there in person. However, her husband
was not happy about her relationship with her family in Korea, because
he believed that a married woman should be independent of her natal
family and concentrate on her own married life. Eventually, her husband
pressurized her to stop sending money to her relatives, even though she
repeatedly explained the importance of the family gatherings in Korea.
This case shows an example of a Korean wife feeling suppressed by her
Japanese husband’s critical response to Korean traditions.
Like Lim, who brought up the conflict of family systems, Song,
who has been in Japan for ten years and currently runs her own Korean
restaurant, also mentioned the difficulties of adjusting to a Japanese
family.
My ex-husband’s father has run a big company for generations, and since he
has only one son he was planning to leave his property to him when he dies.
But he is a traditional man who strongly believes foreign wives can run away
once they achieve their economic success. Therefore, he did not help my hus-
band when he had trouble with his own business. His family considered me as
an unwelcome woman who intruded into their territory.
The second element is “isolation,” which here means isolation from

either the Korean or Japanese communities in Japan. For example,
96 Dukin Lim
Woo’s husband disliked his Korean wife being actively engaged with
the Korean community, such as her participation in the Korean church
and socializing with other Korean friends, because he wanted to pre-
vent his wife from having a strong Korean identity. He wanted her to
learn from and access the Japanese community more.
He asked me to do many things that I did not want to. One of them was that
he kept asking me to naturalize to Japanese. He wanted me to be a Japanese
having Japanese nationality and understanding more about Japan. Also, he
pushed me to go to Japanese language school to learn better Japanese so that
I cannot be identified as a foreign wife when I go to the children’s school.
She grew tired of his actions and attempts to keep her apart from the
Korean community. Woo’s husband was afraid of drawing public
attention to his international marriage. He warned his wife to be care-
ful or to be silent because he believed that knowledge of his interna-
tional marriage to a Korean woman would downgrade his status in the
neighborhood.
The third element is “financial restriction.” There were cases where
the husband controlled living expenses and banned remittances
because of lack of trust in his wife. Four women admitted to feeling
limited in their use of funds by their husbands. As a result, they tried
to earn their own money so they could spend it on themselves, their
family in Korea, and their children. However, even though some of
the women had part-time or full-time jobs, low pay or inconsistent
work led to an overall economic dependence on the Japanese spouse.
The fourth element is “domestic violence.” The informants indi-
cated only one case of physical abuse. However, five of the respon-
dents mentioned that they had suffered verbal abuse or offensive
language. Even though many women experienced threatening atti-
tudes from their husbands, no one divorced because of domestic vio-
lence that involved both physical and verbal abuse.
Reconsidering the Meaning of Divorce

After divorce, the women had to overcome many difficulties. The first
hardship was “unstable visa status.” Even though most of the infor-
mants held spouse visas when they were married to their Japanese
husbands, their opting for divorce made their visa status unstable,
especially for those who did not get a permanent resident visa over the
course of their marriage. Thus, even though the majority of the infor-
mants did not marry Japanese men with the purpose of legalizing
their visa statuses—since they already had either a business visa, stu-
dent visa, or a long-term visa before marriage—some of them changed
their status to spouse visa because it gave them the feeling of having
family in Japan. After divorce, three of the women had permanent
resident visa status, while two women had difficulty in legalizing their
status in Japan. For those women without permanent resident status,
once they were divorced from their Japanese husbands, they had dif-
ficulties in renewing their visa. Two women were unable to change
their visa status from spouse to long-term resident because of various
reasons such as their short marriage, unemployment, lack of children
to take care of, and no support from their husbands.
The second hardship is the “difficulty of finding a job.” Since most
of my informants became full-time housewives during their marriage,
divorce forced them to work to earn a living, especially those who did
not receive any financial support from their ex-husbands. Being for-
eigners and, often, single mothers, it was not easy for the women to
secure jobs. For Song, every time she went for job interviews, she was
rejected because of her visa status, which was the remaining period
from her spouse visa, not permanent residency at that time. In the
end, she decided to start her own business.
Foreign Wives’ Choice of Remaining in Japan

Despite the negative experience of an unsuccessful marriage, many
informants chose to remain in Japan. Why did divorced Korean
women make the decision to not returning to their native country,
South Korea?
Finding Work in Japan

In their opinions, there are three reasons for Korean women to remain
in Japan. For women, finding a job is not easy in both countries, but
the first reason is that it is easier for women to have a job with better
pay in Japan. Furthermore, since they are fluent in both languages and
understand both cultures, their Korean background sometimes works
well in Japan, while their experience in Japan and Japanese fluency are
not considered important and are not approved of in Korea. They
would have a hard time finding jobs in Korea and even if they found
jobs, the salary would be very low compared to Japan. According to
OECD employment data, Korea (37.4 percent) is almost 10 percent
higher than Japan (26.5 percent) on the disparity of earnings between
the sexes (OECD 2014). Song, who went back to Korea right after her
98 Dukin Lim
divorce to look for a job, was not satisfied with the salaries the compa-
nies offered. She shared her experience of looking for a job in Korea.
They offered me less salary than a part-time worker even though they wanted
someone who could speak both Japanese and Korean. I thought I could easily
find a job since I had various experiences. But it was not like that. Having a
child, divorce experience, being a woman, current bad economic situation in
Korea. . . . everything was a barrier in the job market.
Finally, Song came back to Japan and found a job as a waitress in a

Korean restaurant. In her case, she learned how to run an ethnic res-
taurant by working as a waitress for four years and as a cook for two
years. Since she liked cooking, which she had learned from her mother,
she enjoyed working at the restaurant. Therefore, after working part-
time and as a contract worker for six years, she was finally able to start
her own restaurant.
Similarly, Yoo also started running her own restaurant after getting
work experience at a Korean restaurant for some years after experienc-
ing the difficulty of finding a job in Korea. In her case, her ex-husband’s
divorce payment had an impact on postdivorce life. Generally, when
the women interviewed first started their own business, they used
all the money they saved from their earnings and also received a loan
from friends and acquaintances. Lim, who runs a Korean goods shop,
used her compensation when she started her own business in Korea
after divorce, but it did not go well. After spending a hard time for a
year, she moved to Japan and sold some Korean traditional goods to
Korean restaurants, and it did not take long for her to set up her busi-
ness, thanks to the influx of Korean pop culture into Japan. Their
hardships in Korea and advantages in Japan can be explained through
their successful business cases based on their Korean backgrounds.
Unlike them, others did not have an affluent allowance. Therefore,
other women chose to apply and work for pachinko (pinball parlors)
and convenience stores as part-time workers.
All the informants in my study had permanent Japanese residency,
which enabled them to work as part-time workers without the limita-
tion of working hours. Also, they believed that their language ability
could give them more opportunities to find jobs. Their salaries are
sufficient enough for them to continue making a living either by
themselves or with their children, when combined with social welfare
such as a child benefits. Regardless of their working conditions, it is
crucial for them to earn at least a minimum salary to maintain their life
in Japan. Furthermore, most of their husbands do not pay proper
maintenance for their children. Therefore, the women have to rely on

support from their own earnings.
Educational Strategy for Children

Another significant reason the women stay behind is for their children’s
education. Mothers normally take charge of the education and health
of their children (Murray and Kimura 2006). The Korean mothers I
interviewed felt an obligation to take full responsibility for child rear-
ing. Therefore, most of the informants also said that they made their
decision to stay in Japan to ensure a better future for their children.
Although plans for child rearing depended on family circumstances
such as economic level, education desires, and future plans, they all
believed that their decision was the best one for their children.
It should be noted that all of the informants chose to stay with
their children after divorce. Having an education in Japan appealed to
these women for two different reasons—admissions to universities in
Korea and universities in Japan. First, there are special admissions
in Korean universities for students who stay outside of Korea for more
than three years. Compared to applying to a university under the reg-
ular procedure after having completed twelve years of education in
Korea, this makes the process relatively easier. Once they decide to
stay in Japan, mothers have a chance of educating their children in the
Korean education system in Japan at local Korean schools (elemen-
tary, junior, and high school). In contrast, mothers who send their
children to Japanese schools have the intention of sending them to a
university in Japan. These women believe that their children will be
able to have better opportunities in the future in Japan rather than
Korea. Also, their children who were born and raised in Japan are
accustomed to the country, so they may refuse to move to Korea even
if their mother were to ask them to.
Jung divorced her husband when her daughter was 10 years old.
Before the divorce, her daughter only spoke Japanese even though she
understood some Korean. Once Jung and her daughter started living
separately from her husband, Jung decided to transfer her daughter to
a Korean school to teach her the Korean language and culture. She
felt that her happiest moment was when her daughter spoke to her in
Korean for the first time.
I wanted her to understand me as a Korean mother and let her understand
herself as a Korean as well. Learning Korean was the first step to form a real
intimacy with each other. I also needed someone who I can depend on, and I
wished that person could be my daughter. Without communication in native
language, it was difficult to understand her fully, but now I can.
100 Dukin Lim
Woo has two children, both elementary school students, whom she is
raising by herself. She regretted not teaching them Korean language
and culture when they were younger.
My kids consider Korea as a different country, not their mom’s country or the
country where half of their identity comes from. I tried to let them know the
greatness of Korea and the importance of learning Korean for their future, but
because they are not familiar with them, they treat it as learning a second
language.
Six of the women had to raise their children on their own and admitted
to difficulties doing so without a husband or family support in Japan.
Only Song received help from her parents in Korea. With regard to the
educational strategy for their children, remaining in Japan provides
children with better educational opportunities. Korean mothers have
to consider and choose whether to have their children educated in a
Korean school in order to give them privileged circumstances for a
possible return to Korea, or to have them educated in a Japanese
school so that they can become more familiar with Japanese society.
Involvement in Japanese Society

It is seen as a social responsibility for foreign wives to integrate into
Japanese society (Ebuchi 2001), and for this to be successful it is nec-
essary the women consider themselves as members of that society.
Soon after they divorced, the women surveyed became depressed,
self-involved, and erratic for some time. However, this did not last
long because they had children to take care of and they only had
themselves to rely on to survive in a foreign country. Most of the
women had no doubt that they began to become more involved in
social activities and made more personal connections after divorce.
They realized that they could not survive as single foreign mothers
due to a lack of information and lack of confidence in raising their
children alone in a foreign society.
The degree of involvement of Koreans in the Japanese community
is a challenge, and the way they interact with the community in Japan
can be roughly divided into two different styles, one positive and one
negative. When I asked Jin what she does during her free time, she
told me that she goes out for dinner or plays tennis with her Japanese
friends. She told me she does not try to make Korean friends because
she feels it is not necessary to spend time doing so. She already has
good Japanese friends to share her life with and does not feel lonely.
In addition, she mentioned that her life is exactly the same as that of
most Japanese people, and she does not believe she is different from
them because of her Korean background. Therefore, when she decided
to obtain naturalization, she was not worried about integration into
Japanese society, because she had already achieved it, and that made
her sure of her decision to remain in Japan even after the hardships she
has faced in her life here.
In contrast, Won finds it difficult to adjust to the Japanese com-
munity and faces challenges due to the environment. She chose to be
close to the Korean community through Korean churches, websites
for Koreans living in Japan, and going to Korean restaurants to main-
tain her social relationships in Japan. Even though she does not have
close Japanese friends, she feels having Korean friends is enough to
live in Japan without feeling lonely.
Since the women became single mothers they have made more
efforts to give their children a stable lifestyle. Jin became more
involved in Japanese school activities such as school parent-teacher
associations (PTA) to share the issues of raising a child with other
mothers. She also wanted to become closer to her child by visiting the
school more often.
In the case of Jung, she began developing good relationships with
colleagues and neighbors. Won started getting more involved in local
community activities, such as working as a volunteer, mainly helping
with translation, interpretation, and teaching Korean to neighbors.
Many of the women said that they put more effort into becoming mem-
bers of Japanese society after divorce. Through various activities, the
women gained greater affection toward Japan and Japanese society.
A Sense of Estrangement from Korea

As for Korean society, half of the women felt separated from Korea
because their Korean resident registration numbers were canceled
once they obtained permanent residence or naturalization in Japan.
Without the number, it is difficult to join as a member of Korean web-
sites. Many began to think of their hometown as “a place that they
didn’t belong to anymore.” However, regarding self-identity, a few felt
a stronger Japanese identity than Korean identity, or felt the two iden-
tities equally. They had planned to go back to Korea when they became
elderly, but later decided to live in Japan for the rest of their lives.
The Korean women also hesitated to return to Korea for other rea-
sons. They are no longer familiar with the Korean social system after
living in Japan for over ten years. They also want to escape from the
social pressures of their family and the stigma divorced women face in
102 Dukin Lim
Korea. Furthermore, it is significant to consider family circumstances

in Korea. Most women mentioned that they have weak ties with their
families back in Korea, either because their parents have passed away
or they have had no regular contact with their relatives. Lim, who has
decided to live in Japan for the rest of her life, said that Korea is “a
country of past memories” and Japan is “the final country” for her.
When she married, her parents and younger sister had lived in Japan.
However, her parents passed away seven and ten years ago, and her
sister married an American and lives in the United States now.
After my parents died, all my relatives stopped calling me or asking me to

come over. They just treated me like I did not exist in their world. I was very
sad, but I decided that my future will be here in Japan.
As time has passed, the Korean women have changed their attitudes
toward Japan and feel attached to the country regardless of their unfa-
miliarity with Korea. Their decision that Japan be their final destina-
tion has become more and more certain because family and social ties
in Korea have seemed to fade away.
Conclusion
Despite their experiences of unsuccessful marriage, many of the
divorced women chose to remain and work in Japan. They believed
that opportunities for their children are better in Japan than in Korea.
For themselves, the job opportunities and salary were also better in
Japan than in Korea. Furthermore, since their marriage in Japan, ties
with their Korean family had often been weakened and their home-
towns no longer felt like home.
One of the outcomes of their divorces was that these women felt
more motivated to become part of Japanese society since they did not
feel capable of raising their children in isolation. They also started to
feel comfortable with their identity of belonging to Japanese society.
Despite the negative experience of their marriages, these Korean
women were able to make adjustments in their lives after divorce, find
ways to be part of Japanese society, and continue to live in Japan in the
long term.
In conclusion, the women made realistic and rational choices not
to return to their home country because of two major reasons: better
work prospects and better education for their children in Japan.
During their marriages, their Japanese husbands had been the ones
negotiating their lives within Japanese society. However, divorce
forced them to redefine their role in their adopted country. Divorced

women have stronger needs and motivation to make a living and be
connected to both Korean and Japanese people in Japan. As a result,
the women found opportunities for reconnecting with society through
their work and in their roles as mothers, even more so than before,
and their social networks have opened and expanded considerably.
References
Constable, Nicole ed. 2005. Cross-border Marriages: Gender and Mobility in
Transnational Asia. Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press.
Ebuchi, Kazuhiro. ed. 2001. Kyosei no Jidai wo Ikiru [In the Age of Coexistence].
Tokyo: Hoso Daigaku Kyoiku Shinko-kai.
Ito, Ruri. 2005. “Crafting migrant women’s citizenship in Japan: Taking
‘family’ as a vantage point.” International Journal of Japanese Sociology 14:
52–69.
Koser, Khalid. 2010. “Impact of the global financial crisis on international
migration.” Whitehead Journal of Diplomacy and International Relations
13: 13–20.
Ministry of Health, Labour and Welfare. 2010a. Saikin kohyo no toukei shiryou
[Statistical Documentation Recently Made Public]. Retrieved at: http://
www.mhlw.go.jp/toukei/saikin/hw/jinkou/suii09/marr2.html
Ministry of Health, Labour and Welfare. 2010b. Huhu no kokusekibetu ni
mita konin kensu no nenjisuii [Number of Marriage by Nationality].
Retrieved at: http://www.mhlw.go.jp/toukei/saikin/hw/jinkou/suii04/
marr2.html
Murray, Colleen I., and Naoko Kimura. 2006. “Families in Japan.” In Families
in Global and Multicultural Perspective (2nd ed.), edited by Bron B.
Ingoldsby and Suzanna D. Smith, 291–310. Thousand Oaks, CA: Sage.
Nakazawa, Shinichi. 1996. “Noson ni okeru ajiakei gaikokujin zuma no sei-
katsu to jyoju ishiki” [Experience and Views of the Foreign Wives of Asian
Origin in Farming Areas]. Kazoku Shakaigaku Kenkyu 8: 81–96.
OECD. 2014. Employment Database: Labour Force Statistics: LFS by Sex and
Age [Statistical Documentation Recently Made Public]. Retrieved at:
https://stats.oecd.org/Index.aspx?DataSetCode=LFS_SEXAGE_I_R
Oishi, Nana. 2005. Women in Motion: Globalization, State Policies, and Labor
Migration in Asia. Stanford: Stanford University Press.
Okina, Kunio, Masaaki Shirakawa, and Shigenori Shiratsuka. 2001. “The asset
price bubble and monetary policy: Japan’s experience in the late 1980s and
the lessons.” Monetary and Economic Studies (Special Edition) 19(2):
395–450.
Piper, Nicola and Mina Roces. 2005. “Introduction: Marriage and migration
in an age of globalization.” In Wife or Worker? Asian Women and
Migration, edited by Nicola Piper and Mina Roces, 1–21. Oxford:
Rowman and Littlefield Publishers.
104 Dukin Lim
Sasagawa, Koichi. 1989. “Kankoku kara no ‘hanayome’ to ibunka koryu [Brides’

from Korea and Cross-Cultural Exchange].” In Noson to Kokusai Kekkon
[Villages and International Marriage], edited by Takao Sato, 217–67.
Tokyo: Nihon Hyoronsha.
Sugaya, Yoshiko. 1995. “Kokusai Kekkon no Mura: Yamagataken Mogami
Chiho kara [A Village with International Marriage: From Mogami Region,
Yamagata].” Imin Kenkyu Report 3: 1–25.
Yoon, In-Jin. 2004. The Korean Diaspora. Seoul: Korea University.
Yu, Yon-Suk. 2013. Kankokujin no Kokusaiidou to jenda: gurobaruka jidai wo
ikinuku senryaku [Korean Female’s International Migration and Gender:
Strategies of Survival in Globalization Era]. Tokyo: Akashi Publisher.
Chapter 6
Crafting Religious Selves in a

Transnational Space: Japanese
Women Who Converted to Isl am
upon Marrying Pakistani Migrants
Masako Kudo
Introduction
This chapter explores the trajectories of identity formation of Japanese
women who converted to Islam upon marrying Pakistani migrants.
The frequency of this type of cross-border marriage increased during
the 1990s following the rise in the number of Muslim labor migrants
in Japan in the late 1980s. After marriage, a majority of the Japanese
wives converted to Islam. Using longitudinal data collected since the
late 1990s, this chapter examines the complex ways in which these
Japanese women construct their Muslim identity as they move across
national boundaries in the process of child rearing.
It is important to stress at the outset of the discussion that the
increase in cross-border marriages between Japanese women and
Pakistani labor migrants has led not only to the foreign husbands set-
tling in Japan, but has also caused some of the Japanese wives and
their children to relocate to other countries. Of particular interest is
the emergence of the transnational family in which the Pakistani hus-
bands remain in Japan to operate their business and their Japanese
wives migrate abroad in order to shape the religious identity of their
offspring. While the majority of the women and their children migrate
106 M a s a k o Ku d o
to Pakistan, the husbands’ native country, some have chosen to reside

in a third country.
The main aim of this chapter is to examine how this type of border-
crossing by Japanese women and their experiences of dislocation
affected their processes of constructing a Muslim identity for them-
selves and their children. While negative stereotypical images of Islam
as a religion that favors “oppression of women” were strengthened
after 9/11, the diverse ways in which Muslim women define them-
selves have been largely ignored. How do the converts interpret their
newly acquired religion and reconstruct their social world, and in
what ways does their socioeconomic position affect this process? My
longitudinal interviews reveal that the submissive images of Muslim
women that circulate globally are not congruent with the ways in
which these Japanese women actively construct their religious identi-
ties. This chapter aspires to show how the trajectories of the women’s
personal quests and their identity formation are influenced by the dif-
ficulties and challenges that the Japanese women encounter as they try
to perform their maternal role in the global arena.
Research and the Structure of this Chapter

The following discussion is based on the data I obtained through my
interviews with Japanese women at their homes in Japan and other
countries where the women later relocated, as well as my participant
observations at women’s gatherings in mosques. The participant
observations at mosques and individual interviews in Japan were con-
ducted most intensively between 1998 and 2001, with follow-up
research conducted periodically until the present. Initially, 40 women
were interviewed. After 2001, new interviewees were recruited.1
Because the recruitment was initially done through the snowball
method, starting with the women I met at mosques, the interviewees
may have been more religiously oriented than other women married
to Pakistanis who have never visited mosques. However, the ways in
which all of the women interpreted and made sense of their religious
conversion varied considerably and underwent transformation over
time, as the following discussion will explain.
The discussion begins with a description of the socioeconomic
background of the Japanese-Pakistani couples and the wives’ percep-
tions of Islam at the early stages of the marriage. It then focuses on the
transnational dispersal of the couples’ family and discusses the chal-
lenges faced by the Japanese women who relocated abroad. This is
followed by narratives of women who moved to Pakistan or a third
C r a f t i n g S e lv e s i n a T r a n s n at i o n a l S pa c e 107
country, illustrating how their experiences of border-crossing were

intertwined with the complex trajectories of their self-transformation
as Muslims.
Marrying a Pakistani Migrant in Japan

The number of Muslims in Japan has increased considerably since the
late 1980s when the booming economy of the country attracted labor
migrants from both within and outside Asia, including Islamic coun-
tries such as Pakistan, Bangladesh, and Iran (Sakurai 2008). The num-
ber of Pakistanis registered in Japan rose from 660 in 1984 to 2,067
in 1990 (JIA 1985, 1991). This number does not include those who
overstayed their visa.2 In 1990, the number of Pakistanis who over-
stayed their visa was estimated to be 7,989 (MOJ 2000). The majority
of Pakistanis in Japan were men in their 20s and 30s. Although
unskilled labor was in great demand, in most cases, the men became
“illegal” workers because Japan had a policy of not allowing the inflow
of unskilled laborers.
During the late 1980s, negative stereotypes of “foreign workers” as
“unlawful” and “criminal” were formed. Such stereotyping mostly
targeted male foreign workers (Suzuki 2009). They were often called
“Asian foreign workers.” Although Japan is part of geographical Asia,
the derogative term “Asian foreign workers” connotes that those
from other Asian countries, including the countries in South Asia,
were regarded as inferior to the “Westerners” who were considered
superior to the Japanese, suggesting the hierarchical way in which the
foreign Other in Japan was constructed. Many of the Pakistani
migrants were relatively well-educated and belonged to the lower
middle class or middle class in urban Pakistan. However, in Japan,
they experienced downward social mobility as menial laborers.
Furthermore, they were marginalized in a multiple sense as both
“Asian foreign worker” and “racial Other.”
During the 1990s, an increasing number of Pakistani male migrants
married local women.3 The number of Pakistani men who held a
spousal visa rose from 374 in 1990 to 1,630 in 2000 (JIA 1991,
2001). According to my interview data, the Japanese women initially
met their husbands at venues such as the workplace, restaurants, and
gyms. Some of the women were also introduced to their spouses by
mutual friends (Kudo 2007). The motives behind the marriage varied
for the women, but a common theme was that they found their pro-
spective husbands to be “caring” of others and a dutiful son and
brother, and this represented an alternative form of masculinity to
many of the woman. In addition, some of the women initially

approached their prospective husbands due to a keen interest in learn-
ing about cultures outside Japan. In terms of their occupational status
prior to marriage, two of the women were students (one at high
school and another at university), five were working part-time, eigh-
teen were working full-time as office clerks, five were in medical pro-
fessions such as nutritionist, and the rest had various occupations
including school teacher and receptionist.4
The Challenges for the Japanese Wives and the

Occupational Changes of the Couples
After deciding to marry, the majority of the women I interviewed
were confronted with challenges, including problems with obtaining
a spousal visa for husbands who had overstayed their visas. The women
also faced difficulties when searching for a rental home due to the
negative stereotypes about Pakistani men. The women’s struggle to
consolidate life with their new husbands was often solitary as, in many
cases, their marriage was met with opposition from their own family,
a point which I will elaborate upon later.
Before marriage, a majority of the husbands were employed in fac-
tories and on construction sites. After marriage, there was a strong
tendency for the husbands to start their own business. While some
opened halal food shops or Indian/Pakistani restaurants, the majority
went into the business of exporting used cars. Becoming an entrepre-
neur was a way for them to overcome their socioeconomic marginal-
ization within Japanese society. Importantly, marrying a Japanese
national not only enabled the husbands to obtain legal status in Japan,
it also enabled them to cross national boundaries for their businesses.
Furthermore, the Japanese wives contributed to the consolidation of
the newly established business by utilizing the resources they pos-
sessed as Japanese nationals, such as their ability to read and write
business documents. While a majority of the wives left work after giv-
ing birth and became economically dependent on their husbands’
earnings, their contributions to their husbands’ business gave the
wives a degree of power within the home (Kudo 2012, 2014).
Conversion to Islam
In order for the husband to apply for a spousal visa, the couples had
to meet the legal requirements of both countries. Pakistani law
required a religious marriage, nikah. In Islam, male Muslims can
marry a Muslim or the People of the Book, meaning primarily

Christians and Jews. All of my interviewees, including two women
who were formerly Christians, converted to Islam prior to nikah. The
majority of the interviewees recollected that they considered their
conversion to be merely a part of the necessary legal procedures for
marriage and for obtaining a visa for their husbands.
Many of the women, however, started to practice Islam to varying
degrees at a later stage of life, particularly after giving birth. When
asked the reason for attending a study group at mosques, the women
often answered that they felt the need to learn Islam so that they
could teach their children who were born Muslim. In other words,
the manner in which many of the women constructed their mother-
hood was intertwined with the way in which they defined their chil-
dren’s identity as “born Muslim.”
In the mosques where I conducted my participant observations
between 1998 and 2001, the majority of the attendees of the women’
groups were married to Pakistani migrants.5 Such a venue offered the
women the opportunity to meet each other, as their residences were
scattered over the Greater Tokyo area. In this sense, the women’s
study groups provided not only a chance to learn about Islam, but
also allowed them to share their personal experiences, particularly the
difficulties and challenges of being married to a Pakistani migrant.
These challenges include dealing with discrimination against their
husbands in Japan as well as the difficulties involved in sending remit-
tances to the husbands’ extended families in Pakistan. Sharing such
experiences created a strong bond of unity and a network of mutual
assistance among the women.
Interestingly, the conversations between the Muslim women at the
mosques allowed them to reflect upon and reinterpret the meaning of
Islam which they had learnt through their husbands and in-laws in
Japan and in Pakistan (Kudo 2007). For example, one woman asked the
speaker at a study session the following question: “When azan (a calling
for prayer from a mosque) started in Pakistan, a female member of the
family who seldom prayed told me to cover my hair. Is this required in
Islam?” Thus, the ideal of female modesty upheld by a member of the
husbands’ family was contested. The Japanese women tried to con-
struct “true Islam” which, according to the views of many of the women
interviewed, should be distinguished from the “local customs” of the
regions their husbands hailed from. The speakers at the women’s gath-
erings were often Japanese women who had studied Islam in Arab
countries. The women also had the chance to discuss their lives with
Indonesian and other foreign Muslim participants. The religious views
and experiences of the female Muslims from various backgrounds

became points of reference when constructing narratives of “true Islam.”
After joining the women’s gatherings at mosques, many of the
women I interviewed started to practice Islam to varying degrees and
some of the women described this as a transformation from their for-
mer selves as Muslim in name to practicing Muslims.
Japanese Muslim: Perceptions from Mainstream Society

How was the religious transformation of the women perceived by
mainstream society? As mentioned, in many cases the wives’ families
opposed the marriage. The reason was not that the prospective hus-
bands were Muslim, but that they were “Asian foreign workers” who
might not have a visa to stay on in the country.6 In many cases, the
attitude of the wife’s family softened after children were born and as
they formed affective ties with the children. The wife’s family tended
not to interfere in her religious practices. This may be largely because
in the eyes of Japanese society, particularly to the older generation, the
wife should follow the husband’s way of life.
Challenges emerged when the children started going to local
schools where the majority of the pupils were non-Muslim. After the
children reached school age, the frequency of visits to mosques
decreased as the mother and the children became involved with school
activities and cultivated relationships with non-Muslims. In such a
context, the women had to mediate between Japanese society and
Islam in order for their children to be allowed to practice their religion
in public spaces (Kudo 2008). As Hattori (2009) pointed out, the
Japanese government has not catered to religious differences in
schools. For this reason, whenever the parents requested special con-
sideration for their Muslim children in terms of school meals and uni-
forms, they received mixed responses from the school staff. While
some schools did not have any issue with accommodating Muslim
children, other schools did not understand the importance for Muslim
children to practice their religion in everyday life. Another difficulty
experienced by Muslim parents and children is the tendency within
Japanese society to emphasize cultural homogeneity among the
Japanese.7 Practicing Muslims tended to experience both overt and
implicit forms of exclusion in schools and local communities because
of practices such as avoiding haram food and wearing hijab or a par-
ticular style of school uniform.
In such circumstances, the Japanese women’s religious identity was
not fully recognized by mainstream society. The non-Muslim majority
tended to view the women’s religious practices as a reflection of their

foreign husbands. In other words, the Islamic practices by Japanese
Muslims were not perceived to be a coherent part of their identity, but
something they did to follow the ways of their husbands. This is illus-
trated by the narrative of a divorced Japanese woman with children
who lived with her mother for financial reasons.8 She stated that
before marrying her Pakistani husband, she was already interested in
religion and was undergoing a personal quest. For her, Islam was the
religion she finally found through marriage. However, her mother
thought that she practiced Islam only because she was married to a
foreign Muslim. After her divorce, she was hesitant to practice her
religion openly in her mother’s home, fearing that she and her chil-
dren may be asked to leave the house if her mother did not tolerate
her practices.
In contrast, some women stated that it was easier to practice Islam
in Japan than in Western societies as blatant forms of discrimination
against Muslims did not exist in Japan. However, the situation changed
after 9/11 when negative stereotypes of Islam emerged via the media
in Japanese society. Several of the husbands of my interviewees stated
that there was an increase in the number of times they were stopped
and questioned by the police. One woman who wore hijab stated that
she found herself being watched with suspicion and harassed in public
spaces. The hijab in Japan became not only a symbol of foreignness,
but also something that projected a negative image of Islam imported
from Western media.
Forming Transnational Families:

Japanese Women’s Relocation beyond
National Boundaries
Having described some of the characteristics of the early stages of their
married lives in Japan, I now turn to the formation of transnational
families that emerged among the Japanese-Pakistani couples once
their children reached school age. My longitudinal research revealed
that among the forty informants I initially interviewed, at least twelve
had lived in Pakistan, and four had stayed in a third country such as
New Zealand, Australia, the UK, Malaysia, and the UAE,9 while the
Pakistani husband remained in Japan to conduct his business.
Upon relocation to Pakistan, the wives and children mostly resided
with the extended families of the husbands in urban areas such as
Karachi and Lahore. In the case of those who relocated to a third
country, the wives and children mostly lived independently of the
husbands’ extended families.10 After relocation, the family communi-

cated across national boundaries through phone calls and the Internet.
The frequency of family reunions depended on the economic and
other circumstances of the individual family.
Motives for Family Dispersal across National Boundaries

The reasons for forming transnational families are varied and complex
(Kudo 2012, 2014). First, many of the husbands wished their chil-
dren to be raised in an Islamic environment. In particular, the hus-
bands generally felt the need to protect the sexual modesty of their
daughters from non-Islamic environments. This was due to the cul-
tural-religious gender norm called parda which places an emphasis on
physically separating the sexes after puberty.11
Second, the parents wanted to send their children to English-
medium schools in the hope that the children will achieve upward social
mobility through education. In the cases where the family resided in a
third country, the children went to local schools (if they lived in an
English-speaking country) or international schools where the medium
of education was English. In Pakistan, it is common for children to go
to prestigious English-medium schools. By providing their children an
English education, some of the parents also hoped to give them the
option to live and work outside Pakistan in the future. Enabling their
children to achieve a cosmopolitan middle-class status is an aspiration
for many of the Pakistani husbands. This aspiration seems to have gen-
dered connotations, as some of the Japanese women remarked that it
was important for their daughters to be able to leave Pakistan in the
future as they believed that opportunities for girls are limited in Pakistan.
Third, some of the women were worried that their children would
be excluded and bullied in Japanese schools because of their physical
features and/or their religion.
Fourth, if they relocated to Pakistan, the couples could take advan-
tage of the economic difference between the two countries. The dis-
persal of the family across national boundaries made it possible not
only for the wife and children, but also the extended family in Pakistan
to upgrade their living standard. It is through transnational economic
strategies that the couples are able to send their children to prestigious
schools in the cities of Pakistan.
Challenges for the Women Who Relocated

In Pakistan, the Japanese wives face various challenges, including the
poor state of infrastructure and also the hierarchical power relationships
within the domestic sphere of the extended family determined by gen-

der and seniority. Further, due to the norm of parda, the women’s
mobility is constrained. Without the help of their husbands and the
support of their own local female kin network, the women struggle to
perform their domestic roles. Any dependency on other male relatives
may strengthen the asymmetrical gender relationships already existing
within the domestic sphere.
The women residing in a third country tend to find their living cir-
cumstances to be much easier than in Pakistan for many reasons,
including the relative freedom from the husbands’ extended families
and better infrastructure within the country. However, those residing
in a third country are not without their share of problems. Not only
does the high cost of living affect the economic circumstances of the
household, the immigration controls in the developed nations also
pose challenges for the families. Because of economic hardship and
visa-related issues, the opportunity for the wives and children to visit
Japan may be limited. In addition, they may have problems getting
access to health insurance and other civil rights depending on the poli-
cies of the nations in which they live. Furthermore, the women living
in a third country may experience racial and/or religious discrimi-
nation as “Asian” and “Muslim.” Thus, both the families living in
Pakistan and those who relocated to a third country struggled with
issues that sometimes make it difficult to maintain a transnational family
(Kudo 2014).
Making Sense of Religious Selves

in a Transnational Space
How are the challenges that the women encounter once they relocate
abroad intertwined with the ongoing processes of reformulating their
religious selves? The following discussion presents the voices of three
women to illustrate the ways in which they navigate their transnational
lives and negotiate their identities as Muslims.
Japanese Women in Pakistan

The Case of Aisha: “Local Custom” vs. “True Islam”
When asked why they relocated to Pakistan, the most common reason
provided by the women is to raise their children—their daughters in
particular—in an Islamic environment. However, what they consider
to be an “Islamic environment” in Pakistan is complex. While many of
the women appreciate that it is much easier to raise their children as
Muslims in Pakistan in terms of religious practices such as eating halal
food, the women also question the “Islamic environment” in Pakistan.

One woman, Aisha, stated as follows:
When I see many Pakistani girls wearing (tight) jeans, I feel that this is not the
best place for Islamic education. Also, it is easy to find Hindu influences as
Pakistan was part of India before the independence. That is why what is con-
sidered “Islam” here is not always “true Islam.” For example, there still remain
a number of superstitious practices, including the practice of fortune-telling.
This interview excerpt echoed the voices of other women who have
experienced life in Pakistan. Another woman who returned to Japan
after relocating to Pakistan with her children stated that one of the
reasons for her return was that she found Pakistan to be not so well
suited for raising her children to be Muslim (Kudo 2014).
Importantly, the way in which the women reconstruct their reli-
gious selves in Pakistan is closely related to the position of the women
within the domestic sphere. Aisha added that although she was sub-
missive to the other members of the extended family at the beginning
of her relocation to Pakistan, she decided to begin verbalizing her
views. She started learning about Islam because her opinions were
more likely to be respected if they had basis in the Qur’an. This indi-
cates that Islamic learning is an important way for these women to
overcome their inferior positions of being foreigners and daughters-
in-law within the domestic sphere.
The Case of Yoshiko: Choosing a School Which Is “Not

too Open,” but “Not too Religious”
Yoshiko had been based in Pakistan for more than five years with her
daughter and son by the time of my interview with her in Pakistan.
During the interview, she lamented the difficulty of choosing the right
school for her children, her daughter in particular. While Yoshiko was
satisfied with the hygienic standards of the prestigious schools in Pakistan
where the wealthy in urban Pakistan send their children, she found it
difficult to accept the sexual morals in those schools. She thought that
the schools were too Westernized in terms of gender norms and did not
encourage sexual segregation (parda). Yoshiko took her maternal role to
protect her daughter’s sexual modesty seriously, and stated that this was
her primary role in Pakistan. She continued to say that the task was not
easy although it was more difficult in Japan than in Pakistan.
However, Yoshiko did not wish for her daughter to be in a school
that was “too religious.” Although the segregation of the sexes was
the rule in some of the schools, Yoshiko found that the Islamic ideals
taught in those schools were not necessarily aligned with what she had
learned in Japan. She had frequented a women’s study group in Japan
and became influenced by those who studied Islam in other Muslim
countries, such as the Arab countries. While she shared with her hus-
band and his family the value of female sexual modesty, it seemed to
her that some of the schools in Pakistan were “too religious” in the
sense that they tried to mold children according to their narrow defi-
nition of the “ideal Muslim.”
Yoshiko ultimately emphasized choosing a school that is neither
“too open” nor “too religious.” In other words, during her child rear-
ing in Pakistan, Yoshiko tried to blend different values such as protect-
ing the sexual modesty of her daughter and what she considered to be
“true Islam.” Her efforts at child rearing were possible partly because
she was able to exercise a certain degree of power within her extended
household. This is largely because her husband contributed to the
household economy with his remittances from Japan. Yoshiko not
only helped him build his business but also enabled him to gain legal
status as the spouse of a Japanese national. Thus, while a Japanese wife
may have low status due to her being a foreign woman and a daugh-
ter-in-law, her status can become elevated because of the contribu-
tions she makes to the household economy. This in turn gives her
power to nurture her children’s Muslim identify in the manner she
feels most desirable.12
Experiences in a Third Country

Case of Nabila: Connecting the Past and the Present in a Foreign Land
Nabila resides in a third country. When I interviewed her in Japan
before her relocation, she stated that she found it difficult to accept
Islam largely because Buddhist rituals had served as a way to connect
her spiritually to her deceased mother. However, after relocating to
the present country, she gradually started to practice Islam. One of
the reasons for doing so was that she started going to a Quranic study
group through the introduction of a Japanese Muslim woman living
in the same country. Nabila decided to join the study group partly
because of a question asked by her daughter, who was struggling to
cope with the sudden change of her learning environment. Her
daughter was wondering why she herself was trying so hard at school
while Nabila was not studying at all. This made Nabila feel the need
to encourage and support her daughter.
After going to this study group, Nabila realized that what her hus-
band and his family in Pakistan practiced was not necessarily in accor-
dance with “true Islam.” She then began to share what she learned at
her Quranic class with her husband who lived in Japan. This influ-
enced him and made him become more conscientious about being
Muslim in Japan. She now covers not only her hair but also her body
with a long coat, an abaya, even though she used to wear only T-shirts
and trousers in Japan. This change in attire is a powerful symbol of her
self-transformation, not only in the eyes of those who knew her in the
past but also to herself.
However, Nabila continues to respect the religious practices of her
natal family in Japan. The members of the family regularly meet to
worship the souls of their ancestors, that of her mother in particular.
While she cannot participate in the Buddhist rituals as she cannot
afford annual travel to Japan because of financial difficulties, her hus-
band in Japan attends the rituals. He offers incense at the Buddhist
altar and prays at the family grave with the other members of her fam-
ily even though he does not believe in such practices. He also joins the
family meal afterwards to respect this part of the ritual, although he
avoids eating what he considers haram and dines at a Pakistani restau-
rant afterward.
Nabila explained her religious transformation by using the meta-
phor of moving between different houses. According to her, she
used to live in the house of Buddhism,13 but has now relocated to
the house of Islam. However, she can still visit the other house
whenever she wants to. She explained that although she and her
natal family now live in different houses, common values underlie
both. For example, her mother, who was a pious Buddhist, taught
her the importance of giving thanks in daily life. Nabila still honors
her mother’s teaching, but now she thanks Allah instead. In this way,
while she recognizes that she has radically transformed into a prac-
ticing Muslim, she does not perceive it as a rupture from her past
self. Rather, she still feels connected to her former world and her
natal family. In other words, Nabila tries to make sense of her radical
transformation in a foreign land by accommodating both the change
and the continuity within herself, and reconciling the past and the
present. By doing so, the intimate ties with her non-Muslim family
in Japan are maintained and strengthened. Her husband in Japan
also plays a part in maintaining this juncture in a transnational space.
As McGinty (2006, 178) emphasized in her case studies of Western
female Muslim converts, Nabila’s case demonstrates that the sense
of continuity with the past coexists with the transformation to the
new self.
Conclusion
My findings have illustrated that the Japanese women’s experiences of
border-crossing are intricately intertwined with the ways in which
they make sense of their religious selves as Muslims. The resulting
trajectories of self-transformation that evolved in the global arena are
far more dynamic than one may expect from the prevailing images of
Muslim women as being submissive and obedient to male authority.
Three particular conclusions can be drawn from the discussion.
First, the process of religious self-formation by these Japanese
women is inseparable from the ways in which they construct their
motherhood. The women appear to accept the ideals of femininity in
both Pakistan and Japan, which define the roles of women primarily as
nurturer and reproducer of the religiocultural values of their hus-
bands. However, the women do not passively perform the familial
roles expected by their husbands and in-laws. Rather, the narratives of
the women strongly suggest that they contest and negotiate the mean-
ing of being Muslim not only for themselves but also for their chil-
dren. This is illustrated by the emergence of narratives on “true Islam”
vs. “custom” or “culture,” through which the women actively reinter-
pret what it means for them to be Muslim. Seeking “true Islam” not
only allows them to cultivate the meaning of becoming Muslim
through marriage, but also opens up avenues for questioning the hier-
archical relationships within the domestic sphere.
Second, while each woman undergoes her own personal journey as
a Muslim convert, the journey is also shaped by the sharing of com-
mon socioeconomic contexts with other Japanese women married to
Pakistani migrants. Particularly at the early stage of their marriage in
Japan, many of my interviewees became practicing Muslims while
developing relationships with those who have experienced similar
challenges and difficulties within the home and in wider society. Thus,
the trajectories of forming a religious identity as Muslim are influ-
enced by the sharing of similar social marginalities shaped by the
women’s position as wives of Pakistani Muslim migrants in Japan.
Third, the stories of the women who relocated and moved abroad
reveal an evolution of their religious self as their family expanded
across national boundaries. Their constant struggle to overcome chal-
lenges after relocation is congruent with the processes of reformulat-
ing their views and practices as Muslims. As the two cases of the
women in Pakistan illustrate, by articulating their views and practices
of Islam, they sought to create autonomous space within the domestic
sphere where power relations are typically determined by seniority and
gender. Importantly, although the status of the Japanese women in
their extended household in Pakistan may become elevated because of

their nationality and the economic contributions that they and their
husbands make to the household, the women carefully negotiate their
position within the dynamics of family politics in order to pursue their
own ideal ways of nurturing their children’s Muslim identity.
The women’s narratives also indicate that their religious transfor-
mation does not represent a rupture from their past, but an accom-
modation of both the past and the present within their newly
constructed selves. While undergoing a seemingly radical change, the
women try to interpret it in a way that connects them with their past
and with their non-Muslim families who live far away.
The ways in which the women try to articulate their newly acquired
religious identities echo the strategies adopted by the young genera-
tion of Muslim women in the UK and beyond, as discussed by Werbner
(2007) and others. Werbner argues that the women’s new practices of
veiling can be seen as “a symbol of independence and the right to
claim autonomous agency vis-à-vis their parents while, at the same
time, they also signal their defiance of the wider society perceived to
be hostile to Islam” (Werbner 2007, 179). In other words, although
the young Muslim women proclaim their autonomy from the older
generation, this does not suggest that they are assimilated into main-
stream society. Rather, the women display a new form of Islam to cre-
ate their own space independent of both their parents and mainstream
society. Hence, the act of veiling is a subtle way to navigate their space
where multiple power relations intersect in a complex manner.
In a similar vein, the narratives of the Japanese women show that
while their religious practices appear to be “traditional” on the sur-
face, a close examination reveals that they are actually reformulating
the meaning of being Muslim. Through reinterpreting the meaning of
being Muslim, the women try to subvert the existing hierarchical rela-
tions, while maintaining intimate ties with their family across national
boundaries. The trajectories of forming religious identities reveal the
complexities and the multitude of ways in which the women forge
their identity in their given context. Each woman’s story unveils a
constant struggle to overcome the existing hierarchical relationships
within the domestic sphere and beyond, as a result of which new
forms of relatedness and identity emerge in a transnational space.
Notes
1 I am grateful to those who welcomed me to their home and gatherings and
shared their views and insights on their journeys of becoming Muslim. To
protect their anonymity, pseudonyms are used throughout this chapter.

Basically, I used both Japanese and Muslim names depending on how they
were called at the time of interviews by other Japanese women married to
Pakistani migrants. For the sake of anonymity, part of the personal data is
altered but not to the extent that it would hinder the understanding of the
socioeconomic contexts in which the women live. The interviews under-
taken abroad were made possible by the following research grants: (1)
MEXT (Ministry of Education, Culture, Sports, Science and Technology in
Japan)-Supported Program for the Strategic Research Foundation at Private
Universities (2011–2015), “Reconfiguration of Ethnicities and Cultures at
their Contact Zones,” within the research project “The Formulation and
Promotion of Glocal Studies for Materializing the Vision of a ‘Convivial
Society’ Based on Socio-cultural Pluralities” (Center for Glocal Studies,
Seijo University. Principal Investigator: Tomiyuki Uesugi); (2) MEXT
Grant-in-Aid for Scientific Research (A) #23251006 “Marriage/
Divorce Migration Network in Asia,” Principal Investigator: Kayoko Ishii
(2011–2013).
2 There was a mutual visa waiver agreement between Japan and Pakistan.
However, this agreement was suspended in 1989. Furthermore, the
amendment of Japanese immigration law in 1990 made the lives of Pakistani
workers more precarious, as it tightened the legal sanctions against those
who work without legal status and also those who employ “illegal foreign
workers.”
3 Kojima (2006, 2012) offers a comparative analysis of the census data of
1995 and 2000 on the numbers of cross-border marriages between foreign
Muslim men and Japanese women according to the nationalities of the
husbands. He notes that in 2000, the percentage of marriage of Muslim
men with Japanese women was considerably higher among Pakistani and
Iranian men than among other foreign Muslim men.
4 For the educational backgrounds of the women interviewed, please see
Kudo (2007, 9).
5 During the 1990s, the number of mosques increased in the outskirts of
Tokyo as Muslim migrants began settling in Japan. Pakistani migrants,
newly established entrepreneurs in particular, played important roles in the
increase in these Islamic sites (Sakurai 2008, 80–81).
6 In Japan in the early 1990s when many of my interviewees became married,
negative images of Islam that emerged after 9/11 were not prevalent, as I
later discuss.
7 The children born to Japanese women married to a Pakistani national were
granted Japanese nationality after 1984 when the Nationality Law adopted
the bilineal principle, which did away with the patrilineal principle (the
amendment came into effect in 1985).
8 As far as I am aware, among the forty women who were initially inter-
viewed, seven women have obtained a divorce.
9 Takeshita (2008, 2010) discusses the educational strategies of those who
relocated to the UAE.
10 Both the ethnoreligious networks and kin networks of the Pakistani hus-
bands that stretched globally became important resources for establishing
the lives of the wives and children when they relocated to a third country
(Kudo 2015).
11 While the practice of parda is widely observed in South Asia, it tends to
be legitimized in terms of Islam by Muslims in the region. The practices
and ideals of parda, which vary according to class, region, and other fac-
tors, are undergoing a dynamic transformation within Pakistan.
12 The relative autonomy that the Japanese wives may enjoy in their hus-
bands’ extended family in Pakistan contrasts with the position of the
Filipino wives married to the Japanese husbands who tend to be pressured
to become culturally assimilated. However, the position of the Filipino
wives is varied and undergoes transformation due to factors including
changes in the wider economic environment (Takahata 2011).
13 When recollecting the religious environment in which she was raised,
Nabila also referred to praying at a Shinto shrine. In Japanese society,
Buddhism and Shintoism, as well as ancestral worshipping and other tra-
ditions, were historically amalgamated to shape the syncretic nature of the
spiritual world of the majority of the contemporary Japanese.
References
Hattori, M. 2009. “Musulimu wo Sodateru Jijo-kyoiku: Nagoya-shi niokeru
Jido-kyoiku no Jissen to Kattou” [Self-Help Education for Raising
Muslims: Practices and Conflicts of Children’s Education in Nagoya-City].
In Nihon no Indonesia-jin Shakai [Indonesian Community in Japan],
edited by M. Okushima, 215–32. Tokyo: Akashi Shoten (in Japanese).
JIA (Japan Immigration Association). 1985, 1991, 2001. Zairyu-gaikokujin
Tokei [Statistics on Foreigners Registered in Japan]. Tokyo: Japan Immigration
Association.
Kojima, H. 2006. “Variations in Demographic Characteristics of Foreign
‘Muslim’ Population in Japan: A Preliminary Estimation.” The Japanese
Journal of Population 4 (1): 115–30.
Kojima, H. 2012. “Correlates of Cross-border Marriages among Muslim
Migrants in Tokyo Metropolitan Area: A Comparison with Seoul Metro-
politan Area.” Waseda Studies in Social Sciences 13 (1): 1–17.
Kudo, M. 2007. “Becoming the Other in One’s Own Homeland?: The
Processes of Self-construction among Japanese Muslim Women.” Japanese
Review of Cultural Anthropology 8: 1–28.
Kudo, M. 2008. “Negotiation of Difference in ‘Multicultural’ Japan: Japanese
Women Converted to Islam through International Marriage.” In
Transnational Migration in East Asia: Japan in a Comparative Focus,
edited by D. Haines et al., Senri Ethnological Reports, No. 77, 113–22.
Osaka: National Museum of Ethnology.
Kudo, M. 2012. “Mothers on the Move: Transnational Child-Rearing by
Japanese Women Married to Pakistani Migrants.” In Wind Over Water:
Migration in an East Asian Context (Foundations in Asia Pacific Studies,

Volume 2), edited by D. W. Haines et al., 150–60. New York and Oxford:
Berghahn Books.
Kudo, M. 2014. “The Trajectories of Family-making through Cross-border
Marriages: A Study of Japanese-Pakistani Married Couples.” In The Age of
Asian Migration: Continuity, Diversity and Susceptibility, Volume 1, edited
by Y. W. Chan et al., 46–59. Newcastle upon Tyne: Cambridge Scholars
Publishing.
Kudo, M. 2015. “Transnational Families in a Global Circulation Context:
The Case of Cross-border Marriages between Japanese Women and
Pakistani Migrants.” Bulletin of the National Museum of Ethnology 40 (1):
71–84.
McGinty, A. M. 2006. Becoming Muslim: Western Women’s Conversions to
Islam (Culture, Mind, and Society). New York: Palgrave Macmillan.
MOJ (Ministry of Justice). 2000. Honpo ni okeru Fuhozanryusha-su ni tsuite
[Number of Illegal Foreign Residents in Japan (as of January 1, 2000)].
Tokyo: Immigration Bureau of Japan of the Ministry of Justice (in Japanese).
Sakurai, K. 2008. “Muslims in Contemporary Japan.” Asia Policy 5: 69–87.
Suzuki, E. 2009. Nihon de Hataraku Hiseiki-Taizaisha: Karera-ha“Konomashiku-
nai Gaikokujin Rodosha”nano-ka? [Irregular Migrants Working in Japan:
Are They Really “Unfavorable Foreign Workers”?]. Tokyo: Akashi Shoten
(in Japanese).
Takahata, S. 2011. “Kogyo kara Kaigo he: Zainichi Filipin-jin, Nikkei-jin,
soshite Daini-sedai heno Keizai-kiki no Eikyo” [From Entertainment to
Caregiving: The Impact of the Financial Crisis on the Filipino Migrants,
Nikkei Filipinos and Their Second Generations in Japan]. In Iju-rodo to
Sekaiteki Keizai-kiki [Labor Migration and Global Financial Crisis], edited
by H. Komai and J. Akashi, 107–21. Tokyo: Akashi Shoten (in Japanese).
Takeshita, S. 2008. “Muslim Families Comprising Pakistani Fathers and
Japanese Mothers: Focusing on the Educational Problems of their Children.”
Journal of Women of the Middle East and the Islamic World 6: 202–24.
Takeshita, S. 2010. “Transnational Families among Muslims: The Effect of
Social Capital on Educational Strategies.” In Asian Cross-border Marriage
Migration: Demographic Patterns and Social Issues, edited by W.-S. Yang
and M. C.-W. Lu, 221–39. Amsterdam: Amsterdam University Press.
Werbner, P. 2007. “Veiled Interventions in Pure Space: Honour, Shame and
Embodied Struggles among Muslims in Britain and France.” Theory,
Culture & Society 24 (2): 161–86.
Chapter 7
Working in the City and Rear ing

Children in the Hometown:
Women-centered Rel ationships
of a Patr ilineal Chinese Family
in Peninsul ar Mal aysia
Ryoko Sakurada
Introduction
This chapter explores the domain of mothering and the urban wage
labor of Chinese women in Malaysia ethnographically as a case of an
ever-changing “patrilineal” community along with the development
of industrial society. As Ellen Judd presented the classic model of
Chinese kinship organization, emphasizing patrilineality, patrilocality,
and patriarchy, the notions of the centrality of men continue as a
major framework for research on Chinese social organization, despite
accumulating evidence of alternative models of a disjuncture within
the elite model (Judd 1989, 525). In this context, women tend to be
viewed as only temporary and marginal members of their natal family.
However, as Sylvia Junko Yanagisako states, asymmetry in bilateral
kinship appears in urban industrial societies and the female bias in
both intragenerational and intergenerational kin relationships mani-
fests itself in patterns of co-residence, residential proximity, and
mutual aid, as well as in the frequency of interaction and the strength
of affective ties among kin (Yanagisako 1977, 207–208). She called
124 R yoko Sakurada
this female bias phenomenon “women-centered kin networks.”

As Yanagisako points out based on her Japanese-American case, sis-
ters, mothers, and daughters can always be relied upon for emotional
support and services because women feel there is no restraint between
these kin (Yanagisako 1977, 210). The same is true for Malaysian
Chinese women’s relationships, which are described in this chapter.
By describing the Malaysian Chinese women’s realities of balancing
childcare in the hometown and wage labor in the cities by focusing on
a particular Chinese Malaysian family whose young family members
have migrated to the cities, I attempt to verify whether Yanagisako’s
argument of women-centered kin networks, which stress the central-
ity of women in the web of kinship, linking together sets of house-
holds in an urban community (Yanagisako 1977, 208), can be applied
to the case of patrilineal Chinese family in Malaysia.
The Migration System in Peninsular Malaysia

The city and the hometown are not oppositional or clearly divided for
Chinese Malaysians; rather, these places are closely related and tightly
interwoven. As Judith Strauch (1984) points out, “modern technol-
ogy and labor markets have not merely linked the two spheres but
have created a single social field in which mobile people live their lives
with one foot in each domain” (Strauch 1984, 60). These laborers do
not totally give up their hometowns after moving to the city. For these
people, the city and the hometown are interdependent. This chapter
closely examines Chinese Malaysian women’s strategies and choices in
child-rearing and wage-earning activities within a patrilineal system to
reconsider the family in modern Chinese Malaysian society.
The Chinese Malaysian population in Malaysia is concentrated in
the major urban centers such as Penang, Johor Bahru, and the Klang
Valley, which includes Kuala Lumpur and its rapidly developing sub-
urbs in the surrounding state of Selangor. In 2007, over seven million
people, that is, one-third of the domestic population of Malaysia, were
residing in Klang Valley. This tendency toward urban concentration is
apparent in every major ethnic group in Malaysia: Malay, Indian
Malaysian, and Chinese Malaysian; however, it is particularly remark-
able among Chinese Malaysians.
Before World War II, the mass of immigrant workers from China
and India who were working for the tin and rubber industry under
British colonial rule determined the population growth and distribu-
tion in Peninsular Malaysia. Most Chinese male workers originally
came from the southern province of China in the late nineteenth
R e a r i n g C h i l d r e n i n H o m e t ow n 125
century. After World War II, following the mass influx of immigrant
workers, natural population increase became the major cause of popu-
lation growth in the peninsula and the spatial distribution of the pop-
ulation was largely due to internal migration. The states of Selangor
and Pahang, located on the west coast of the peninsula, had been
major destinations for internal migrants. Selangor and Pahang were
historically the focus of Malay migrants, but between 1957 and 1970,
the volume of in-migration increased tremendously in response to the
government’s efforts toward rural development and the expansion of
industries that have been concentrated in these two states (Khoo and
Pirie 1984, 127). As Lee Boon Thong (2004) points out with the
support of statistical data, the proportion of the Chinese Malaysian
population residing in urban areas increased from 47 percent in 1970
to 86 percent in 2000 (Department of Statistics, Malaysia 2001).
Furthermore, about 65 percent of urban Chinese Malaysians are con-
centrated in the major cities, especially in Kuala Lumpur and the Klang
Valley (Lee 2004, 127). Nevertheless, although it is true that Chinese
Malaysians tend to reside in urban centers, they also cherish the
places—hometowns—they left behind and they try to keep strong ties
with their domestic natal places in Malaysia long after they have
moved to the cities. The motivations for urban migration are varied;
however, it is important to note the movements of Chinese Malaysians
are not single, one-way moves between two places, that is, from
hometowns they leave behind to cities in which they live as urban
workers. For Chinese Malaysians, the major reasons motivating them
to move back and forth frequently between two places include hold-
ing a family reunion dinner, tuanyuanfan, at the parental home on
Chinese New Year’s Eve; visiting their ancestors’ graves, saomu,
together with all the scattered family members on a day called Qing
Ming jie; and voting in an election at the place where they are regis-
tered as local voters. They try to keep both physical and emotional
connections with their hometowns after moving to cities.
Toward an Anthropological Understanding

of Migration and Place-making Practices
Before exploring the detailed descriptions, I would like to review
briefly the anthropological and human geographical literature about
migration to be able to explain clearly the scope of this chapter.
How do urban dwellers, who engage in wage labor in the city while
moving back and forth frequently between the two places, conceptual-
ize their hometown? Issues related to rural–urban migration have been
126 R yoko Sakurada
a major focus of anthropological and sociological literature and there

has been widespread recognition that migration is not a single, sole
movement, but rather a multiple and persisting process between cities
and hometowns. According to Marc Howard Ross and Thomas
Weisner’s discussion: “Rural and urban social systems, while spatially
separated, are often socially, economically, and politically interdepen-
dent. . . People seek to maximize relations in both places by using
resources derived from one setting to maximize relations in both places
by using resources derived from one setting to strengthen social ties and
make life more secure in the other” (Ross and Weisner 1977, 360–
361). Also Strauch states, “Mobile people live their lives with one foot
in each domain” (Strauch 1984, 60). Creating and maintaining social
networks through circular mobility between city and hometown is a
strategy of people who have migrated, especially women. Indeed, it is
important to indicate that the strong connection between a place and
mobile people may be strengthened by their strategic movements.
However, one’s emotional attachment to the place is another important
factor motivating them to go back and forth between several places.
According to Lee, who discusses the residential neighborhood
quality of urban Chinese communities in Malaysia (Lee 2004, 127):
Geographically, the spatial concentration of population would ordinarily pro-

vide increased opportunities for the formation of socially-coherent communi-
ties, as opposed to communities that are widely dispersed. The question is
whether, as the Chinese community moves into the cities, there is a greater
sense of “placeness” in their neighbourhoods than in their places of origin.
One may feel a nostalgic attachment to one’s hometown even after having
lived elsewhere for a long time.
Lee focuses on Chinese Malaysian’s emotional attachment to a partic-

ular place by using the terms “placeness” and “placelessness,” as well
as phenomenological concepts of space and place (see Relph 1976;
Tuan 1974, 1977). He emphasizes repeatedly that placeness may be
defined in terms of “belonging” to a residential neighborhood that
demands reciprocity of identity in terms of behavioral or interactive
responses. In this chapter, I will move my focus from the epistemo-
logical interpretation of place. That is to say, I would like to avoid
considering the meaning of place itself intentionally. Rather, my focus
will be on the events in which actors take part, the motivations for
moving between the city and hometown, and the process of such
movements. I will neither concentrate on interpreting the phenome-
non nor consider the meaning. Instead, I will focus on the social rela-
tionships that exist and that are enacted between participants in social
systems of various kinds. Emotional attachment to a place and the

sense of belonging, especially to a hometown, are surely important
factors to motivate someone who moves frequently between the city
and hometown; however, just trying to interpret their “emotions”
should be an anthropological dead end, as Alfred Gell indicated (Gell
1998, 5). We have to manifest the social process of circular move-
ments in action. In this way, this chapter focuses on the practices and
actions of mobile people, especially Chinese Malaysian women’s child-
rearing practices strategies and working styles.
In the following sections, I will try to reveal the social process of back
and forth movement between the city and hometown of two women.
The Background of the Study:

Tawar, the Hometown of Migrant Workers
A small township located in the northern part of the Malaysian state
of Johor, pseudonymously referred to as Tawar in this chapter, has
approximately 35,000 residences. Tawar is a typical community on the
west coast of Peninsular Malaysia, which is characterized by a com-
paratively large Chinese Malaysian population.1
After the completion in 1994 of the North–South highway
(Lebuhraya Utara-Selatan), which penetrates Peninsular Malaysia and
connects major cities in West Malaysia, urban centers such as Melaka
(Malacca), Klang Valley, and Johor Bahru became conveniently acces-
sible from Tawar. Now these urban centers are physically and psycho-
logically close to the Tawar residential areas.
Tawar has long been considered one of the traditional sources of
the workforce for Singapore.2 Now, however, Tawar is sending its
young workforce not only to Singapore but also to neighboring cities
such as Melaka, Johor Bahru, and the Klang Valley. Using the North–
South Highway, it takes about two hours to travel to the Klang Valley,
two and half hours to Johor Bahru, and half an hour to Melaka.
For the young generation, migrant work (waidi gongzuo) is becoming
a relatively popular phenomenon. An assembly member of the local
state legislature once commented in a local Chinese newspaper that
the constant lack of a workforce in the community is a big social prob-
lem in Tawar (Sin Chew Jit Poh 2006).
An Outline of Two Women in the T AN Family

This chapter focuses on two women who are in different social posi-
tions in relation to the Tan family3: one is a daughter and the other is
a daughter-in-law (see Table 7.1).
128 R yoko Sakurada
Table 7.1 Outline of the Two Women’s Social Backgrounds in 2009
Pseudonym Yong Hui
Social position in Tan’s Daughter Daughter-in-law

family
Age Early 30s Late 20s
Educational background Master’s degree Finished middle school
Occupation Public school teacher Part-time jobs
Monthly wage RM 2000 RM 600 average
(approx. USD 640) (approx. USD 190)
Current place of residence Klang Valley Johor Bahru
Year of residency in the city 5 10
Children Son (4 years old) Sons (7 years old and
3 years old)
Yong is the eldest daughter of the Tans who married into the
Wongs in 2004. Hui is a daughter-in-law of the Tans who married in
from the Voons, who reside in the same housing estate as the Tans in
Tawar. As their houses are located within walking distance of each
other, the proximity of the Tans and the Voons is remarkable.
I have visited Tawar repeatedly since 2000 and carried out exten-
sive fieldwork over 15 months from January 2004 to March 2006.
The ethnographic description and data I will refer to in this chapter
were mostly obtained during this period of fieldwork; however, some
data were collected during my other periods of fieldwork conducted
between 2000 and 2010.4
Daily Practices of Women Who Have

Migrated Out
Case 1: The Tans’ Daughter-in-law in Johor Bahru
Hui’s husband Ahkun is in his 30s, and is the only son of the Tans.
He has been working in Singapore as an air-conditioning unit
installation worker since 1997. He was introduced to this job by his
best friend Ahbee who is Hui’s elder brother and the second son of
the Voons. Ahkun and Ahbee were good friends from their school
days in Tawar. Before beginning to work in Singapore, they did
some jobs in Tawar, working as sales persons of video CDs, local
vegetables, and so on, and they frequently went out to drink beer
together with other friends. After their working situation in
Singapore was settled, Ahkun, Ahbee, and Ahbee’s younger brother
began to share a flat in Johor Bahru and commuted to Singapore
daily in Ahkun’s car.
Ahkun and Hui had been dating since they were in middle school
in Tawar. Their relationship was very stable because her brother’s
friendship with Ahkun allowed Hui to see her boyfriend without her
parents worrying. After a long, steady relationship, they registered
their marriage at the Hokkien Association, the Chinese dialect group’s
social association in Johor Bahru in 1999, after saving enough money;
later, they had a traditional wedding ceremony and banquet in Tawar
in 2001. Hui also moved to Johor Bahru and into her brothers and
husband’s house. This situation continued until the married couple
acquired a new low-cost flat in Johor Bahru in 2007, where they con-
tinue to live today.
Their first child, Ahwee, was born in the summer of 2002. After
giving birth to Ahwee in the maternity hospital in Tawar, Hui spent
her one-month postnatal period, her zuoyuezi, in her marital family
home, with the Tans. After one month, Hui returned to Johor Bahru
with her husband and left her baby behind. Ahwee would be looked
after by Ahkun’s mother and his unmarried younger sister, Lee. Even
after having a child, Hui and Ahkun have been working in Johor
Bahru and spending their time as a carefree young couple, having left
their child in their hometown.
In this case, the “virtue of good motherhood” or a strong norm for
motherhood (Ochiai et al. 2008, 42) that only mothers should take on
the heavy responsibilities of child rearing does not exist. Child rearing is
not viewed as the sole responsibility of the mother, but a shared respon-
sibility with her child’s patrilineal kinship members. In the absence of a
motherhood norm, which urges mothers to look after their children
alone, it is common for mothers to continue to work outside while rely-
ing on some form of outsourcing of childcare, such as a nursing mother
or cooperation of other family members. Ahwee has been raised by the
female members of the Tans family, his grandmother and paternal aunt,
from the moment of his birth in 2002 until today.
Case 2: A Daughter of the Voons in Tawar

Hui’s older sister Ahpei lives with her parents, younger sister, and
children in her natal home. Ahpei’s husband also migrated to Johor
Bahru; however, as Ahpei manages her own beauty salon in her natal
home, she stays with her own family members and her husband comes
back to Tawar every weekend.
In November 2004, Ahpei gave birth to her third child. Just before
her sister’s delivery, Hui terminated her short-term labor contract
with an electronic factory in Johor Bahru and returned to her home
130 R yoko Sakurada
to help her elder sister. Hui stayed a few months in Tawar and took
over her sister’s position in the beauty salon.
At this time, Hui’s only son, Ahwee, was just two years old and was
still being raised by his grandmother and paternal aunt. Hui’s return
to Tawar seemed to be a good opportunity for the child and mother
to spend time together; however, Hui had not come back to Tawar to
take care of her son. During the day, she worked at her sister’s salon,
and after 6 or 7 p.m., she returned to her husband’s home to have
supper. Sometimes she went back to the salon to finish with custom-
ers again after supper. Even though she was back in Tawar, she spent
most of her time in her parental home and did not take care of her
own child.
Me: So you quit your job in Johor Bahru. But why? Why did you
decide to help your elder sister?
Hui: Since Ahpei (elder sister) is pregnant and she is not able to work
as usual, she needs help. If she is not supported by anyone, the
salon must be closed temporarily. If you close the salon even for a
while, you need to spend much money to give reopening treats to
neighbors. So I made up my mind to help my sister for a while.
Furthermore, it won’t be so long.
Me: Until when do you work as hair stylist in Tawar?
Hui: For some more months I will be here, and then I will go back to
Johor Bahru.
(November 28, 2004)
This case shows that even a married woman can maintain a very
strong connection with a natal family member, especially with her
female siblings, even in the patriarchal social system. The mutual aid
of sisters is very strong and sometimes supersedes their bonds with
their own children.
Case 3: The Tan’s Daughter in Klang Valley

Yong is the Tan family’s eldest daughter. After finishing a master’s
course at the prestigious national university in Penang, she had been
trying to find a position teaching mathematics in a high school in
Singapore. However, as her health was not good enough to allow her
to live by herself at that time, she managed to find a part-time position
teaching mathematics at a Chinese primary school in Tawar. Tawar is
a relatively small community, so there is no Chinese middle school.
Thus, Yong had no choice but to stay in Tawar as a part-time primary
school teacher.
After some time in Tawar, Yong was introduced to Xiu, a marriage

candidate, in Kuala Lumpur by a close friend. Xiu was originally from
the neighboring community and worked for a private college in Kuala
Lumpur as an administrator. After getting on well for over a year,
Yong and Xiu got engaged. After their engagement, Yong found a
teaching position at a middle school in Klang Valley so they could live
together in Kuala Lumpur.
Xiu’s parents had already passed away and he has no siblings either.
His paternal uncle and aunts still live in his hometown; however, Xiu
seldom returns except at Chinese New Year. However, Yong and Xiu
often participate in Yong’s natal family events, such as a party celebrat-
ing her father’s sixtieth birthday, along with other members of the
Tan family.
Yong gave birth to her son Ahboo in 2005. She spent her postnatal
period in her natal home during her two-month maternity leave.
In Klang Valley, it was quite difficult for her to work full-time while
raising a child, as she was comparatively new to the city and she did not
know anyone she could trust to look after her child. Therefore, Yong
decided to find a nursing mother, known as a baomu in Tawar. She
found a baomu in her mid-60s who was an acquaintance of her mother
and lived in the same housing estate as the Tans. The basic contract
between Yong and the baomu was 24-hour care for the child on week-
days only at a cost of about RM 600 (approximately USD 190) per
month. In this way, Yong left her child to the baomu to be raised in
her hometown and retained her job in the city.
After finding a secure place to raise their child in Yong’s hometown,
Yong and Xiu went back to Tawar every second weekend. They took
Ahboo back from the baomu’s place and spent their weekends at the
Tans’. Then on Sunday evening, they would leave Ahboo at the bao-
mu’s and head back to Klang Valley. This routine of circular movement
lasted for a year until Yong found a baomu in Klang Valley. One day
before she found a baomu in the city, I had this conversation with her:
Yong: Sometimes I feel so depressed because I cannot see my son on

weekdays.
Me: Isn’t there any good baomu who will take care of Ahboo in Klang
Valley, nearby your place?
Yong: There surely must be tons of baomu in Klang Valley. But, well, I
don’t know any of them whom I can trust; whom I can leave my
sweet Ahboo with for 24 hours. It is bit bothersome to come and go
frequently to raise Ahboo, however, aunty Tey (pseudonym of baomu)
is the only solution for me to keep both: my job and my child.
(Evening of September 8, 2005)
132 R yoko Sakurada
Around Chinese New Year in 2006, Hui was expecting to give birth
to her second child. This time, Hui was expected to raise her second
child by herself in Tawar. I participated in the following conversation
on the Tans’ terrace, right after Yong and Xiu had left Tawar for Klang
Valley, about four months before Hui was due to give birth.
Mother: To tell the truth, I really don’t mind looking after Hui’s sec-
ond child here. I’ve already raised Ahwee. Taking care of one boy or
two boys at the same time is no difference.
Me: What do you mean by saying “don’t mind”?
Lee: Well, my mom has already refused to look after Yong’s son here
because she is too tired to take care of two kids at the same time! So
I insist that mom should not take Hui’s second son here. It is not
fair. If Hui wants to return to Johor Bahru again after her labor,
then she should find a baomu here or there as Yong was forced to do.
Yong might be angry if you (mother) take Hui’s second child here.
Mother: It is so true that I might not have enough time to play mah-
jong with friends if I take another child of Hui’s here. But . . .
(10 p.m. of September 8, 2005)
This case suggests that a woman who lacks the support of her marital
family maintained a strong relationship with her natal family in order to
gain her mother’s cooperation in raising her child. However her mother
preferred to look after her son’s child under the influence of a prefer-
ence for the patrilineal descendant. However, Yong did not give up.
She asked her mother to find a baomu, and she found a way to raise a
child by outsourcing with the cooperation of her natal community.
Everything seemed to go smoothly until her sister-in-law became
pregnant with her second child. Tension arose between mother and
daughters, as well as between mother-in-law and daughter-in-law over
bringing up the children.
Case 4: The Tans’ Daughter-in-law in Johor Bahru

Hui gave birth to her second child, Ahyu, in a hospital in Melaka in
January 2006, and she spent her postnatal period in her natal home,
with the Voons, before going back to Johor Bahru. This time, she left
Ahyu with her elder sister, Ahpei.
Me: When Hui gave birth to Ahwee, she spent her postnatal period here
(at the Tans’). But this time she is not here but at the Voons’. Why?
Lee: I have no idea. That was totally Hui’s own decision.
(January 30, 2006)
As seen in Case 3, Hui’s second child was not looked after at the Tans
but raised by her natal female network: her elder sister, Ahpei, and her
mother. After the birth, Hui and Ahkun come back from Johor Bahru
fortnightly to spend time with their children. Once they arrive at the
housing estate in Tawar, they drop by Hui’s natal home first to pick
up Ahyu and then return to the Tans’. They spend their family time
together until around 9 p.m., and then Hui takes Ahyu to her natal
home and she returns to her marital home by herself to sleep. Ahwee
is taken upstairs to sleep by his grandmother. Though Ahwee and
Ahyu are siblings, they do not share the same social world: one is
being raised by his mother’s marital home and the other is being
raised by his mother’s natal home.
In this way, tensions between daughter and mother, as well as
between daughter-in-law and mother-in-law, were evaded. However,
Hui, who wanted to work in Johor Bahru to save money and enjoy
her independence from her marital family, needed a place to raise her
second child. As seen in Case 2, Hui had been very earnest about
maintaining her mutual aid relationship with her elder sister; helping
her sister eventually meant helping herself.
Discussion: How the Sense of Place

Emerged along with Child Rearing
The Case of the Tans’ Daughter: Building
Social Relationships in the City
As seen in the previous section, Yong raised her son Ahboo in Tawar
even though she had married and lived in Klang Valley. Her decision
to bring up her child utilizing the nursing mother system indicates
that her social world was mainly constructed in Tawar, not in the city
to which she had moved. Her practice of frequently visiting her natal
home before having a child was indeed an important place-making
practice, as she had no other place to rely on. Through her circular
movements between the city and her hometown, her unstable social
position as an urban newcomer could be overcome.
As a newcomer to the city, Yong could not find a suitable nursing
mother. However, after one year of raising Ahboo in her home-
town, she finally found a suitable person in the city through the
recommendation of a Malay colleague in the middle school where
she worked.
Eventually, Yong and Xiu bought a middle-cost housing unit in a
suburban area of Klang Valley where many civil servants reside. Yong
134 R yoko Sakurada
said, “Here in this housing estate, my Ahboo can communicate with

other kinds of people, not only in Chinese, but also in other lan-
guages like Malay and English! See, this is good place for early
education.” Yong, Xiu, and Ahboo’s visits to Tawar have gradually
reduced to about once a month. They are gradually growing accus-
tomed to the city.
The Case of the Tans’ Daughter-in-law:

Building Social Relationships in the Hometown
Yong has been gradually developing her social networks in the city.
In contrast, Hui has kept strong ties with her natal home and she has
built her social networks mainly in Tawar. As already seen, Hui’s work
style is flexible. She engages in short-term labor contracts, such as
working at a textile mill, in electronics factories, and as a shop sales
assistant, so she was able to respond to her elder sister Ahpei’s request
for help.
Compared to Yong, who has a good educational background and
works as a public employee, Hui’s working conditions are not so good.
Her working pattern itself could be considered part of her strategy.
By choosing this working pattern, she can maintain a strong mutual
aid relationship with her natal home and her own sister.
Hui did not intend to raise her children in Johor Bahru. Ahkun and
Hui think that a big city such as Johor Bahru is not a good place to
bring up children. Ahkun’s mother also mentioned that children
should be raised in a calm place like Tawar. They emphasized that
their life is made up of circular movements that connect the city and
their hometown. Johor Bahru is not the place to build their perma-
nent home. It is the place for earning money for their family that has
been left behind in the hometown. However, at the same time
Tawar is not the place to make their living and it is a boring place to
spend their time, as there is neither an entertainment district nor
shopping malls.
In 2007, Ahkun and Hui finally bought a low-cost flat in Johor
Bahru. However, the flat was not obtained with the intention of tak-
ing up permanent residence in the city. There is no altar of the ances-
tors and gods in their new flat in the city. This practice strongly
suggests that their flat in Johor Bahru is a temporal space. They said
it was wasteful to pay rent for so long. Ahkun needs to go back to
Tawar repeatedly to accomplish his ritual, social, and symbolic obliga-
tions, as the couple’s social networks are woven mainly in their
hometown.
Conclusion
In this chapter, I explored and clarified the essence of place and the
reality of bringing up children among Chinese Malaysians who have
moved out to cities by discussing in detail one Chinese Malaysian fam-
ily’s circular movement and child-rearing practices from the stand-
points of two women: a daughter-in-law and a daughter of the same
family. From the cases indicated above, I can summarize characteris-
tics of child-rearing practices among the rural Chinese community in
Malaysia as follows:
1. Young mothers are preferred to urban paid labor for child rearing.
2. Child rearing is done by retired mothers-in-law or the natal moth-
ers of the young mothers; in case of no relatives taking care of
child, a nursing mother’s help is utilized.
3. Even after marrying out, the daughter’s strong connection with
her natal home (especially female members of the family) is signifi-
cant in her child-rearing decisions.
The cases described in this chapter show that the decisions of where
to raise a child are largely influenced by the mother’s personal back-
ground and the social networks built up through women-centered
relations. Yong graduated from a prestigious university with a master’s
degree and became a middle school teacher. As she is fluent in Malay,
English, and Chinese, she uses several languages and has many friends
from diverse cultural backgrounds. In contrast, after graduating from
middle school, Hui experienced various work environments, such as
working in a large factory, being a sales assistant in a perfume shop in
a glamorous shopping center in Johor Bahru, and helping her elder
sister in her family’s small hair salon. Compared to Yong, she has deep
roots in her hometown. Though she is a Malaysian national, Hui
understands only minimal Malay, which is the national language of
Malaysia; she even misunderstands the meaning of local place-names.
Even though Hui lives in the city most of the time, she is cocooned by
her social network, which is tightly built around her husband, natal
home, married home, and close friends back in her hometown. After
frequent movements between the city and her hometown, Yong has
begun to expand her social networks in the city, whereas Hui contin-
ues her circular movements to maintain and strengthen her social net-
works in her hometown.
As Janet Carsten (2000) argued by using the anthropological term
“relatedness,” family or kinship is not a given condition by blood.
136 R yoko Sakurada
New environments may develop alternative connections and new gen-

der roles. As noted above, Maurice Freedman’s “lineage paradigm” (see
Freedman 1958, 1966; Stafford 2000) is quite influential even today for
anthropologists to view Chinese societies as patrilineal static societies.
Patrilineal ideology is paramount in Chinese social organization.
However, this ideology has two sides: ideals and realities. As indi-
cated above, the Malaysian Chinese society still has a strong sense of
patrilineal ideology. However, they have to respond flexibly by utiliz-
ing nonpatrilineal relationships, such as sisterhood, natal family coop-
eration, and outsourcing resources, as priority is given to wage-earning
activities done by women, besides domestic chores.
Examining dynamic movements between cities and hometowns
and flexible child-rearing practices among Chinese Malaysian women
enriches the anthropological discussion of kinship and gender. By col-
lecting and analyzing detailed ethnographic data, we could develop
our argument of the study of Chinese kinship beyond the purely offi-
cial model of describing changing social relationships in urban indus-
trial societies, and venturing into the realm of practical kinship.
Notes
1 By comparison, in the state of Johor, Malay (Bumiputera) make up 57.1%,
Chinese Malaysians make up 35.4%, and Indian Malaysians make up 6.9%
of the total population (Department of Statistics, Malaysia 2000). Tawar’s
Chinese Malaysian population is quite large as approximately 56.5%
(Sin Chew Jit Poh 2008).
2 Johor has been considered as a traditional source supplying the labor
force to Singapore which has constantly faced labor shortages after being
separated from the federation of Malaya and becoming independent.
While Malaysia is considered to be a traditional source, labor forces from
Indonesia, Thailand, Sri Lanka, India, and Bangladesh are considered as
nontraditional (Ishii 1999, 157–158).
3 All names used in this chapter are pseudonymous.
4 My fieldwork was carried out over a five-month long period from November
2000 to April 2001, and two- to three-week long periods in July 2003,
February 2007, March 2008, February 2009 and February 2010. I am
conducting continuous fieldwork in the same site until today; however I
have not included data collected after 2010 in this chapter.
References
Carsten, Janet. 2000. “Introduction: Cultures of Relatedness.” In Cultures of
Relatedness: New Approaches to the Study of Kinship, edited by Janet
Carsten, 1–36. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.
Department of Statistics, Malaysia. 2000. Social Statistics Bulletin Malaysia.

Putrajaya: Department of Statistics of Malaysia.
Department of Statistics, Malaysia. 2001. Population and Housing Census of
Malaysia 2000: Population Distribution and Basic Demographic Charac-
teristics. Putrajaya: Department of Statistics of Malaysia.
Freedman, Maurice. 1958. Lineage Organization in Southeastern China.
London: Athlone Press.
Freedman, Maurice. 1966. Chinese Lineage and Society: Fukien and Kwang
tung. London: Athlone Press.
Gell, Alfred. 1998. Art and Agency: An Anthropological Theory. Oxford:
Clarendon Press.
Ishii, Yuka. 1999. Esunikku Kankei to Hito no Kokusai Idou: Gendai Mareisia
no Kajin no Sentaku [Ethnic Relations and International Migration in
Malaysia: The Choice of Chinese Malaysians]. Tokyo: Kokusai Shoin
(in Japanese).
Judd, Ellen R. 1989. “Niangjia: Chinese Women and Their Natal Families.”
The Journal of Asian Studies 48(3): 525–544.
Khoo, Siew-Ean and Peter Pirie. 1984. “Female Rural-to-Urban Migration in
Peninsular Malaysia.” In Women in the Cities of Asia: Migration and Urban
Adaptation, edited by James T. Fawcett, Siew-Ean Khoo and Peter C. Smith,
125–142. Boulder, CO: Westview Press.
Lee, Boon Thong. 2004. “‘Placelessness’: A Study of Residential
Neighbourhood Quality among Chinese Communities in Malaysian
Cities.” In The Chinese Population in Malaysia: Trends and Issues, edited
by Voon Phin Keong, 125–134. Kuala Lumpur: Centre for Malaysian
Chinese Studies.
Ochiai, Emiko, Mari, Yamane, Yasuko Miyasaka, Weihong Zhou, Setsuko
Onode, Nachiko Kiwaki, Michiyo Fujita and Sang Ook Hong. 2008.
“Gender Roles and Childcare Networks in East and Southeast Asian
Societies.” In Asia’s New Mothers: Crafting Gender Roles and Childcare
Networks in East and Southeast Asian Societies, edited by Emiko Ochiai and
Barbara Molony, 31–70. Kent: Global Oriental.
Relph, Edward. 1976. Place and Placelessness. London: Pion.
Ross, Marc H. and Thomas S. Weisner. 1977. “The Rural-Urban Migrant
Network in Kenya: Some General Implications.” American Ethnologist
4(2): 359–375.
Sin Chew Jit Poh. 2006. September 5, Johor Edition (in Chinese).
Sin Chew Jit Poh. 2008. March 3, Johor Edition (in Chinese).
Stafford, Charles. 2000. “Chinese Patriliny and the Cycles of Yang and
Laiwang.” In Cultures of Relatedness: New Approaches to the Study of Kinship,
edited by Janet Carsten, 37–54. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.
Strauch, Judith. 1984. “Women in Rural-Urban Circulation Networks:
Implications for Social Structural Change.” In Women in the Cities of Asia:
Migration and Urban Adaptation, edited by James T. Fawcett, Siew-Ean
Khoo and Peter C. Smith, 60–77. Boulder, CO: Westview Press.
138 R yoko Sakurada
Tuan, Yi-Fu. 1974. Topophilia: A Study of Environmental Perception, Attitudes

and Values. Englewood Cliffs, NJ: Prentice-Hall.
Tuan, Yi-Fu. 1977. Space and Place: The Perspective of Experience. Minneapolis,
MN: University of Minnesota Press.
Yanagisako, Sylvia Junko. 1977. “Women-centered Kin Networks in Urban
Bilateral Kinship.” American Ethnologist 4(2): 207–226.
Chapter 8
A Concer ned Mother of the Souls

in the House: The Agency of
Vietnamese Elderly Women Who
Live Alone in Their Home Vill ages
Atsufumi Kato
Introduction
In Vietnam, as rural–urban migration increases (Luong 2009; Luong
ed. 2009), many elderly people are “left behind” (Giang and Pfau
2007a) or even choose to live alone in their home villages. As the
number of elderly people living apart from their children increases,
many kinds of living arrangements for the elderly have grown, which
also require appropriate narratives. As Hy V. Luong argues, narratives
on migration by migrants and migrant-receiving areas are usually
based on a shared model and moral framework of filial children and
caring parents, which are embedded within migration decisions and
negotiation among family members (2012, 109–110). To understand
these elderly people’s living arrangements and their narratives, this
chapter analyzes the Vietnamese elderly’s self-representation as care-
givers, the identity they use to justify their living arrangements. Their
position as caregivers encompasses not only their roles in caring for
family members but also to their broader concern for things around
them, including the house, the garden, and religious activities.
140 A t s u f u m i K at o
This chapter is centered on elderly women’s concerns regarding

the altars in their houses and shows that taking care of the souls of
deceased family members, which are believed to be bound to the
altar in the original house, is an important factor in their decision
to remain behind in the village. This is also an acceptable reason to
a community where having the elderly living on their own is an
anomaly. Caring for the souls of deceased family members, espe-
cially husbands and children who died in the Vietnam War, is one
of the most acceptable excuses for elderly women to live alone.
I suggest that it is necessary to investigate more carefully the repre-
sentation of caring mothers/wives that enables elderly women’s
self-determination, on the one hand, and functions as an image
that reinforces the gendered ideology of womanhood and caring,
on the other.
Based on sociological works on elderly people’s living arrange-
ments in Vietnam, as well as my long-term ethnographic field research
in a village in North-Central Vietnam since 2002, this chapter pro-
vides a clinical analysis of the case of an elderly woman who chose to
live alone in her home village to take care of the altars of her husband
and sons. I do not intend to provide a whole picture or a prototype of
elderly Vietnamese people who live alone based on her case. Rather, I
study the case to consider how a particular elderly person portrays
herself, a facet which cannot appear in statistical data on social secu-
rity. From the elderly’s point of view, where to live and whom to live
with is a complicated decision that takes into account social norms of
filial piety, the idealized reciprocal and intimate relationship of inter-
generational exchanges, elderly people’s desire for independence, and
the ideologies of caring and relatedness, among others. People require
acceptable reasoning to justify their chosen living arrangements as
well as family members’ decisions regarding living arrangements for
aged parents.
In this chapter, I purposely refer to works of Vietnamese schol-
ars because, as Mai Huy Bich (2011) indicates, works on the elderly
by Vietnamese scholars have investigated the actual situations of
the elderly in Vietnam, revealing nuances in their living arrange-
ments better than foreign researchers’ works, which relied mainly
on statistical data analysis. Referring to these Vietnamese works
exclusively will thus prove most beneficial to the study of the
Vietnamese elderly (for reviewing English articles, see Giang and
Pfau 2007b).
A C o n c e r n e d M o t h e r o f t h e S o u l s i n t h e H o u s e 141
Aging, Migration, and the Living

Arrangements of the Elderly in Vietnam
In Vietnam, the number of the elderly who live alone has been
increasing. The percentage of elderly population (persons aged 60
and over) in 2009 was 9 percent, and has been increasing year by year
(Table 8.1). Most elderly people are still living in rural areas. The
percentage of elderly people living in rural areas was 78 percent in
1992–1993 and 73 percent in 2008 (Table 8.2). The percentage of
elderly people living with children remains dominant but decreased
from about 80 percent in 1992–1993 to 62 percent in 2008. The
percentage of elderly households with only elderly couples increased
from 9.48 percent in 1992–1993 to 21.47 percent in 2008, while the
percentage of elderly people living alone increased from 3.47 percent
to 6.14 percent during the same period (Table 8.3).
Table 8.1 Age Structure of the Vietnamese Population, 1979–2009
Number of persons (millions) Percentage of the total population
Year Total 0–14 15–59 60+ 0–14 15–59 60+
1979 53.74 23.4 26.63 3.71 41.8 51.3 6.9

1989 64.38 24.98 34.76 4.64 39.2 53.6 7.2
1999 76.33 25.56 44.58 6.19 33 58.9 8.1
2009 85.79 21.45 56.62 7.72 25 66 9
Source: UNFPA (2011, 17)
Table 8.2 Distribution of the Elderly Population by Area (Percent)
Year 1992/93 1997/98 2002 2004 2006 2008
Rural 77.73 76.06 76.83 73.33 72.3 72.49

Urban 22.27 23.94 23.17 26.67 27.7 27.51
Table 8.3 Living Arrangements of the Elderly in Vietnam, 1992/93–2008 (Percent)
Year 1992/93 1997/98 2002 2004 2006 2008
With children 79.73 74.48 74.27 70.65 63.74 62.61

Living alone 3.47 4.93 5.29 5.62 5.91 6.14
Only elderly couple 9.48 12.73 12.48 14.41 20.88 21.47
With grandchildren 0.68 0.74 0.82 1.09 1.16 1.41
Other 6.64 7.12 7.14 8.23 8.31 8.37
Total 100 100 100 100 100 100
Older women are more likely than men to be living alone (8 percent
versus 3 percent) (Friedman et al. 2002, 4). This is due to the natural
demographic difference of mortality among men and women as well
as the 30-year Vietnam War in which Vietnamese women experienced
early widowhood, non-marriage, and a high child mortality rate
(Barbieri 2009, 145). Researchers on the elderly in Vietnam argue
that while the percentage of elderly dependents has been declining,
rural–urban migration has resulted in the increase of elderly people
being “left behind” to live alone, which is often understood as a social
security risk (Barbieri 2009, 160; Giang and Pfau 2007a). The main
revenue of Vietnamese elderly people comes from agricultural pro-
duction, pensions, social security benefits, support from children, and
business income from the nonagricultural sector. The importance of
family support, especially of remittance, has been increasing due to
the weakening of the state and social welfare systems (Le Ngoc Lan
et al. 2011, 70; Pfau and Giang 2009, 7–8).
Vietnamese women rely more on social security benefits than pen-
sions (Bui The Cuong 2000, 31; Nhom Nghien Cuu Van Phong
Trung Uong HLHPN Viet Nam 2005, 36). This suggests that when
elderly women in rural areas, most of whom do not receive pensions,
are unable to engage in agricultural production, they have to rely
heavily on family support and insufficient social security benefits.
A nationwide survey on elderly women conducted by the Women’s
Union indicates that most of the elderly women living alone are in
difficult economic conditions as compared to other elderly persons
(Nhom Nghien Cuu Van Phong Trung Uong HLHPN Viet Nam
2005, 34; see also Le Thi 2008).
However, if we focus exclusively on the predicaments of elderly
women living alone, we fail to capture the possibility that these elderly
women have decided to live alone based on their own prerogative. It
is necessary to explore the aspects surrounding the active agencies of
elderly women by conceiving of living alone as a chosen way of life.
The “Typical” Living Arrangement in

Vietnamese Rural Society
As there is a wide range of regional differences in Vietnam (Bélanger
2000), I limit my argument in this chapter to Northern and North-
Central Vietnam. In both these regions, property rights and the obli-
gation for ancestor worship are inherited in patrilineal lines. Property
is divided evenly among sons (daughters are also included if the family
is rich), and ancestor worship is the eldest son’s obligation. However,
the cohabitation of aged parents with the eldest son is not a prevailing
norm (Nhom Nghien Cuu ve Nguoi Gia o An Dien 1992, 17). When
a son gets married, his parents give him a piece of land and materials
to build his house. Theoretically, when all the sons and daughters get
married, only aged parents remain in the house; it is rare that more
than one couple lives in one house. Cohabitation occurs mainly in two
situations. The first is the cohabitation of a newly married couple with
the groom’s parents for several months, allowing the bride to get used
to life in the village and her husband’s kinship relations, as well as
allowing the young couple to prepare to move to their new house.
The other potential situation of cohabitation occurs when an aged
father or mother dies. In this case, one of the sons usually lives with
the mother or father in the son’s house or in the parents’ house. In
Northern and North-Central Vietnam, the cohabitation of parents
with a married daughter is rare, though married daughters usually visit
their parents quite often to provide any required support (Barbieri
2009, 155; Bui The Cuong 1992, 23).
In Southern Vietnam, living arrangements are more flexible. Even
the cohabitation of aged parents and the married daughter’s family
can be seen here. People place greater emphasis on the freedom of the
elderly. Local people often say that parents can enjoy more freedom in
selecting their living arrangements. Further, in Southern Vietnam, the
percentage of elderly people living only with a spouse is also higher
than in Northern Vietnam (Be Quynh Nga 2001, 31–32).
The Flexibility of the Elderly’s

Living Arrangements
According to a recent nationwide survey, more than half of both the
younger and the elderly generations in Vietnam think it is ideal for the
elderly to live with their children even if they are still young enough
to live independently. This percentage is higher in rural areas. The
major reason for advocating living together is to meet the practical
needs of supporting each other, while a small number of people
explain it as a traditional norm (Le Ngoc Lan et al. 2011, 56–57).
In practice, the majority of elderly persons in villages in Northern
Vietnam live with one of their adult children, especially with a son
(Nhom Nghien Cuu ve Nguoi Gia o An Dien 1992, 17; UNFPA
2011, 22; Vu Hoa Thach 1997, 63). However, many elderly persons
prefer to live independently as long as possible (Nhom Nghien Cuu ve
Nguoi Gia o An Dien 1992, 17–18; Vu Hoa Thach 1997, 64).
Therefore, there are many types of middle-course solutions, such as
“living together but eating separately” (Nguyen Thi Phuong 1997,

99–100). “Quasi-cohabitation” is another solution commonly seen in
rural areas in Northern Vietnam, where there are many elderly per-
sons living independently in villages with their adult children living
close by (Bui The Cuong et al. 1999, 14; Hirschman and Vu Manh
Loi 1996; Le Manh Nam 2001, 70; Nhom Nghien Cuu ve Nguoi Gia
o An Dien 1992, 17; Vu Hoa Thach 1997, 64). This kind of “quasi-
cohabitation” also has the effect of breaking up responsibilities among
the children caring for aged parents (Le Manh Nam 2001, 70). If we
consider “quasi-cohabitation” as a kind of co-residence, the percent-
age of the elderly living alone, especially in rural areas, reduces greatly.
One of the most interesting observations gained during the study
was the flexibility of the elderly’s living arrangements. While foreign
scholars are interested in depicting the Vietnamese family model and
discussing whether it is closer to the Confucian patrilineal family
model or the Southeast Asian bilateral family model, Vietnamese
scholars reveal that the Vietnamese family is constantly rearranged
according to people’s everyday convenience. Living arrangements are
often rearranged following socioeconomic conditions as well as the
life-course of each family. Before the dissolution of agricultural collec-
tives, cohabitation was more popular in rural areas than it is today, but
it was not because of the Confucian ideology of “four generations
under the same house” (tu dai dong duong), but instead because of
economic hardships during that period (Le Manh Nam 2001, 69).
It is also probable that the sudden increase in independent elderly
households from the beginning of the 1990s in rural areas was a prac-
tical tactic used to increase land allocation under the implementation
of the new land law (Le Manh Nam 2001, 64–66). In recent years,
co-residence of the elderly with their children has occurred when it is
necessary to “substitute” (bo khuyet) for missing family members, such
as when an aged father dies or a divorced daughter comes home with
her children (Le Manh Nam 2001, 66–67). In practice, the cohabita-
tion of multiple generations is a tentative stage in the lifecycle of a
household, as mentioned above, or a living arrangement adopted by
families undergoing difficult economic conditions. The elderly even
“strategically” delay deciding whom to live with until the last moment
so that they can judge which child is capable of taking care of them
(Be Quynh Nga 2005, 66–67). In this respect, living alone can also be
understood as a positive, convenient decision.
However, the living arrangements of the elderly also involve ideo-
logical issues. Especially in rural areas in Northern and North-Central
Vietnam, this arrangement is still irregular and excuses are often required
to explain it. For instance, young people often half-jokingly say that
elderly Vietnamese prefer to live alone for “independence, freedom,
and happiness” (doc lap, tu do, hanh phuc), borrowing from one of the
most famous slogans of the Socialist Republic of Vietnam.
Intergenerational Exchanges and

the Elderly as Caregivers
In recent years, both Vietnamese and foreign researchers have investi-
gated the elderly’s living arrangements in Vietnam from the viewpoint
of intergenerational exchange. These studies argue that intergenera-
tional exchanges are conducted frequently between aged parents and
their children in the form of agricultural labor exchanges, nursing of
grandchildren, and housekeeping.
Elderly women, especially, are often viewed by their families as an
important labor force (Duong Chi Thien 1994, 92–93). In rural
areas, family members see 54 percent of elderly women between 51
and 60 years as a labor force. Meanwhile, 30 percent of elderly women
between 61 and 70 years and 11 percent of elderly women between
71 and 80 years are seen as a labor force. Their major jobs are cooking
(89.7 percent), caring for grandchildren (46.3 percent), and raising
livestock (47.1 percent) (Nhom Nghien Cuu Van Phong Trung Uong
HLHPN Viet Nam 2005, 36; for intergenerational exchanges, see
also Le Ngoc Lan et al. 2011, 60, 64). However, this kind of mutual
exchange is not always successful. Some of the elderly perceived these
kinds of “labor exchanges” (doi cong) as burdensome (Le Ngoc Lan
et al. 2011, 67; Vu Hoa Thach 1992, 49).
One of the reasons intergenerational exchanges fail is that in many
cases, people provide care for others not as a return service but as a
one-way offering. The main idea behind intergenerational exchange
theory is to understand the relationship between the younger genera-
tion and the older generation through a “give-and-take” relationship.
This kind of give-and-take relationship may be successful, but in many
cases, there is a gap between what the younger generation wants to
provide in exchange for what they expect from their parents and what
the elderly generation wants for itself.
Case Studies
I have conducted my anthropological fieldwork on local self-gover-
nance in T Commune in Ha Tinh Province, North-Central Vietnam,
since 2002. T Commune is located in a lowland area 10 km from the
capital of Ha Tinh Province. The commune’s population was approxi-

mately 5,600 in 2013, and the residents are Kinh, the ethnic majority
of Vietnam. The majority of residents are small farmers.
Ha Tinh Province is the birthplace of the communist movement in
Vietnam and belonged to the Democratic Republic of Vietnam
(North Vietnam) during the Vietnam War. The Communist Party has
a strong presence in this area. Many elderly people in the commune,
who now receive pensions from the state, joined the army of North
Vietnam, governmental organizations, and state-owned companies
during and after the war. In this province, agricultural productivity is
low. Many people have left the village (thoat ly literally means
“escaped”) to work for the state sector in Northern Vietnam, and
have since moved to southern “new economic zones” as settlers or to
industrial areas in Southern Vietnam as workers and managers.
Culturally, Ha Tinh Province belongs to Northern Vietnam, where
patrilineal property inheritance is the norm, and couples generally live
with the husband’s parents after marriage. However, differing from
other villages in Northern Vietnam, village endogamy is not the norm
in this area.
In the summer of 2013, I conducted field research for one month
in T Commune. During this project, I visited all the houses in H
Hamlet (150 households) in the commune, carrying the family regis-
ter book made by the commune, and confirmed who actually lived in
each house at that moment. There were four elderly persons (three
women and one man) living alone in the hamlet, and I interviewed
two of them.
Binh’s Case: A Typical Case of Quasi-cohabitation

First, I would like to briefly introduce Binh (fictitious name) as an
example of a “quasi-cohabitation” case of the elderly living alone in
rural areas in Northern and North-Central Vietnam. Binh was born in
1920. She was 93 years old when I interviewed her, and had lived
alone since her husband’s death in 2011. She had seven children, and
four of them were still alive. The eldest son and the third son lived in
Southern Vietnam, and the second son lived in the same hamlet. The
youngest son, who was disabled, had lived next to Binh’s house, but
died in 2010. After he died, his wife moved to Southern Vietnam to
live with her sons.
Binh also had one daughter who lived in a neighborhood com-
mune. Binh could go to the market and she could cook for herself.
She said she “sometimes” drank alcohol, but whenever I visited her,
she sat beside a bottle of rice spirits. Her husband had grown seedlings
of a kind of tree used for betel chewing, and Binh continued this busi-
ness. According to her, she could earn “several million” VND (approx-
imately from 50 USD to 500 USD) a month, which was enough to
cover her daily expenses. In addition, she received 180,000 VND per
month of the universal noncontribution pension. Her living status can
be viewed as a temporary situation arranged after her husband’s death.
It is probable that she will move to one of her son’s houses when her
health becomes worse.
Ha’s Case: Living Alone to Take Care of the Souls

of Her Sons and Husband
Ha (fictitious name) lived alone, and had no children living nearby.
Born in 1928, Ha was 85 years old when I interviewed her. She was
active enough to cook, do laundry, and take medicine on her own. Ha
was the eldest daughter of a village chief’s (ly truong) family before
the Independent Revolution in 1945. She married a man in the same
hamlet, and her husband was a member of the district People’s
Council. After he died in 1995, Ha lived alone. Her eldest son died in
battle in 1972, and her second son died of leukemia when he was
44 years old. Her third son lived in Southern Vietnam with his wife
and children.
Ha also had four daughters: three of them lived in Southern
Vietnam, and one daughter, who visited Ha every two months, lived
in Ha Tinh Province. Not having any children living nearby meant
that Ha could not receive everyday support from her children, but it
also meant that she had many thoat ly (escaped) children who had left
their village and were capable of supporting her economically (cf. the
“U-shape relationship1”). She also received a monthly allowance from
the Mothers of the War Dead (Me Viet Nam Anh Hung, a kind of
survivor’s pension) as well as from her second son’s life insurance.
Furthermore, she had many powerful relatives living nearby. For
instance, one of her younger brothers, who lived in the same hamlet,
was the chair of the communal Elderly Association, and she often
asked him to do paperwork for her.
Ha told me that at one point she tried to live with her third son,
but then came back home to continue living alone. There were both
negative and positive reasons for her decision to return to her village.
Apparently she found it stressful to live in Southern Vietnam with her
third son, reporting that she had tried to live with his family for one
year, but found the difference in rhythms difficult. On a more positive
note, however, she said she had many things to do in her own house,
such as maintaining relationships with her neighbors and relatives,
taking care of her house, and most significantly, caring for the altar.
My child told me to come to his house to live together so that he can take care
of me, but I have to worship the souls of family members killed in war, so I
have to live here. I can’t go. I lived in his house for one year, but have just
come back here. Whenever I am sick, my child tells me to come to his house
so that he can support me and take care of me. In fact, I have a pension, and
I have enough to eat, but no one to support me here. Last year I decided to
live with my son, but after one year, I remembered this house, so I came back.
Also, here I have more things to do, such as [receiving] pension, visiting,
celebrating, going to funerals, festivals, associating with neighbors and my
husband’s relatives as well as my own . . . so I had to come back here to take
care of these things, and I can’t go [to live at my son’s house] anymore.
When she left the house, Ha asked her relatives to take care of the
altar. However, it seems that they only burned incense on the first day
and the fifteenth day of every month. For Ha, this was not enough.
When I left the house, I gave the house key to the children of my [husband’s]
brother, but they only opened the door on ritual days to burn incense because
they had their jobs, so they could not always take care of the altar.
Vietnamese scholars have also indicated that the elderly often decide
which child to live with by considering who will take care of worship-
ing their souls after their death (Be Quynh Nga 2005, 67). However,
the elderly’s concern for the caring of deceased souls is not often
discussed.
The Kinh people’s practice of ancestor worship can be divided into
three levels (Cao The Trinh 2000): (1) rituals for the founders of the
lineage and the collective souls of ancestors, which include the found-
ers of the village, village crafts, and even the founders of the Vietnamese
nation, (2) rituals for direct ancestors up to four or five generations,
and (3) rituals for the souls of family members who have died recently.
Rituals for the founder of the lineage and direct ancestors are formal,
obligatory, and occasional rituals. These include activities such as
burning incense on the altar on the first and fifteenth day of every
month and observing death anniversaries. These rituals are seen as the
duties of sons (especially of the eldest son). The death anniversary is
ideally held in the parents’ house or in the oldest son’s house. In con-
trast, there are everyday practices meant for taking care of deceased
family members, such as the daily cleaning of the altar. These practices
are informal, affective, and everyday routines. Anyone in the family

can do them.
According to Ha, her son intended to invite her to live with his
family and then preserve his parents’ house as the “family ancestor
house” (nha tho gia dinh):
As my children grew up, they all left home. Only my husband and I stayed at
home to earn our living. This house is quite old. All my children left home.
Only I myself live here now. It is scary when storms come. So, my child told me
that although all my children were not rich enough, in the future they would
make a small ancestor house. But now they are striving to earn a living.
Ha’s attitude toward his intention is ambivalent. It seemed, at that

moment, that she was not very satisfied with this solution. The every-
day practice of ancestor worship occupies an important place in her
mind. For Ha, to stay at home is not only to be surrounded by accus-
tomed people and things, but also to stay close to the souls of her sons
and husband and to care for their altar. On the contrary, her son was
more concerned with preserving his parents’ house as an ancestor
house to conduct formal ancestral rituals. Her son might have thought
that it would be good for her and that taking in his mother was his
responsibility as the only surviving son.
However, this story has a sequel. In the summer of 2014, I visited
the village again and went to Ha’s house, but I could not find her
there. Her neighbor told me that she had moved to her third son’s
house in the South before the New Year holiday. It was the begin-
ning of the Midyear (Trung Nguyen) holidays. I found a strange
middle-aged man preparing offerings at the altar in Ha’s house. He
told me that he was Ha’s daughter’s husband in the South. He was
also from this village, and he and his son had returned to their home
village to conduct the rituals of the Midyear holiday in Ha’s house.
Though it is strange that a son-in-law conducts rituals on behalf of
his wife’s family, it is also probable that he had other reasons to
return to the village.
The Representation of Caring Mothers/

Wives and the Living Arrangements
of Elderly Women
It is possible that taking care of the altar is both Ha’s real intention
and, at the same time, an excuse to come back and live alone. As
mentioned previously, seeing the elderly live alone is still rare in
Vietnam and is often viewed as irregular. People even speak ill of

those elderly persons who reject living with their children. Ha might
have other reasons to live alone, but might refer to the altar so that
people around her can understand and accept her decision. It is pos-
sible that she might voice her concern for the altar in the house as an
excuse for living alone, but after the interview with me, circumstances
may have changed, and she may have decided to or was forced to
move to the South.
Ha’s story indicates several important points that we need to con-
sider when we analyze the elderly’s living arrangements in contempo-
rary Vietnam. First, it is often problematic to describe elderly women’s
living alone as being “left behind,” a miserable situation from the
viewpoint of Confucian ethics and social security risk management. In
fact, there are many elderly people who choose to live alone. Being
alone does not always have negative implications. Elderly people who
live alone should not always be understood as deprived of care, but
instead should be seen as individuals who made a positive decision to
be free of the burden of reciprocal exchange in the family. Vietnamese
people often consider this acceptable. In this sense, Vietnamese soci-
ety might be described as a society that affirms dependency while at
the same time accepts independence.
Second, the case study shows that we need to be careful when ana-
lyzing elderly people’s living arrangements from the perspective of
intergenerational exchange. There might be a discrepancy between
what the younger generation wants to provide for the elder genera-
tion as a return for what they received in their childhood and what the
elder generation desires. Even if the younger generation considers it
fair to take in their aged parents and ask them to care for their grand-
children in exchange, the elderly parents may see this reciprocal rela-
tionship as a burden. The idea of exchange is sometimes inappropriate
to analyzing interplays among people in such a heterogeneous life.
Third, this case study implies that the (self-) representation of caring
mothers/wives is one of the factors that enable elderly people’s deci-
sions regarding their living arrangements. Their decision is, in a sense,
a flexible strategy based on their practical needs, but at the same time,
their decision also requires reasons that allow the people around them
accept it as well. Ha’s case shows that the image of caring mothers/
wives can play an important role in this process. As I have mentioned,
it is possible that Ha talked about her desire to take care of the souls
of her sons and husband so as to persuade her children, village neigh-
bors, and even me to accept her decision to live alone by representing
herself as a good wife and mother. In fact, it is not surprising for
Vietnamese people if women, mothers, and especially elderly women

decide to remain alone in their homes to take care of the souls of
deceased family members. The image of elderly mothers who devote
themselves to caring for the souls of sons and husbands is a publicly
acceptable one.
My conclusion is, therefore, ambivalent. First, Ha’s case shows that
concern for altars is one of the important functions that define elderly
people’s living arrangements in Vietnam, especially amidst the condi-
tions of an aging society and the increase in migration. The relation-
ship to the souls of deceased family members is an important
determinant for elderly Vietnamese women in deciding where to live.
At the same time, the relationship to the soul is one of the paradig-
matic discourses of the real intention that functions as an excuse to
persuade people (including elderly persons themselves) to allow the
elderly to live alone. Ha’s statement reflects the gendered ideology of
caring mothers/wives that enables her to do so in a society where
elderly people who live alone are still viewed with prejudice. In this
respect, while the image of caring mother/wife has positive effects on
her autonomous decision regarding living arrangements, it also has
negative effects that reinforce the existing gendered ideology in which
caring is related to womanhood. To put it in other words, her narra-
tive indicates the power of the discourse of caring mothers and wives
that makes it socially acceptable, while illustrating a symptom of social
pressures on elderly people living alone in Vietnamese society.
Notes
1 Knodel et al. (2000) found that there is a U-shaped relationship in intergen-
erational exchanges. That is, direct and everyday supports for elderly parents
from family members living together or nearby, as well as economic sup-
ports from family members living far from their parent’s home, are larger
than those of family members living in surrounding areas that are neither
very far from nor very close in proximity to their elderly parents.
References
Barbieri, Magali. 2009. “Doi Moi and Older Adults: Intergenerational
Support under the Constraints of Reform.” In Reconfiguring Families in
Contemporary Vietnam, edited by Magali Barbieri and Danièle Bélanger,
133–65. Stanford, CA: Stanford University Press.
Bélanger, Danièle. 2000. “Regional Differences in Household Composition
and Family Formation Patterns in Vietnam.” Journal of Comparative
Family Studies 31(2): 171–89.
Be Quynh Nga. 2001. “Nguoi cao tuoi o mien Trung va Nam Bo Viet Nam
nam 2000: Phac thao tu mot so ket qua nghien cuu dinh tinh [Elderly
People in Central and Southern Vietnam in 2000: Notes on Results from
Qualitative Researches].” Xa Hoi Hoc [Sociology] 75: 28–39.
Be Quynh Nga. 2005. “Chien luoc song cua nguoi cao tuoi truoc nhung bien
doi cua gia dinh nong thon hien nay [Living Strategies of Elderly People
Faced with Changes in the Family in the Contemporary Rural Areas].” Xa
Hoi Hoc [Sociology] 89: 65–71.
Bui The Cuong. 1992. “Nguoi phu nu cao tuoi o nong thon [Elderly Women
in Villages].” Xa Hoi Hoc [Sociology] 38: 21–5.
Bui The Cuong. 2000. “Ba nguon luc vat chat co ban cua tuoi gia dong bang
song Hong [Three Basic Material Resources for Elderly People in Hong
River Delta].” Xa Hoi Hoc [Sociology] 69: 27–35.
Bui The Cuong et al. 1999. “Vietnamese Elderly amidst Transformations in
Social Welfare Policy.” PSC Research Reports No. 99–436. Population
Studies Center, University of Michigan.
Cao The Trinh. 2000. “Vai khia canh xung quanh tuc tho cung to tien o
nguoi Viet [Several Aspects of Vietnamese Customary Rituals of Ancestor
Worship].” Dan Toc Hoc [Ethnology] 4: 20–5.
Duung Chi Thien. 1994. “May nhan xet ve nguoi phu nu cao tuoi trong gia
dinh o nong thon (Qua thuc tien o Hai Hung) [On Elderly Women in
Rural Families: From Fieldwork in Hai Hung Province].” Xa Hoi Hoc
[Sociology] 46: 90–3.
Friedman, Jed et al. 2002. “Gender and Intergenerational Exchange in
Vietnam.” PSC Research Reports No. 02-529. Population Studies Center,
University of Michigan.
Giang, Thanh Long and Wade D. Pfau. 2007a. “Patterns and Determinants
of Living Arrangements of the Elderly in Vietnam.” In Social Issues under
Economic Transformation and Intergeneration in Vietnam, Vol. 2, edited
by Giang Thanh Long, 147–76. Hanoi: The Publishing House of Social
Labor.
Giang, Thanh Long and Wade D. Pfau. 2007b. “The Elderly Population in
Vietnam during Economic Transformation: An Overview.” In Social Issues
under Economic Transformation and Intergeneration in Vietnam, Vol. 1,
edited by Giang Thanh Long and Duong Kim Hong, 185–210. Tokyo:
Vietnam Development Forum.
Hirschman, Charles and Vu Manh Loi. 1996. “Family and Household
Structure in Vietnam: Glimpses from a Recent Survey.” Pacific Affairs
69(2): 229–49.
Knodel, John et al. 2000. “Intergenerational Exchanges in Vietnam: Family
Size, Sex Composition, and the Location of Children.” Population Studies
54(1): 89–104.
Le Manh Nam. 2001. “Thu xep an o trong ho co nguoi cao tuoi tai mot lang
chau tho song Hong [Living Arrangements of Families with Elderly People
in Villages in Red River Delta].” Xa Hoi Hoc [Sociology] 76: 62–72.
Le Ngoc Lan, Nguyen Huu Minh, and Tran Quy Long. 2011. “Quan he giua
nguoi cao tuoi va con chau trong gia dinh [The Old and Young
Intergenerational Relationships in Families].” Nghien Cuu Gia Dinh va
Gioi [Journal of Family and Gender Studies] 2: 50–72.
Le Thi. 2008. Single Women in Viet Nam. Hanoi: The Gioi Publishers.
Luong, Hy V. 2009. “Rural-to-Urban Migration in Vietnam: A Tale of Three
Regions.” In Reconfiguring Families in Contemporary Vietnam, edited by
Magali Barbieri and Danièle Bélanger, 391–420. Stanford, CA: Stanford
University Press.
Luong, Hy V. 2012. “Multiple Narratives on Migration in Vietnam and Their
Methodological Implications.” In Wind over Water: Migration in an East
Asian Context, edited by David W. Haines, Keiko Yamanaka, and Shinji
Yamashita, 109–24. New York and Oxford: Berghahn Books.
Luong, Hy V. ed. 2009. Urbanization, Migration, and Poverty in a Vietnamese
Metropolis. Singapore: National University of Singapore Press.
Mai Huy Bich. 2011. Xa Hoi Hoc Gia Dinh [Sociology of Family]. Ha Noi:
NXB Khoa Hoc Xa Hoi.
Nguyen Thi Phuong. 1997. “Thu phan tich ve hien tuong an chung, an rieng
cua nguoi cao tuoi qua mot so cuoc khao sat xa hoi hoc [Elementary
Analysis on the Elderly People’s Practices of Eating Together and Eating
Separately Based on Sociological Investigations].” Xa Hoi Hoc [Sociology]
58: 99–101.
Nhom Nghien Cuu Van Phong Trung Uong HLHPN Viet Nam. 2005.
“Thuc trang doi song cua phu nu cao tuoi [The Actual Condition of
Elderly Women’s Lives].” Khoa Hoc ve Phu Nu [Journal of Women’s
Studies] 3: 32–41.
Nhom Nghien Cuu ve Nguoi Gia o An Dien. 1992. “Nguoi gia o An Dien va
mot so dac diem nhan khau – xa hoi [Elderly People in An Dien and Their
Features from the Demographic and Social Perspectives].” Xa Hoi Hoc
Pfau, Wade D. and Thanh Long Giang. 2009. “Remittances, Living
Arrangements, and the Welfare of the Elderly.” MPRA Paper No. 19121.
Munich: University Library of Munich.
United Nations Population Fund (UNFPA). 2011. The Aging Population in
Viet Nam: Current Status, Prognosis, and Possible Policy Responses. New
York: United Nations Population Fund.
Vu Hoa Thach. 1992. “Vi tri, vai tro va quyen loi cua nguoi gia trong xa hoi
nong thon dong bang Bac Bo hien nay [Status, Roles, and Rights of
Elderly People in Villages in the Contemporary Red River Delta].” Xa Hoi
Hoc [Sociology] 38: 48–50.
Vu Hoa Thach. 1997. “Mot so van de xa hoi cua nguoi gia o goa trong quan
he gia dinh va cong dong [Social Problems about Aged Widows and
Widowers’ Relationships with the Family and Society].” Xa Hoi Hoc
Chapter 9
A Regime Where the Woman’s

Voice Is Heard: G U A N L U OY I N as a
For m of Abortion Ritual in
Contemporary Taiwan
G r a c e C h e n g - Yi n g L i n
Introduction
The abortion ritual has been newly popularized and is widely prac-
ticed in Taiwan today. It is practiced with variations in form from
region to region, temple to temple, and shrine to shrine. Most wor-
shippers are women. The abortion ritual aims to appease the aborted
fetus spirits, called Yingling ᅠ䵸, that are believed to wander the
world of the living or the dead (the underworld), and long for the
care of their parents. Within this context, miscarriage or abortion is
seen as an inappropriate means of ending a life. This discourse further
claims that the fetus spirits should be released from their attachments
and that their parents’ karma should be reduced.
The chapter includes a discussion based on an interview with a par-
ticipant, Wang, of an abortion ritual performed in a shrine,
Wujiyuanshantang ❑ᾥൃழา (the Hall of Complete and Virtuous
Eternity), Taipei City, in October 2009. This chapter also presents and
examines the ritual process that includes a rite, guanluoyin, 䰌㩭䲠
or 㿰㩭䲠, meaning “tour to the underworld” or “the supernatural
world.” The analysis shows the participant acting on her own decision
to choose and attend the ritual as a means to help her cope with going
156 G r ac e C h e n g - Yi n g L i n
through the abortion and postabortion stages, and to deal with the
difficulties and conflicts in her life. Based on her initiative, the space of
the abortion ritual is transformed from a confessional for the fetus’
sake to a regime dominated by the participant, which allows the
woman’s peripheral power to interact with the central male power in
contemporary Taiwan.
Abortion in Taiwan
Abortion was fairly widely practiced among women in premodern
Taiwan and China (Wu 2009, 36). However, it was first criminalized
in the late Qing dynasty, as a result of the importation of the Western
legal system to China as a model for political and economic reforms
(Wu 2009, 39). After Taiwan was ceded to Japan at the end of the
Sino-Japanese war (1894–1895), abortion was criminalized under the
Japanese Penal Code as well as the Western legal model in Taiwan
(Kuan 2008, 104–105). After the Kuomintang (KMT, the Chinese
Nationalist Party) government retreated to Taiwan in 1949, abortion
continued to be criminalized by the Criminal Codes (Kuan 2008,
106–107).
Nonetheless, abortion (the technique of dilatation and curettage)
was one of the main contraceptive means used by women in Taiwan.
Illegal surgeries were conducted secretly in private clinics (Kuan
2008, 76). According to Yan-Chiou Wu’s archival research, there
were approximately 30,000 to 50,000 abortions in 1961. Nonetheless,
she admits this number was much lower than the estimation of obstet-
rics and gynecology doctors (Wu 2009, 75). Her historical investiga-
tion shows that, in premodern Taiwan, the fetus was regarded as
“senseless clot (wuzhi de xiekuai)” (Wu 2009, 33), and a woman was
not convicted because of undergoing an abortion. In postwar Taiwan,
a lot of women choose abortions in order to handle the multifaceted
realities they face (Wu 2009, 212–213).
In order to control the population, the Family Plan campaign was
launched by the KMT government in 1964 and contraceptive devices
for women were introduced (Wu 2009, 94; Zhuang 1998, 551). The
effort was concluded by the KMT’s adoption of the Eugenic and
Health Protection Law at the start of 1982. Article 9 lists six condi-
tions under which a woman is allowed to have an abortion. The sixth
condition is as follows:
When the pregnancy or delivery of the fetus will affect the pregnant woman’s
mental health or that of her family life. (Yousheng baojianfa 2009)
A R e g i m e W h e r e t h e W o m a n ’s V o i c e I s H e a r d 157
The above restrictions to abortion are not explicitly explained, and

thus can be read as an indirect agreement to all abortions (Kuan 2008,
112). After constant debates, the law was passed in 1984 and went
into effect in 1985 (Kuan 2008, 110). According to the estimation of
several governmental officers and legislators, there were 300,000 to
500,000 abortions performed in Taiwan every year in the 2000s
(Lifayuan gongbao 2006, 73). Besides population control, a girl or
woman can take the initiative to choose abortion when an unwanted
pregnancy occurs. Shrinking family size, individualistic tendencies of
both parents and children, shifting perception of marriage and tradi-
tional patriarchal pressure on women are phenomena that indicate
structural changes of families and society in recent Taiwan (Moskowitz
2001, 14–16, 22–25). According to my interviews with ritual partici-
pants, the reasons for abortion vary from economic hardship to in-
laws’ attitudes. These factors could have resulted in the decision to
abort and reveal what struggles a woman must deal with.
Thus, reproductive technology, including IVF (in vitro fertiliza-
tion), abortion and genetic selection, is not only used to portray ide-
ologies such as the ideas of gender, family, and citizenship, but also
becomes a force to generate social and economic conditions. Quite a
few Taiwanese scholars argue that the political and cultural issues sur-
rounding an abortion undertaken by both schoolgirls and married
women deserve more attention. For example, in her studies of the
abortion experiences of highly educated women in Taipei, Chun-Chi
Huang discusses how abortion goes beyond a personal choice and is
impacted by the pressure exerted by the government, medical profes-
sion, and domestic sphere. She further suggests that a forum such as
the Internet in which women can discuss their experiences, assists
them in regaining power over their bodies (Huang 2001).
Abortion Ritual in Taiwan

Both Marc L. Moskowitz and Wu agree that the abortion ritual was
imported from Japan (Moskowitz 2001, 34–41; Wu 2009, 175, 219).
The close political and economic relationship between Japan and
Taiwan resulted in this importation (Wu 2009, 219). Wu suggests
that the prosperous market for abortion services since the 1970s as
well as rapid economic development allowed the popularity of the
abortion ritual to grow (Wu 2009, 175). Furthermore, Hsiaowei
Kuan suggests that the abortion ritual is an “extension of love for the
aborted fetus” (Kuan 2008, 90). The popularization of the abortion
ritual may relate to the shrinking in family size after the adoption of
the family planning campaign and the impact of modernization in

contemporary Taiwan (Kuan 2008, 90). In contrast, in previous gen-
erations, people have taken advantage of abortion and infanticide to
get rid of daughters or to maintain an affordable family size. In other
words, “[w]omen do not share the same intimate connection with
each pregnancy” (Kuan 2008, 90).
Wu claims that the abortion ritual is part of the historical process of
stigmatizing women who have had abortions (Wu 2009, 214). These
rituals are forms of ideological manipulation undertaken by the patri-
archy which stress the woman’s sense of guilt (Wu 2009, 220).
Moskowitz acknowledges that various temples and institutions per-
form the ritual to make a profit through the discourses, which
“frighten women” or “exploit their guilt” (Moskowitz 2001, 13).
However, he affirms that the ritual is more complex than just a mar-
keting mechanism. To Moskowitz, the appeal of the abortion ritual as
a new practice is in fact embedded in old, traditional Chinese ideology
(Moskowitz 2001, 42). The fetus spirit is in the “middle ground
between the ghosts of ancestors/family and strangers” (Moskowitz
2001, 50), which is potentially disruptive and harmful to the family
(Moskowitz 2001, 42–43, 150–165). Meanwhile, due to Confucian
obligation, killing a fetus is an unfilial act, which fails to fulfill “one’s
duty to procreate, and to mutilate familial flesh” (Moskowitz 2001, 26).
At the same time, according to Buddhism, an abortion, as a sin of kill-
ing, calls for correspondent karmic transgression and punishment
(Moskowitz 2001, 26). Furthermore, people’s belief in the fetus spirit
shows that fear of excessive sexuality, rooted in Chinese religious tra-
dition, is still a concern (Moskowitz 2001, 131–149). Sexual immod-
eration was regarded as a threat, which caused the breakdown of
familial and social order and resulted in chaos. Within such a percep-
tive framework, unwanted pregnancy becomes the symbol of an
uncontrolled and deviant sexuality.
Nonetheless, the abortion ritual acts as a means of healing or ther-
apy for the women. Wu recognizes that the abortion ritual in Taiwan
has been gradually integrated into local Taiwanese belief and has
become a means of folk healing (Wu 2009, 74). Similarly, Moskowitz
and Kuan observe, in the context of folk belief in Taiwan, that people
attribute all unexplained misfortunes of an individual or a family to a
ghost, possibly a fetus spirit, of someone in the family (Moskowitz
2001, 50; Kuan 2008, 91). “The remedy is to go to a temple or some
Taoist priest for sorcery” (Kuan 2008, 91). Kuan admits the therapeu-
tic function of the abortion ritual for women who have had abortions
(Kuan 2008, 91). Moskowitz asserts that the abortion ritual induces
the participant to release herself from grief, anger, and resentment.

He observes that more than 70 percent of the participants are women
(Moskowitz 2001, 12), and this is mostly due to the fact that it is a
ritual focusing on women’s bodily experiences such as pregnancy,
abortion, and childbirth, as well as emotional attachment. Hence, to
Moskowitz, the abortion ritual is a stabilizing and mending process in
reaction to the rapid socioeconomic changes. Through the ritual, any
change engendered by an abortion is contained, and any anxiety
toward personal and familial disorders is smoothed away.
Based on the findings above, it appears that the discourses (moral-
ity and doctrines) and practices (reality) are divided into two compet-
ing entities. Moreover, the abortion ritual, as a means of maintenance
produced by the preexisting cultural context, is assigned to reproduce
the preexisting power nexus, and the act of the ritual in itself is not
expected to trigger significant fluctuations in the cultural organism. In
that regard, the autonomy of the ritual, as a discourse and a practice
at the same time, as well as how the ritual interacts, or even contests,
with the familial, social, and political structures should be explored.
G UANLUOYIN in the Hall of Complete

and Virtuous Eternity
In China, guanluoyin can be traced back to the Eastern Han Dynasty
(25–220). Philosopher Chong Wang (27–97) describes “supersti-
tions” as the acts of people communicating with the dead through a
median (Wang 1907, 196). Premodern practices have also been
recorded by missionaries and scholars. The ritual allows the partici-
pant to communicate with the dead through a shaman. Justus
Doolittle (an American missionary) in Fuzhou, Fujian, J. J. M. de
Groot (a Dutch sinologist) in Southern Fujian and Amoy, and Henry
Doré (a French Christian missionary) all mention that the ritual can
be performed with or without the assistance of a deity. It was con-
ducted by a female shaman, very often an elderly woman of the vil-
lage. In de Groot’s notes, all the participants had to be women (De
Groot 1982; Doolittle 2002; Doré 1908). Guanluoyin also takes
place in the Cantonese area, such as the New Territories in Hong
Kong. In his research conducted in the New Territory between 1961
and 1963, Jack Potter observed how the ritual was performed by
female shamans based on the requests of the villagers (Potter 1974,
207–231). In Taiwan, the ritual was also been widely practiced in the
nineteenth and twentieth centuries. Suzuki Seiichirō, a Japanese gov-
ernmental officer who investigated customs and folk beliefs in Taiwan
during the colonial period (1895–1945), notes that most priests are
men but “this type of superstition is deeply rooted among women”
(Suzuki 1989, 68). He described guanluoyin in detail:
During the ritual of guanluoyin the attendees were divided into the zuoshu-
zhe (performer) and the beishuzhe (subject) . . . People who are suffering from
misfortune, demons of sickness, or sadness of son loss, ask the priest to
perform guanluoyin . . . (The priest) covered the eyes of the subject with
black clothes . . . He presents the incense, burns paper money, and prays.
Meanwhile, he knocks on the table with a ruler or a bamboo pole, while he
chants the incantation which guides the subject to the underworld. Soon
the subject enters the state of trance without feeling any people or things.
(Suzuki 1989, 68)
Emily Ahern examines the more recent practice of guanluoyin through

her fieldwork in Ch’inan in Taiwan during the 1960s to 1970s (Ahern
1973). In the village, the underworld is called the im (yin) world, in
contrast to the iong (yang) world where the living reside. The yin
world is where the soul of the deceased goes after death, where it
“must wait the allotted time for [its] reincarnation” (Ahern 1973,
221). While staying in the underworld, the soul of the ancestor could
be punished due to any wrong he committed when he was alive.
Through the guidance of a shaman, the delegated descendant could
visit the underworld and offer assistance to the ancestor, such as
donating money and renovating the building housing the dead.
During the ritual, several gods could be requested by the shaman to
possess the body of the participant and lead them to the underworld.
The descendant would often find the personality of the dead to have
become indifferent or hostile, which shows that the deceased people
are unwilling to return to the yang world (Ahern 1973, 233).
Guanluoyin performed in the Hall of Complete and Virtuous
Eternity shows how the ritual has been transforming to keep pace
with social changes. The Hall of Complete and Virtuous Eternity is a
private temple, hosted by Teacher Su, located in Taipei city. The Hall
is one of the few shrines that provide the guanluoyin service in the
capital. The participants are required to go on the tour with the assis-
tance of Teacher Su and his staff. In addition, the tour to the under-
world is guided by one of the various Taoist and Buddhist deities
worshipped in the Hall. Furthermore, in addition to cultivating merit
for an ancestor or deceased family member, the Hall of Complete and
Virtuous Eternity as well as several other religious institutions in
Taiwan have recently popularized a new form of guanluoyin, called
tan yuanshengong (visiting the palace of the primordial soul). The
participant can visit their own yin house in the underworld and take
care of it, which is called tiaoli. By visiting and taking care of their
own building (yin house in Ahern’s terms) in the underworld, the
participant can improve their life quality in the yang world. According
to Chuen-Rong Yeh’s research, visiting the palace of the primordial
soul is gaining popularity and even exceeds requests to communicate
with the dead (Yeh 2009, 197).
As for visits to fetus spirits, the Wu-Ji Charity Taoism Temple,
which is located several blocks away from the Hall of Complete and
Virtuous Eternity and shares the same teaching from a guanluoyin
master, clearly indicates that they are not allowed inside. According to
the master, in earlier guanluoyin practices, parents were not supposed
to visit their children, because it was deemed an act that violates the
Confucian doctrine of filial piety. However, Teacher Su argues that
because fetus spirits are still wandering the underworld, there is a high
possibility that the ritual participant would run into fetus spirits in
their palace of the primordial soul. Hence, it becomes a good oppor-
tunity to appease them.
So far it is not common to see guanluoyin being performed as a
form of abortion ritual in Taiwan. Nonetheless, a couple of examples
have been studied. In Wu’s research, one of her informants asked a
medium for help with her husband’s health problems. Hence, the
medium acted on her behalf and investigated the underworld. The
medium told her that the health problems were caused by the abor-
tion she (the informant) had had, and she suggested that a clothing
offering be made in order to let the fetus spirit “go to study” (Wu
2009, 214–215). According to Wu, the act of “letting the fetus spirit
go to study” is intended to place the spirit in a normative position
(like other kids attending school), thereby eliminating the cause of the
(medical) disorder (Wu 2009, 215).
The Ritual Participant: Wang

Wang, 45 years old, is a successful career woman and has been
volunteering for a Taoist temple for several years. Wang had her first
abortion when she was 19 years old, after she started living with her
boyfriend. Not being aware of any contraceptive methods, she became
pregnant and, along with her partner, began thinking about getting
married and informing their parents. However, after considering the
potential consequences, the couple decided to have an abortion. Wang
still remembers her first abortion experience. Not only was there phys-
ical pain, she was also trembling from fear.
Despite their newly instated prevention measures, four months

later, she was pregnant again. Wang started wondering if the baby was
given by Laotianye (the Lord of Heaven). However, compared to the
first pregnancy, she had a better vision of her life and understood that
she could not give up on her future. So, without hesitation, she had
an abortion. After that, Wang said, she no longer enjoyed sex with her
boyfriend. As a result, she would tell girls who went to visit the temple
she volunteers for: “You are in control of your body. Do not be obedi-
ent to your boyfriend all the time.”
Not long after graduation, Wang’s mother died of kidney disease.
Wang then stayed in Taipei and started pursuing a career. She started
dating a new man. She got pregnant and once again aborted the child,
ten years after her last procedure. Her partner was considerate and
took care of her after the surgery, leading Wang to religion. He
brought her to a temple and confessed to the deities there, admitting
that the abortion was his fault and hoping that the gods would protect
her and cure her.
Later, Wang found success through her career. She broke up with
the religious man and started dating an accomplished consultant.
However, he was a reckless investor and, after putting all his capital
into a risky market, he lost everything. He became dependent on her
to repay all his debts. Several years later, this man contracted oral
cancer, and his health rapidly deteriorated. He quit his job and stayed
at home. Wang and the man are no longer together, but she remains
concerned about him: “I don’t know how to deal with him. I don’t
know how to deal with myself, either.”
The Ritual at the Hall of Complete

and Virtuous Eternity
The Hall of Complete and Virtuous Eternity performs guanluoyin
twice a week, starting at 7 p.m. It can gather between 5 and 25 par-
ticipants at a time. Wang came to the Hall five years ago. The reason
she attended guanluoyin was to see her mother. At the reception table,
she informed the staff of the person she wanted to visit the under-
world, and then asked whether she could visit her own yin house.
Then she paid the admission fee, NT 200 ($6.45). Only those who
were able to travel to the underworld successfully pay an additional
NT 800 ($25.80) after the ritual. After paying the admission, every-
one was asked to sit on the stools with their eyes covered by a red
cloth strip in which a talisman was wrapped (Figure 9.1).
Statues of Deities Office
Altar
Teacher Su Chanting
Staff Recording
Spectators
Participants on Stools
Figure 9.1 The Ritual Space at the Hall of Complete and Virtuous Eternity
Teacher Su hosted the ritual. He started chanting and singing the

sutras to summon the deities who were in the heavens and the under-
world to appear and facilitate the trip. Gradually, some of the partici-
pants responded and entered into a trance. Their heads and bodies
were shaking. At this moment, these participants could see spots of
light, bright objects, or the path to the underworld. Very often, a
deity appeared and agreed to guide the participant through the under-
world. The participant who was able to guanru (see into) the super-
natural world had to raise their hand, and one of the staff members
would run to them with a tape recorder in hand. They asked questions
and recorded the participant’s answers.
“What can you see?”

“I saw Jigong (a Chinese Buddhist figure) beside me.” Wang answered.
“Have you seen the path?”
“Yes.”
“Is the path clear? Any obstacles?”
“There are mountains and rivers. But the road is smooth. Jigong is
guiding me.”
...
“What can you see now?”
“A big city, and a lot of people.” Wang answered.
“Have you seen your mother’s house?”
“Yes, that’s her house! It is a townhouse. It’s clean and nice. I am so
happy. Oh, I see my mother!”
She started to cry. She told her mother how much she had missed her
and asked her if everything was all right with her. After a short break,
she started asking her mother for advice. Her mother said that her
boyfriend is a lonely man who is not close to his family, and he would
die in a situation without any care and support. However, this man is
well aware of Wang’s care and love, so he would protect her after he
dies.
Wang then told to her mother about her three abortions. She told
her how they had happened. She asked if she needed to do anything
for the fetus spirits. Her mother gave her a positive answer. So Wang
turned to Jigong:
“Can I visit the three children?”

“No, no!” interjected the Hall staff member who was recording Wang’s
voice. “You are not supposed to visit your children. But you could ask
Jigong to bring the children to you.”
Wang did so, and Jigong kindly agreed. She finally saw the three little
babies with their sad expressions. Wang cried again. She promised to
donate money and gifts to them, to let them know that their mother
cares for them.
After the visit to her mother’s townhouse, Wang asked Jigong to
bring her to her boyfriend’s yin house. Jigong agreed.
“I can see an empty detached house. There is a huge but dried pond in
the yard,” Wang said.
The staff of the Hall explained that the style of the house represents
the personality of the owner. For example, if a person owns an apart-
ment it means they prefer lively city life or being surrounded by peo-
ple. The detached house of Wang’s boyfriend showed he is a
self-centered and an asocial person. Since the house was empty and in
bad condition, it meant the man was not healthy. Nonetheless, to have
a pond was unusual, which meant the man had the potential to make
good money. Hence, Wang asked Jigong to help her by purchasing
and placing furniture in the house, renovating the wall and adding
water to the pond.
The trip took about two hours. After waking from the trance,
Wang said it felt like a long trip, and she was exhausted. The work in
the underworld done by Jigong was repaid by Wang’s donation,
used for paper money, incense, morality text printing, and the charity
of the Hall. The staff gave her the tape as evidence of her trip to the
underworld. Wang was deeply touched by the experience. Since
then, she has visited temples frequently, and eventually became a
volunteer at a Taoist temple, answering questions for ritual partici-
pants. Women in the neighborhood often come to the temple to
chat, and she entertains them.
To Lead or to be Led?
Wang’s visit to the underworld was full of emotion. However, one can-
not deny the possibility that Wang’s tour was to some extent led and
curated by the staff of the Hall. When she began the tour, the staff
hinted that there might be obstacles on the road. When she asked to see
the three fetus spirits, the staff suggested that she talk to Jigong.
Moreover, needless to say, many participants of guanluoyin have been
exposed to information on the tour presented by tabloids, the Internet
and TV shows. Their preconceptions might shape their experiences of
the tour. Naturally, scholars have raised the possibility of “faking” of
guanluoyin possession. The shaman may give encouraging and caring
advice, which can meet the situation of every participant (Ku and Lin
2010, 21–50). Or, when answering difficult questions, they may give
implicit answers or simply say “I forgot” (Yeh 2009, 217), or interrupt
the conversation by denouncement or blaming in order to avoid the
questions (De Groot 1982, 1334–1335). In addition, they may also
benefit from performing more rituals through manipulating the sub-
ject’s fear and desire (Potter 1974, 210). Indeed, the commercialization
and manipulation of the abortion ritual is one of the focuses of Helen
Hardacre’s research on the abortion ritual in Japan (Hardacre 1997).
My fieldwork, too, encountered several abortion rituals in which the
temple obviously benefited from deliberately convincing the participants
to purchase further services in exchange for peace and good fortune.
Nonetheless, my fieldwork also discovered that the abortion ritual
is by no means a simple model. Wang’s case stands on one side of a
complex spectrum. She acts as the person who goes on the trip, rather
than being represented by a surrogate. This switch of participant’s
role changes the power relationship between the performer (the
priest) and the subject (the participant), in Suzuki’s terms. The per-
former–subject relationship could at least reach a mode of intersubjec-
tive interaction. The powerlessness of Wang was not reproduced
during the tour. She met a deity (and she probably chose the one she
wanted to meet) and was guided by him. She then entered a lively
metropolitan space and found her mother’s house. Finally, she asked
to see the three fetus spirits. The tour was designed and carried out in
accordance with her will and ambition.
Victor Turner’s ritual theory affirms that, during its process, there
is a dialectical and dynamic relationship between social structure and
liminality. The former, he claims, is the differentiated political, social,
and economic system in which a subject is situated. The latter, how-
ever, is the middle stage of the ritual. Effectively, liminality temporar-
ily disables the hierarchical nature of the relationship between
individuals, and transforms them into a communitas (Turner 1969).
For Wang, the guanluoyin trip was a pilgrimage. She escaped from
social reality through the tour and, at the end of her tour, she returned
to her status as a daughter and a mother, in other words, her inter-
rupted family relationship was reconstructed. By recovering the status
she had lost, she was once again able to love and be loved. The goal
of the tour was to serve her own needs, and thus, the missing segment
of life she longed for was regained.
To Remember or to Forget?
On the one hand, the yin world can be a continuity of the yang world.
Potter reveals the dual quality of the spirits of the dead, “which reflect
the two aspects of their social world” (Potter 1974, 228). A successful
person becomes a benevolent ancestor after death (the bright side of the
supernatural world), and an unsuccessful person becomes a malevolent
ghost (the dark side), which seems to correspond with Arthur P. Wolf’s
categorization of gods, ghosts, and ancestors (Wolf 1974). Based on the
continuity, Yeh’s research shows that guanluoyin allows the problems
and conflicts within a patriarchal lineage to be solved according to the
messages of the ancestors (Yeh 2009, 127). In addition, Potter stresses
that the message conveyed by the spirits is a further step in reinforcing
the existing social order. As an intermediary who communicates and
pacifies the ghosts, the shaman “contributes to village society by con-
trolling the dark side of the supernatural world” (Potter 1974, 230).
On the other hand, the yin world is “the opposite other” to the
yang. De Groot indicates that although the guanluoyin ritual mostly
took place in the main hall of the household, it could also take place
in the “female private rooms” (De Groot 1982, 1333). The partici-
pants removed all “classical books” and almanacs before the ritual
began, since these orthodox books were regarded as conflicting with
the nonorthodox witchcraft practices (De Groot 1982, 1333).
Women, rather than men, are chosen to perform the nonorthodox
ritual, as the knowledge obtained in the ritual differs from that gained
through the orthodox classics. The boundary between the light and
dark side of the society, as well as the orthodox and nonorthodox is
clearly drawn. Emily Ahern even claims that “ancestors are the source
of sickness and trouble of families” (Ahern 1973, 241). According to
her, guanluoyin distances the living from the dead, allowing the iden-
tity of the deceased person to decline. Guanluoyin is a step to finalize
a funeral and cut off continuity.
Indeed, during Wang’s tour, by pacifying the spirits and taking care
of the palace, the disorder in the yin world was erased and order in the
yang world enhanced. Nonetheless, as Ahern stresses, “the iong and
im are not opposed to each other as order and chaos, but rather com-
plement each other” (Ahern 1973, 241). The underworld is embed-
ded in multi-layered meanings and triggers multilayered interactions
with the living. By crossing the border, Wang gained more than the
family and lineage-oriented functions of guanluoyin. Losing her boy-
friends, her pregnancies, and her mother, Wang looked for reasons to
understand these losses. Staying with a man who was very sick, unable
to keep herself from helping him, Wang searches for understanding
within all of the confusion. She was willing to do anything in order to
make sure that everything was all right. When the answers she longed
for could not be found in the phenomenal world, the underworld
became a promised land that her mother and her three fetus spirits
inhabit. The underworld became the land where secrets could be dis-
covered, and her own truth revealed.
While analyzing the notion of collective memory, Roger Bastide
admits that remembrance is made and selected by a society. Nonetheless,
he argues that an individual contributes their memory and applies their
agency to the commemoration process (Bastide 2007 253). During
the guanluoyin, Wang’s mother and fetus spirits were remembered.
The reunion between the deceased family and the participant was
meant to involve the dead in the world of the living. The participant
did not want to say farewell. Rather, she was eager to revive her ances-
tor and to continue to benefit from the love and wisdom of her family.
Through consulting her mother and greeting the three fetus spirits,
Wang reorganized her life and made her decisions. As William LaFleur’s
research on abortion rituals in Japan suggests, a woman’s freedom to
express or acknowledge her feelings does not “bar her from deciding
to have an abortion” (LaFleur 1992, 213).
Meanwhile, the underworld tour presented Wang with a vivid
image of the fetus spirits. They showed up in her vision, revealing their
feelings with their facial expressions. They requested things of her and
responded to her. The presence of the fetus spirit is a reaction to the
woman’s desire. She might feel sorry for the abortion, and the image
of the spirit is then transformed into a materiality for her to memorial-
ize. By reversing the quality of the symbol from a threat (a haunting
fetus spirit) to a source of support (a beloved baby), Wang was released
from her guilt. The transformation exemplifies Catherine Bell’s thesis
after her investigation of ritual activities, which suggests that ritual
“enables her to reassume control of her life” (Bell 1992, 136).
Aftermath: The Woman’s Voice

Wang became enthusiastically involved in religious activity after the
guanluoyin. This experience of transformation is also shared by some
women in Japan. Elizabeth Harrison’s research on abortion ritual in
Japan shows how a ritual participant’s empathy enabled her to orga-
nize meetings with women who shared similar feelings and become
involved in religious activities (Harrison 1995). These activities
allowed the women to go beyond the family and convey their thoughts
to the public, and “[justify] their need to do so in personal terms
(dreams and feelings) that could easily be humored and dismissed by
those in power” (Harrison 1995, 91). Similarly, Shen-Che Ku and
Meirong Lin observe that, through ritual activities, women are able to
connect with each other and establish a social network. Their diligent
involvement in ritual activities makes them “alternative” rulers in the
domain of divinity and belief (Ku and Lin 2010, 46). In addition,
while investigating the gendered charisma in the Buddhist Compassion
Relief Tzu Chi Foundation movement in Taiwan, Julia Huang also
highlights that religious engagement realizes the woman disciples’
“interpretive and narrative agency” (Huang 2008, 41).
Being situated in a subservient position within the social and gender
hierarchy, women are able to create new realms of discourse and prac-
tice through religious activities. By means of storytelling, confession,
and consultation, the impact of guanluoyin on Wang goes beyond
psychological therapy. After the ritual, she continued to take action,
for example, by still caring for the man. That is probably what she
wanted, but she needed confirmation from the supernatural world.
Then, she got more involved in the religious institution and became
an active staff member. By serving the other ritual participants and the
local community, she was able to express her opinions and advice to
the public. Thus, Wang herself was the person to write, interpret, and
speak out her own narrative. The guanluoyin ritual has thus become
an arena in which to explore, create, and respond to social changes.
Conclusion
As the transformation of the Guanluoyin ritual in Taiwan shows, the
ritual is not just a set of static philosophical knowledge transcendent
to actual social relations. Instead, it stimulates new needs, creates new
imagination toward the supernatural world, and generates new types
of parent–child relationships. Since a ritual is a dynamic praxis involved
in life conditions, the abortion ritual is embedded in the complex
social realities generated at a specific time and space.
Through crosscultural studies, scholars have shown how a woman’s
reproductive ability has been located within specific social and cultural
contexts, and how her choices are often shaped by them. If abortion
is a means for the woman to negotiate with her context, so is the abor-
tion ritual. This chapter presents how the autonomy of the ritual par-
ticipant plays an active role in the popularization of abortion ritual.
For Wang, the intimacy with her mother as well as the fetus spirits was
reconstructed during the Guanluoyin ritual. The ritual allows her to
gain power, and the dark side of the supernatural world is where she
can seek help and comfort. It assists her in mapping out her strategies
for dealing with the past and the future. The participant in this world
could use magic to alter the situation in the underworld; she takes the
initiative to make a difference. Further social changes can be mobi-
lized by empowered women.
References
Ahern, Emily. 1973. The Cult of the Dead in a Chinese Village. Stanford, CA:
Bastide, Roger. 2007. The African Religions of Brazil: Toward a Sociology of
the Interpenetration of Civilizations. Translated by Helen Sebba. Baltimore,
MD: Johns Hopkins University Press.
Bell, Catherine M. 1992. Ritual Theory, Ritual Practice. New York: Oxford
University Press.
De Groot, J. J. M. 1982. The Religious System of China, VI, Book II. (Reprinted)
Taipei: Southern Materials Center, Inc.
Doolittle, Justus. 2002. Social Life of the Chinese. London, New York and
Bahrain: Kegan Paul.
Doré, Henry. 1908. Researches into Chinese Superstitions, translated by M.
Kennelly. S.J. I. Shanghai: T’usewei Printing Press.
Hardacre, Helen. 1997. Marketing the Menacing Fetus in Japan. Berkeley,
Los Angeles, and London: University of California Press.
Harrison, Elizabeth G. 1995. “Women’s Responses to Child Loss in Japan:
The Case of Mizuko Kuyo.” Journal of Feminist Studies in Religion:
Rhetorics, Rituals and Conflicts over Women’s Reproductive Power 11(2):
67–100.
Huang, C. Julia. 2008. “Gendered Charisma in the Buddhist Tzu Chi (Ciji)
Movement.” Nova Religio: The Journal of Alternative and Emergent
Religions 12(2): 29–47.
Huang, Chun-Chi. 2001. Gaozhishi funu de duotai yiliao jingyan [High-
Educated Women’s Medical Experiences of Abortion]. MA Thesis, Graduate
Institute of Building and Planning, National Taiwan University.
Ku, Shen-Che and Lin Meirong. 2010. “Nuji, yinu yu songjingnu: nuxing zai
‘gongyumiao’ de diwei [Female Mediums, God’s Daughters, and Scripture-
Chanting Women: Female Activities and Status in the ‘Apartment Temple’].”
Minsuquyi: huaren zongjiao zhong de nuxing [Journal of Chinese Ritual,
Theatre and Folklore: Special Issue on Women in Chinese Religions] 168: 21–50.
Kuan, Hsiaowei. 2008. Abortion Law and Abortion Discourse in Taiwan:
Rights, Social Movements and Democratization. PhD Dissertation,
University of Pennsylvania Law School.
LaFleur, William R. 1992. Liquid Life: Abortion and Buddhism in Japan.
Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press.
Lifayuan gongbao. [Legislative Yuan Bulletin]. 2006. Lifayuan diliujie disan-
huiqi weisheng huanjing ji shehui fuli weiyuanhui dishibaci quantiweiyuan
huiyijilu [Minutes of the 18th Meeting of Members of the Social Welfare
and Environmental Hygiene Committee of the Sixth Legislative Yuan, 3rd
Session] 95(28): 59–101.
Moskowitz, Marc L. 2001. The Haunting Fetus: Abortion, Sexuality, and the
Spirit World in Taiwan. Honolulu: University of Hawai’i Press.
Potter, Jack M. 1974. “Cantonese Shamanism.” In Religion and Ritual in
Chinese Society, edited by Arthur P. Wolf, 207–31. Stanford, CA: Stanford
University Press.
Suzuki, Seiichirō. 1989. Taiwan jiuguan xisu xinyang [Taiwan’s Old Customs
and Beliefs], translated by Feng Zuomin. Taipei: Zhongwen Publishing.
Turner, Victor. 1969. The Ritual Process: Structure and Anti-Structure. Ithaca,
NY: Cornell University Press.
Wang, Chong. 1907. Lun-Heng: Philosophy Essays of Wang Chung, translated
by Alfred Forke. London: Luzac & Co.
Wolf, Arthur P. 1974. “Gods, Ghosts, and Ancestors.” In Religion and Ritual
in Chinese Society, edited by Arthur P. Wolf, 131–82. Stanford, CA:
Wu, Yan-Chiou. 2009. Nadiao yu m-sinn: zhanhou Taiwan funu duotaishi
(1945–1984) [To Pick Off and Not to Deliver: Women’s History of Abortion
in Post-war Taiwan (1945–1984)]. PhD Dissertation, Institute of History,
National Tsing-Hua University.
Yeh, Chuen-Rong. 2009. “Guanluoyin yu qianwanghun [Guanluoyin and
Inviting the Deceased].” Taiwan hanren minjian zongjiao yanjiu: lilun yu
fangfa, guojiyantaohui [International Conference on Researches on the Folk
Religion of the Hans in Taiwan: Theories and Methodologies]. Taipei: Religion
Research Team, Institute of Ethnology, Academia Sinica, November 27–28,
197–230.
Yousheng baojianfa [The Eugenics and Health Protection Law]. 2009.
Quanguo fagui ziliaoku [Laws and Regulations Data Base of the Republic of
China]. Accessed November 15, 2011, http://law.moj.gov.tw/LawClass/
LawAll.aspx?PCode=L0070001
Zhuang Yongming. 1998. Taiwan yiliaoshi [Medical History of Taiwan].
Taipei: Yuanliu Publishing.
Chapter 10
The Role of Women’s Self-Help

Networks in Anti-caste
Discr imination Movements
in Nepal
Kanako Nakagawa
Introduction
This chapter analyzes the role of women’s self-help networks in anti-
caste discrimination movements in Nepal. Focusing on the women of
the Khadgi caste, who have historically been engaged in slaughtering,
processing, and trading livestock (their caste-ordained role) and suf-
fered from discrimination as “low caste,” I will describe shifts in strat-
egies in their networking process during anti-caste discrimination
movements of the 1950s, 1990s, and 2000s.
By examining shifts in their networking strategy, I shed a new light
on the role of women’s self-help networks in reconstructing the rep-
resentation of caste. Anti-caste discrimination movements are usually
regarded as an example of identity politics, centering on public meet-
ings and agitations by caste associations, and women’s groups are seen
simply as participants in that larger movement. In contrast, I will show
how women’s self-help networks have broadened the horizons of
women’s anti-discrimination movements themselves, by bringing in
activities concerned with public health, education, and income gen-
eration. Furthermore, I will consider the links between women’s stra-
tegic activities in the public sphere and their everyday life practices in
the private sphere.
174 K a n a k o N a k a g awa
Networking Strategies in Anti-

discrimination Movements
Identity Politics in Anti-caste Discrimination Movements
Previous research has pointed out that people from low castes find
specific political meaning in the category of caste. In India, especially
after the national census of 1931, many castes formed their own “caste
association,” an organization that consisted of people from the same
caste, searching for a place in the political arena. In many cases, caste
associations formed a platform from which to demand their rights and
the creation of categories such as “Scheduled Caste (SC)” or “Other
Backward Classes (OBC),” the subject of affirmative reservations.
Thus, anti-caste discrimination movements were carried out as a part
of identity politics based on their own belonging.
In Nepal, after the democratization movement in 1990, each caste
began to form its own caste association (Toffin 2007). However, in
stark contrast to India, Nepal did not introduce any system of reserva-
tion for SCs or OBCs until 2003. Toffin points out that the main
purpose of forming caste associations was to protect the individuality
of these castes and to improve their public image (Toffin 2007, 363).
This aspect of caste associations has changed since the democratiza-
tion movements of 2006. Gellner compared voting motivation in the
constitutional assemblies in 1990 and 2008 and pointed out that
the shift from party-based voting to caste-identity voting occurred
in the short span of 15 years, from the early 1990s to 2008. The shift
became more dramatic in 2008 with the introduction of 60 percent
proportionality and the appearance of many “communal” parties with
a realistic chance of obtaining representation in the national legislature
(Gellner 2009). Thus, the concern of the anti-caste discrimination
movement in Nepal gradually shifted and became centered on identity
politics based on belonging, such as ethnicity and caste.
Caste Liberation and Women’s Networks

Unrelated to the situation in which people utilize caste category as a
political base and obtain affirmative reservations, there is a tendency
for people who are released from the caste restriction to connect with
civil society, especially in women’s social movements.
In India, middle-class women are active in social movements.
Nagasaki points out that Indian women have relatively succeeded in
establishing their own role in the public sphere compared to the
women of other Asian countries. Women’s networks have produced
R o l e o f W o m e n ’s S e l f - H e l p N e t w o r k s i n N e pa l 175
tremendous effects in environmental protection movements and eco-

nomic activities, while women’s human rights have been oppressed by
caste discrimination (Nagasaki 1997). Tokita argues that a divide exists
between “modern values,” endorsed by men in the public sphere, and
the “traditional values” of women in the private sphere in India (Tokita
2011). Thus, the colonial dichotomy (Chatterjee 1989) of “men’s
sphere” and “women’s sphere” continues even after independence.
How then can this dichotomy be bridged in India? Tokita explores
a way to overcome this divide. She shows how women construct net-
works not through identity politics but through expressions in their
daily lives. She further notes that Indian women extend the construc-
tion of their networks to the public sphere—work places and political
activities, for instance—helping to bridge “traditional cultural ethics”
and “modern values” physically and practically (Tokita 2011, 34).
This chapter focuses on “low caste” women’s small business activi-
ties, a topic overlooked by previous researchers who focused only on
middle-class women in the public sphere. Next, it considers how
women’s self-help networks in the private sphere could be linked to
social movements in the public sphere, as Tokita shows.
Specifically, I will investigate the role of women’s self-help networks
in anti-caste discrimination movements by focusing on the Khadgi
caste, whose caste-based role involves processing and selling meats.
Based on fieldwork conducted in 2005 in a Khadgi community,1 I will
examine both how individual Khadgi women formed networks and
the role they played in anti-caste discrimination movements. Shifts in
the strategies of their networking process during anti-caste discrimina-
tion movements are described in three periods: the first period (the era
of the panchayat system,2 1951–1990), the second period (democrati-
zation and marketization, 1990–2006), and the third period (compe-
tition between castes and ethnicities, from 2006 onward).
The Khadgi Caste of Kathmandu Valley

Kathmandu, the capital of Nepal, is situated in the Kathmandu Valley,
which is about 25 km wide. There are over three million people living
in this valley, and the number continues to increase. The Newar, the
indigenous people of the Kathmandu Valley, are composed of approx-
imately 30 castes. Gellner stressed that as a kind of “traditional” base-
line from which to judge the present-day situation of the caste system,
it is important to examine two sources in detail: the General Code
(Muluki Ain) of 1854 and the chronicle known as the Bhasa Vamshavali
(Gellner 1999, 266).
The Bhasa Vamshavali dates from sometime between Prithvi

Narayan Shah’s conquest in 1769 and the 1854 Law Code, but it
purports to describe the caste system as it was regulated and established
by Jayasthiti Malla long before the end of the fourteenth century.
According to the Bhasa Vamshavali, the Khadgi were allocated the
role of killing buffalo for ritual celebrations or for selling meat.
Further, caste required them to play drums to accompany death
processions. Khadgis were restricted in their clothes, houses, and
ornaments (Gellner 1999, 268–269, 270–277). The Muluki Ain of
1854 has been regarded as the first doctrine to introduce the Nepali
national caste order. In the Muluki Ain, the Khadgis were described as
a low caste that cannot offer water to upper castes (Höfer 1979).
According to their own description, the Khadgi population in
Kathmandu Valley is about 125,000. Their community lives in the
periphery, along the city wall. Ishii showed that the Khadgi’s caste-
based roles are (1) to supply meat, (2) to sacrifice buffaloes during the
main festivals, (3) to usher festival and funeral processions with music,
(4) to carry the bride in wedding processions, (5) to cut the umbilical
cord (mainly for Shrestha and Maharjan communities), (6) to dispose
of pollution at childbirth and death, and (7) to act as village messen-
gers (Ishii 1999, 116).3
According to Khadgi oral traditions, they are the descendants of
King Harisimhadeva, who brought the goddess Taleju into Kathmandu
Valley in 1326 while fleeing to Nepal after the Muslim invasions. They
suffered from hunger on their way to Kathmandu, so the king prayed
to the goddess Taleju. She told him that the hunters would find a wild
buffalo and he should choose a man for sacrificing it. Then, the king’s
son, who would become an ancestor of the Khadgi, sacrificed the buf-
falo. Based on this oral tradition, the Khadgi insist that despite their
low status, they are the descendants of the king’s son, and find their
identity in the caste-based role of sacrificing animals.
Khadgi livelihoods consist mainly of selling meat, and engaging in
shopkeeping, taxi driving, and various other professions. Along with
the increasing population of Kathmandu Valley, the meat market is
expanding rapidly. Thus, caste has brought the Khadgi business oppor-
tunities to profit from the market economy (Ishii 1980, 2007),
although they originally suffered stigmatization due to caste ideology.
In 1973, the Khadgi formed a caste association, Nepal Khadgi
Sewa Samiti (NKSS), which subsequently established branches all over
the country. In 2010, NKSS had 58 branch offices in 28 districts
across the country. They follow their own regulations, and hold a
national meeting once a year. Each branch has its own women’s orga-
nization as well.
The Khadgi’s Anti-caste Discrimination

Movements and Women’s Activities
The First Period (1951–1990, the Panchayat System)
Women Activists under the Panchayat System
Before the establishment of NKSS, some Khadgi leaders had engaged
in political movements to protest the Rana dynasty dictatorship, which
ruled Nepal with the caste order. I introduce the narrative of Shrijana,4
a female activist of the 1950s. Shrijana was born in 1933. Her family
led the local protest against the dictatorship.
My brother was an activist. He died in prison at the age of only 19 in 1952.

At that time, many communists gathered to recover his body in order to give
him a funeral ceremony in the traditional way, not as a criminal. Their gather-
ing transcended caste and ethnicity.
In 1948, my uncle was imprisoned, and released in 1951 after the end of
dictatorial rule. He formed an organization named Samaj Sudhar Sewa in
1951. Sano jati (low caste) joined (the organization). Afterward, Khadgi,
Pode,5 Kusle,6 and Dhobi7 joined.
We established four schools. At that time, it was prohibited to give education
to the Pode caste. Even still, we taught them the concept of public health,
washing hands, reading, writing, and making clothes. Since it was prohibited
to teach in public space, we taught them in our house as private work.
In 1954, we organized the “mandir prabes movement,” which intended to
protest against our exclusion from temples. As a part of this movement, we
continue to fight the temples that low castes are prohibited to enter. This
movement was led by Khadgi, together with the Damai,8 Kusle, Pode.
As this narrative demonstrates, people from the Khadgi caste estab-

lished schools with other “low caste groups” that pushed past caste
lines. The Communist party certified Shrinaja’s brother as a martyr.
The movement to recover his dead body was held for “a compatriot
of the communist party.” They practice under the name “sano jati” or
“communists,” and identify belongings according to their demand,
such as entering the temple, making schools, public health education,
and the like. They sometimes collaborate even beyond the restrictions
of caste and ethnicity. Shrijana continues:
I was invited to Japan to represent our residential area. I visited many places
and joined many programs. I learned to make handicrafts and life improve
skills there.
After returning to Nepal, I established the organization “Mother’s Club” in
my area in 1979. At that time, the area was like a slum. Houses didn’t have
toilets. People urinated and defecated around the riverside. Epidemics were
common. We invited doctors from Japan to “Mother’s Club,” and held a
medical camp there.
We arranged doctor’s visits two times per week, as well as giving health guid-
ance and classes to make sweaters or sewing. For children’s sickness, we
received nutrient supplements from the International Red Cross.
Shrijana ran the “Mother’s Club” until 1990. After the democratiza-
tion movement of 1990, the King’s political authority was limited.
Since the main supporter for the “Mother’s Club” was the Queen,
their activities slowed considerably from then on. However, through
the “Mother’s Club,” the health and economic conditions in Shrijana’s
residential area, home to many people from the lower castes, have
improved drastically.
Establishment of Nepal Khadgi Sewa Samiti

The background of the establishment of the Nepal Khadgi Sewa
Samiti (NKSS) differed from that of the “Mother’s Club.” Since the
1970s, the dispute between the Khadgi and Muslims, who are also
brokers of buffalo meat, has occurred many times. The NKSS was
formed in order to negotiate with Muslims collectively, rather than
individually.
Since the 1970s, there had been trouble between the Muslims who bring buf-
falos from India and the Khadgi. Merchants from the Muslim community sell
buffalos with a major profit margin.
We could not profit, so we started to negotiate collectively. Our first meeting
was held in 1971.
In the 1970s, the government prohibited holding meetings in public space.
Therefore, Khadgi gathered at their homes and shops in an informal way. In
1973, the NKSS was established as a social welfare organization, since politi-
cal activity was limited at that time. At the beginning, around 100 Khadgi
gathered. The political activists including Shrijana also joined at that time.
(Narrative of Raju, a male in his 60s)
Police broke our signboard and trashed our restaurant. They said that because
we are a water-unacceptable caste, we should not hold the restaurant.
Therefore, we operated our restaurant with no signboard. After some time,
we put the signboard up again. Even if the police come again and trash our
restaurant, we continue to protest by putting up the board again and again.
(Narrative of Bab, a male in his 60s)
The first project the NKSS engaged in was establishing a public water
tank, through which they intended to protest “water-unacceptability.”
“From the Khadgi family” was written on the surface of the tank so
people could recognize their intention. In 1975, their first water tank
was established in the bus park at the center of Kathmandu city.
Subsequently, they donated water tanks to public spaces such as bus
terminals and temples.
In 1975, the NKSS organized a blood donation program sup-
ported by the International Red Cross. They protested against caste
discrimination by insisting that blood types are categorized beyond
caste and ethnicity.
In sum, during the first period, the Khadgi movement was framed
against caste discrimination. In respect to networking, they joined not
only within their caste line, but also with “sano jati” and communists
as well.
The main motivation in forming the NKSS was to obtain an advan-
tage in the commercial negotiation process. Since organizing political
activities was prohibited at the beginning, the NKSS worked as a social
welfare association, donating public water tanks and organizing blood
donation programs. The central office of the NKSS was established in
the same area as the “Mother’s Club.” Since these organizations were
engaged in social welfare, most members joined the activities of both
the NKSS and the “Mother’s Club.” It can be said that the Khadgi’s
anti-caste activities of the first period focused on volunteer activities,
protesting caste discrimination at the grassroots level.
The Second Period (1990–2006: Democratization

and Marketization)
The democratization movement of 1990 put an end to the panchayat
system, and the multiparty system began in its place. The second
period of 1990–2006 can be seen as a period of marketization, given
the lack of control from above.
The meat market expanded rapidly at this time. People other than
the Khadgis began participating in the meat market. According to door-
to-door interviews conducted by Kathmandu Municipality, there were
758 meat shops in the Kathmandu city area, and of that, the Khadgi
owned 526 shops, making up the largest caste group in the meat
market. Meanwhile, 76 shops were owned by Muslims, 49 shops by
other Newar castes, 36 shops by Chhettris, and 14 shops by Hindu
Brahmans. Despite being basically vegetarians, the Hindu high castes
took advantage of this economic opportunity and joined the meat
business. Within this environment, the social image of the Khadgi caste
gradually shifted (Nakagawa 2011).
According to the Nepal Ministry of Agriculture and Government

Cooperatives’ official report of 2008, about 270 buffaloes, 650 goats,
and 6300 chickens are brought into the Kathmandu Valley via the
Thankot checkpoint each day. However, trade unions estimate the
actual number to be much higher. Based on these estimates, about
800–900 buffaloes are brought into Kathmandu Valley per day.
Official statistics measured national meat production in 2008 to be
1.7 times higher than that of 1990. In 2010, the Ministry estimated
approximately 3300 meat shops in Kathmandu Valley.
It can be said that individualization in the market proceeded during
the second period. At this time, rather than engaging in the caste-
based social movements, the Khadgi made individual efforts to
increase income. Also, Khadgi women gained managerial positions in
domestic business, as I will describe later.
The Third Period (2006 Onward: Competition

between Castes and Ethnicities)
The democratization movement of 2006 brought spelled the end of
the monarchy. In 2008, Nepal became a democratic republic and the
drafting of its constitution is still underway. The main issue in this
process is how to incorporate ethnicity and caste in the new
constitution.
In that period, the Khadgi caste tended to act collectively as “indig-
enous people” in league with each caste group within Newar, an eth-
nic category. The Khadgi first entered the identity politics debate by
insisting on their indigenous nature.
In March 2008, the NKSS requested the National Dalit Human
Rights Council (NDHR) to remove them from the Dalit list.9 This
incident was reported by national newspapers. The newspapers
reported that the Khadgi, as a caste of the “Newar community,” had
been removed from the NDHR’s Dalit list thanks to the NKSS’s pro-
test. The NDHR explained that they included the Khadgi in the list so
they could receive the funding and facilities provided to Dalits.
However, the president of the NKSS stated that their problems ought
to be solved through discussion within their community. Following
that, on March 18, the NDHR issued a formal letter stating that they
removed the Khadgi from the Dalit list.
In essence, the NKSS chose to be categorized as indigenous.
In addition to these activities as “indigenous Newar,” they are
engaging in a campaign to change their registered surname from Kasai
in the nagarikata (citizenship) into Khadgi or Shahi, which is the
term in their mother tongue. They insist that Kasai is not an original
term, but a foreign pejorative meaning “butcher.”
The NKSS sends members from its central office to branch offices
to urge people with the registered surname Kasai to change it to
Khadgi, Nay, or Shahi. By changing their names, they intend to
emphasize their roots and traditions as an “indigenous Newar” caste.
Thus, the NKSS began operating again in this period, focusing on
caste representation.
As outlined above, we can see shifts in the networking strategies
used in the anti-caste discrimination movements in these three peri-
ods. In the first period, the ties beyond caste lines are clear; the NKSS’s
activities focused on grassroots social welfare. In the second period,
attention shifted to individual commercial activities to match the
expansion of the meat market. And in the third period, the Khadgi
acted collectively once again as an indigenous group, and used iden-
tity politics to remove the label of Dalit.
Link to the New Social Environment

Daily Business Practices by Khadgi Women
Khadgi women’s involvement in daily business practices is described
in this section. In particular, I will outline the commercial practices of
one Khadgi family living in a suburban area in the Kathmandu Valley,
involved in the wholesale and retail of buffalo meat. The family is
composed of Anil, his wife Laxmi, his daughter, his son Raju, Raju’s
wife and her son. They purchase buffalos at a local market and slaugh-
ter them in the abattoir on the first floor of their house. They then sell
the buffalo meat at the shop in Anil’s house, and in Raju’s shop,
located in Laxmi’s parents’ house in the central area of Sundhara.
People from many castes, ethnicities, and religious groups are
involved in the slaughtering process. Anil’s abattoir is located on the
ground floor of his house. They begin slaughtering at 2:45 every
morning. Seven people work in their abattoir: Anil, Laxmi, Raju, three
Khadgis, a Chhettri, and a Muslim. First, one man holds the buffalo
while another strikes it on the forehead with a hammer. The uncon-
scious buffalo falls to the ground, where the Muslim cuts its throat in
keeping with “halal” practice. Finally, two men skin the buffalo, sepa-
rating the meat and internal organs onto the skin to prevent them
from getting dusty. The slaughtering and separation process lasts 30
minutes per buffalo.
At 4:50 a.m., a woman from the Chhettri caste and her son join the
team. The woman extracts marrow from the backbone and cleans the
intestines. Her son is engaged in dividing the head into eyes, nose,
brain, and tongue. The Chhettri woman and Laxmi wash the intes-
tines. Slaughtering and separating are complete by six in the morning.
On average, they slaughter five buffaloes a day: two are intended for
Raju’s shop, three for Anil’s shop, and the remainder for meat shops
and restaurants in their village.
In our abattoir, seven people are working. My work is to observe the cutting
process. They live near our home, so I offer them tea and food after work
every day. Some of them are university students. So, after finishing their work
in the morning, they go to school.
(Narrative of Laxmi, a female in her 50s)
This case study demonstrates how selling meat has shifted from a
caste-based activity to a home industry. People outside the Khadgi
caste participate in order to generate income. Khadgi women hold the
important roles of taking care of workers regardless of caste, observ-
ing the overall process, washing the intestines, and selling meat in
their shops.
Transcendent Self-help Groups: Shifts in Livelihood

Following democratization in 1990, people were allowed to connect
to civil society unrestricted by their caste. Here I investigate shifts in
the networking process in livelihoods and economic activities.
In Newar society, sana guthi, the organization which carries out
death ceremonies, plays an essential role. The sana guthi is an associa-
tion that consists of only one caste.
Since the end of the 1990s, people have begun to form self-help
organizations named gwali guthi to manage death ceremonies irre-
spective of caste lines. The Nepal Communist League established the
first gwali guthi in 1997. By 2012, about 100 families had joined.
Every caste from the Newar community can join this organization,
including even former “untouchable” castes. The gwali guthi has no
affiliation with any temples or icons, and is without worship as well.
As for sana guthih, only males are allowed to participate in gather-
ings and worship. Women have roles in backyard chores, such as pre-
paring food and ornaments. Females can join the gwali guthi, however.
Here men and women break bread together in buffet style, in stark
contrast to the sana guthi, where only males participate and sit in line
based on their status.
My friend and I were invited to a member’s house. She was from
the Vajracharya caste (the highest caste in Newar). Khadgi had been
excluded from this residential area because of their “impure” caste

status; however, we can now observe a shift in these circumstances. As
shown in the gwali guthi, occasions for interaction between castes
seem to be increasing. Women are also included.
In addition to gwali guthi in Kathmandu, women form their own
transcendent networks based on residential area. Women gather
together as a part of the empowerment process, holding literacy
classes supported by local governments and NGOs. The textbooks
instruct women on how to improve their livelihood and manage
domestic accounts.
Formation of Microfinance: Shifts in the Economy

Many people in Kathmandu established microfinance institutions after
the 2000s. The main investors are women. They invest in microfi-
nance to pool their money in preparation for their children’s educa-
tion or family’s health problems. Neighbors and caste relatives form
the basis of these microfinances. Investing increased relative to the
recent high interest rate. Here I investigate the new networking style
within these microfinance programs as a symbol of a new social envi-
ronment surrounding the Khadgi.
There are three types of microfinance in the Khadgi: groups based
on the NKSS, the local community, and cooperatives. The NKSS
microfinance institutions are organized by branch. They target women
who engage in small business, especially meat sellers, farmers, unem-
ployed people, and low-income groups. Thus, finance provides sup-
port to those who are unable to get loans from banks.
The largest local community microfinance has been formed in the
central commercial area of Kathmandu. About 160 Khadgi who have
shops all over the Kathmandu area have joined. Their financial system
and interest rates are almost the same as that of the NKSS. In 2012,
approximately 30 million rupees were deposited for the purpose of
financing businesses.
The Khadgi’s largest microfinance was formed by cooperatives in
the meat industry in 2008. This microfinance program’s head office is
situated along the main highway that connects Nepal to India. The
country’s largest vegetable and meat bazar is located near the office.
They formed cooperatives in 2009: by 2012, about 1,600 Khadgi had
joined, while 553 Khadgi took part in the cooperatives. All of them
are engaged in the meat business.
The cooperatives established the modern slaughterhouse through
joint investment with the government. Prior to its establishment,
Khadgi engaged in slaughtering along the riverside, in fields behind
their houses, and on the street. Women are employed as cleaners and
staff to wash buffalo intestines.
Further, they hold the training workshops at the slaughterhouse to
provide education on hygiene and the modern concept of public
health. They plan to open a model meat shop at a department store to
garner prestige and produce a clean image of their business.
Microfinance was established to prepare for accidental expenses like
sickness and injury. However, interest skyrocketed given Nepal’s high
interest rate. Moreover, the microfinance system was utilized as a mea-
sure to autonomously control business rather than depend on foreign
aids, as the last case demonstrates. With this funding, they receive
governmental support, thus enabling the Khadgi to work more inde-
pendently of affirmative action. In sum, we can say that the market
economy opened daily business interaction outside of caste and eth-
nicity, and played a key role in women`s management of their daily
domestic activities.
Mixed Relationships
Roles of the NKSS
As delineated above, expansion in the market economy freed people
from caste restrictions and produced a new social environment. We
observed the formation of mutual aid groups—indeed, cooperatives
beyond caste—and microfinances, which enabled people to develop
businesses autonomously.
So, what roles did the caste association play in forming these net-
works? Table 10.1 lists the activities of the NKSS in 2012. Their main
internal activities were sponsoring ceremonies for those who success-
fully applied for their School Leaving Certificates, political awareness
Table 10.1 Activities of the NKSS
Internal activities External activities
s 'IVINGPRIZECEREMONIESFORSENIORS s /RGANIZEORJOINPROGRAMSCONCERNING
successful applicants for the School economic development, education, and
Leaving Certification modernization of the meat industry
s (OLDINGAPOLITICALAWARENESSPROGRAM s (OLDINGBLOODDONATIONPROGRAMS
s *OINTCOMING OF AGECEREMONY s 7ITHDRAWALFROMTHE$ALITLIST
s 2ENAMING+ASAI s #ONSTRUCTIONOFBIOGASPLANTS
s )SSUINGRECOMMENDATIONLETTERSFOR s &ORMINGANETWORKTOIMPORTLIVESTOCK
scholarships s -AKINGAWEBSITEAND3.3ACCOUNTS
s 4RADITIONALDRUMSREVIVALMOVEMENT
campaigns, a joint coming-of-age ceremony, the rename campaign,

and the revival movement for their traditional drums.
External activities focused on organizing or joining programs
related to economic development, education, the modernization of
the meat industry, holding blood donation programs, making a web-
site and SNS accounts, and withdrawing from the Dalit list.
The NKSS Meeting

This section examines shifts in membership within the Khadgi caste
association and the role women’s networks have played in its manage-
ment. Then, it considers women`s potential for connecting the public
and private spheres.
The annual meeting of the NKSS concerns their decision-making
procedure. Here I describe the meeting to clarify the main issues
concerning the public sphere. I observed the NKSS annual meeting
in 2012.
First, each branch representative presents their overview of the
year. Attendees consist of members from the central committee, rep-
resentatives from the Kathmandu valley, representatives from eastern
and western Nepal, and representatives from 14 branches across the
country (Table 10.2).
At the meeting, the chairman of the NKSS insisted that no one
from the Khadgi community had become minister, a fact that needed
to be acknowledged within the Khadgi community. He then reported
on the establishment of new NKSS branches in rural Nepal, the with-
drawal from the Dalit list, and renaming Kasai. In the second session
of the meeting, they held a workshop for branches to enable them to
report their activities together.
At the workshop, village members reported that discrimination still
remained against the Khadgi. People from upper castes admonished
the Khadgi and told them not to come near public water supply. In an
effort to solve this problem, the Bhojpur branch invited a historian to
speak on the Khadgi at their public meeting. They further reported
that as indigenous people, they had begun to receive compensation as
part of affirmative action.
Khadgi from western Nepal reported on their economic condi-
tions, worse than that of their fellows in the Kathmandu valley and
eastern Nepal. Many people from this region emigrated in the last 30
years. As such, they requested the NKSS central committee to hold
language classes, as they cannot understand Newari, the mother
tongue. The rename campaign had also begun in this area.
Table 10.2 NKSS Branch Activities
Branch Reported activity
Kathmandu 12 wards Teaching traditional drums to children

city area 19 wards Blood donation campaign
Ceremony for successful applicants for the SLC
19 wards Volunteer street cleaning
Support for the ill
Renaming Kasai
Kathmandu Baudha Establishing a women’s association
Valley Establishing a football team
Establishing microfinance
Kirtipur Teaching traditional drums to children
Establishing a women association
Blood donation campaign
Repairing the temple of their lineage god
Banepa Teaching traditional drums to children
Bhaktapur Establishing microfinance
Panauti Repairing temples through aid from Spain and France
Eastern Danusa Renaming Kasai
Nepal Bhojpur Jointly organized cultural programs for indigenous people
in eastern Nepal branches
Udayapur Renaming Kasai
Sinduli Renaming Kasai
Western Gorkha Establishing a women’s association
Nepal Establishing microfinance
Tanahun Renaming Kasai
Cultural promotion activities (revival of mask dance)
Of the 125,000 Khadgi in the Kathmandu city area, 80,000 were

reported to be living in slums; they still cannot be invited to parties
held by members of upper castes.
Further, the donation program from buffalo skin was noted in
advanced activities. A businessman involved in buffalo skin processing
donates 10 rupees per buffalo to the NKSS. He donates 3000 rupees
per day from the skin of 300 buffaloes. He said that community con-
tribution matches workload, which helps motivation.
Women’s associations have recently been formed in each branch of
the NKSS. These are formed together with microfinance. At the
meeting, the women’s associations reported on membership and vari-
ous kinds of income-generating activities they had conducted. I offer
examples of these income-generating activities in the following
section.
Activities by NKSS Women’s Associations

Khadgi women’s associations were formed as suborganizations of
each branch of the NKSS. The main purpose of their activities is wom-
en’s independence and life improvement. They organize training and
income generation programs as well. Their training program includes
a class for making pickles, described below.
This particular program lasts three days. Twenty-seven women
joined from throughout the Kathmandu valley. They learned to make
three types of pickles. A meeting followed the class, at which a young
leader of the organization said:
I hope that someone uses what they learned in this class to teach pickle-
cooking at her own branch. Furthermore, it would be very nice if we could
sell pickles. Until now, women were said to be lazy, doing nothing in the
afternoon; it is very nice to make something during that time. You can make
things other than pickles, such as soap. I hope all of you will depend on your-
self, not only your husbands.
(Anjita, a female in her 20s)
Other than this program, they have a training program on self-presen-

tation and stating one’s opinion. Such activities are financed by the
interest from microfinances.
Shifts in the Strategies of Women’s Self-help Networks

In this section, I investigate shifts in the strategies of women’s self-help
networks. In the first period, Khadgi women were engaged in grass-
roots activities against caste discrimination done by funding schools
and giving lectures along with other low castes. Khadgi women’s net-
works focused on local development by joining hands with the NKSS.
In the second period, NKSS activities were set back. During that
period, Khadgi women came to play an important role in daily com-
mercial activities. They were mainly engaged in work like preparing
employee meals and accounting in meat shops. Women formed and
supported microfinances in this period. Thus, during the second
period, their main strategy was to link the new social networks through
liberation from caste restrictions.
In the third period, the NKSS became active again in response to
the offer of affirmative action as indigenous people, not as Dalits.
Women’s self-help networks did not take part in these identity politics
directly; however, they joined the NKSS as women’s associations to
conduct income generation activities.
Conclusion
In this chapter, I investigated the ways in which Khadgi women formed
networks and the roles they played in anti-caste discrimination move-
ments. During the 1950s, Khadgi women joined hands with other “low
caste” groups to protest against water-unacceptability and exclusion
from public spaces such as schools and temples. However, in the 1990s,
they focused on strengthening ties within their own caste by promoting
their “caste-based role” as meat sellers. In the 2000s, they once again
extended their network beyond caste lines; this time mainly for eco-
nomic reasons like microfinance or income generation activities.
I will add some considerations on the links between “public social
movements” and “private self-help networks.” The expansion of the
meat market gave women a firm status in managing their own domes-
tic economic activities. The meat market also gave them the occasion
to construct business networks outside of caste lines. Microfinances
motivated them to organize networks and participate in income-
generating activities. Thus, the new social environment formed by the
advent of the market economy brought about a change in women’s
self-help networks hitherto restricted within the caste order. Khadgi
people also utilized their networks within caste representation activi-
ties. That is, they have altered the meaning of caste according to the
situation and needs, from “oppressed people” to “indigenous people”
to even “trade unions.”
Until now, the role of women’s self-help networks in anti-caste
discrimination movements had been considered secondary to caste
association identity politics. However, as demonstrated above, wom-
en’s networks are connected to the new social environment through
microfinance and daily commercial activities, uninhibited by former
caste restrictions. Thus, they have broadened the horizons of anti-
caste discrimination movements by introducing activities which reflect
the expansion of the market economy.
Notes
1 The description is based on my participant observation in Khadgi com-
munities for about 50 months, during 2005–2006, 2007–2010, 2011,
and 2012.
2 The panchayat system was the political system local self-governance histori-
cally prevalent in South Asia. In the case of Nepal, King Mahendra, who
took charge of the State in 1960, promulgated a new constitution in 1962
introducing a party-less Panchayat system. Political parties were outlawed
and the prime minister was put behind bars. This continued until 1990.
3 Along with Ishii’s list of roles within the village area, in the Kathmandu
city area, Khadgi engage in “bali puja” (animal sacrifice) for the goddess
Taleju. In Kathmandu, 12 Khadgi known as “jhimnimha nayah” practice
bali puja in the Taleju temple located in the royal palace in Basantapur.
4 In this chapter, I use fictional names to protect my informants’ privacy.
5 Pode is a Newar caste that engages in cleaning. Pode was situated as the
lowest caste in Nepal.
6 Kusle is a Newar caste that engages in drum-making.
7 Dhobi is a caste that engages in washing clothes; they are not member of
the Newar community.
8 Damai is a caste that engages in making clothes; they are not members of
the Newar community.
9 The NDHR made the Dalit list to identify the groups for reservations to
be offered.
References
Chatterjee, Partha. 1989. “Colonialism, Nationalism and Colonized Women
the Contest in India.” American Ethnologist 16: 622–33.
Gellner, David N. 1999. “Low Castes in Lalitpur.” In Contested Hierarchies:
A Collaborative Ethnography of Caste Among the Newars of the Kathmandu
Valley, edited by David N. Gellner and Declan Quigley, 264–97. New
Delhi: Oxford University Press.
Gellner, David N. 2009. “Introduction: How Civil are ‘Communal’ and Ethno-
nationalist Movements?.” In Ethnic Activism and Civil Society in South Asia,
edited by David N. Gellner, 1–26. New Delhi: SAGE Publications.
Höfer, András. 1979. The Caste Hierarchy and the State in Nepal: A Study of
the Muluki Ain of 1854. Innsbruck: Universitätsverlag Wagner.
Ishii, Hiroshi. 1980. Newaru Sonraku no Shakai Kouzou to sono Henka—
Kasuto Shakai no Henyo [Social Structure and Its Change in a Newar Village:
Social Change in a Caste Society]. Tokyo: Toyo Shuppan (in Japanese).
Ishii, Hiroshi. 1999. “Caste and Kinship in a Newar Village.” In Contested
Hierarchies: A Collaborative Ethnography of Caste among the Newars of the
Kathmandu Valley, edited by David N. Gellner and Declan Quigley,
109–57. New Delhi: Oxford University Press.
Ishii, Hiroshi. 2007. “The Transformation of Caste Relationships in Nepal:
Rethinking Substantialization.” In Political and Social Transformation in
North India and Nepal, edited by Hiroshi Ishii, David N. Gellner, and
Katsuo Nawa, 91–130. New Delhi: Manohar Publishers & Distributors.
Nagasaki, Nobuko. 1997. “Nijyu Seiki no Indo Syakai to Josei—Minzoku
Undou to Gendai Seiji [Indian Society of 20th Century and Women:
Ethnic Movements and Contemporal Politics].” In Minami Ajia no
Shakaihenyou to Josei [Social Transformation of South Asia and Women],
edited by Fumiko Oshikawa, 223–51. Tokyo: Asia Keizai Kenkyusyo
(in Japanese).
Nakagawa, Kanako. 2011. “Formation of the Meat Market and Shift in the
Inter-Caste Relationships: A Study Focusing on the Commercial Practices
by ‘Khadgı̄’ in Kathmandu Valley.” Journal of the Japanese Association for
South Asian Studies 23: 74–99 (in Japanese).
Toffin, Gérard. 2007. Newar Society: City, Village and Periphery. Lalitpur:
Himal Books.
Tokita, Yumiko. 2011. Postocoroniaru wo ikiru—Gendai Indo Josei no Koui-
syutaisei [Living the Postcolonial: Women’s Agency in Contemporary India].
Kyoto: Sekai Shiso Shya (in Japanese).
List of Contr ibutors
Jung-Eun Hong, doctoral candidate at Osaka University, Japan

Noriko Ijichi, professor at Osaka City University, Japan
Atsufumi Kato, assistant professor at the University of Tokyo, Japan
Masako Kudo, professor at Kyoto Women’s University, Japan
Dukin Lim, doctoral candidate at the University of Tokyo, Japan
Grace Cheng-Ying Lin, CEGEP-level professor at John Abbott
College, Canada
Kanako Nakagawa, research fellow of the Japan Society for the
Promotion of Science, Japan
Turmunkh Odontuya, independent researcher based in Mongolia
Ryoko Sakurada, associate professor at Ikuei Junior College, Japan
Erina Seto-Suh, doctoral candidate at Kyoto University, Japan
Index
38th Parallel 58 appropriation 3

April 3rd Incident of 1948 in
abortion 14, 36, 46, 155–7, 161–2 Jeju Island 17–18, 23, 57
see also birth control, giving see also Yon San Incident
birth, pregnancy Arakawa 21
post-abortion stage 157, 158–9 association
abortion ritual 155, 157–8 Caste 174
as extension of love for the residents’ 82
aborted fetus 157 mothers’ (Omoni-hwe) 24–7, 32
as forms of ideological neighborhood community 83
manipulation 158 village diving 64
as the therapeutic function autonomy 8, 53, 118, 120, 143,
158–9 151, 159
acculturation 69 autonomous space 117, 169
actor-network theory 52 Asian financial crisis 88
affirmative reservation 174 Asian foreign worker 107, 110
agency
Asian women’s positive 8 Banepa 186
autonomous 118, 151, baomu 131–2
165–6, 169 Barth, Fredrik 4
cultural 6 Baudha 186
of elderly people 140, 142 bazaar 81
of women 142 Bhaktapur 186
agriculture 142 Bhojpur 186
see also cultivating bilateral family 144
alter 163 biography 43–5, 127–33, 146–7
concern for 140, 148–9, written by anti-Japan in
150, 151 North Korea 28–30
ama 17, 52–3, 55, 60, 63 birth control 45, 156–7
see also chamsu see also abortion
ancestral worship 120, 167 for increasing the population
see also grave 35, 156
Kinh ethnic people’s see also Mother Glorious, children
practice of 142, 148–9 benefits system
Anti-Colonization Conflict of pill 45
1932 in Jeju Island 17–18, see also contraception
23, 55 boat people 72
194 Index
border Chinese New Year 125, 131–2

beyond 53 Chinese women in Malaysia 124,
border-crossing 78, 107, 117 127, 136
Buddhism 39, 115, 116, 120, Chongryun (General Association
161, 163, 168 of Korean Residents in
Bunyeobu (Korean women’s local Japan) 20, 22, 23, 25, 26,
group) 20–2, 26 27, 28
Bunyeo-dongmaeng (Korean women’s Choryun (League of Koreans in
local headquarters) 20 Japan) 20–2, 26
buraku see community circulate migration see migration
Burke, Peter 7 citizenship 64
civil identification card 40
caring mother 12, 139, 140, cohabitation 123, 143, 144
145, 148, 151 see also quasi-cohabitation
caring wife 140, 151 Cold War 23
Carsten, Janet 11, 12, 135 (post-) Cold War regime 1
Caste 173–6, 179, 181, 182 collective
see also association see also cooperative
Khadgi 173, 175–6 agricultural 144
representation 173, 188 colonialism 1, 2
Certeau, Michel de 7, 8 see also imperialism
certificate colonial economic structure 57
foreign resident’s colonial period 51–2, 57,
registration 23 59, 63
of birth 40 colonial rule 17, 19, 20, 23, 52,
of marriage 40 53, 55–7, 59
chamsu 51–2 colonization 7, 52–3, 63
see also ama Japanese colonization of
Chakrabarty, Dipesh 3–4 Korea 23, 52
child commercialization of marine
abduction 42 goods 17, 55–8, 62, 64
child-rearing 95, 99, 101, community
115, 124, 127, 129, 135–6, buraku 80, 83
144, 145, 150 Chongryun 27–8
childless tax 36 ethnic 70–1
see also population increase policy Japanese 96, 101
children benefits system 35 Korean 96, 101
kidnapping 42 local 64, 83–4, 101, 110
mortality rate of 142 compulsory education 23
multiple children 35, 37, 38, Confucianism 140, 150,
42, 43, 45, 47 158, 161
outsourcing of childcare 129 see also filial piety, patriarchy
support from 147 constructionism 5
see also remittance contraception 45, 46, 156–7
China 158, 159 see also pregnancy
Town 77–9, 81 contraceptive medicine 36
Index 195
convert 106, 116, 117 domestic violence 93, 96

cooperative 183–4 domestic work 70, 72–6, 84,
see also collective 145
fisheries 58 double minority 70
co-residence see cohabitation see also multiple discrimination
Criminal Law 156
cross-border marriage 105, 119 elderly people
cultivating 84 as care givers 139, 149, 150
cultural homogeneity 110 caring for 142–4
cultural difference 93, 95 independency of 140, 150
living alone 139, 141–2,
Dalit 180 146–50
list 180, 184 revenue of 142, 146–7
Danusa 186 in Vietnam 140–2
daughter 73, 74, 75 essentialism 7, 76
daughter-in-law 29, 42, 61, ethnicity 1, 5, 7, 9, 22, 23, 32,
114, 115 80, 83
marring out 135, 143, 147 ethnic culture 69, 75
support from 143, 147 ethnic education 25
decision-making 8, 9, 14, 38, ethnic food business 71, 98
43, 44, 142, 144, 155, ethnic minority 107
166, 168, 169 ethnic network 73, 81, 84
deel 38, 43, 44 ethnic supply 69
Democratic People’s Eugenic and Health Protection
Republic of Korea Law 156–7
see North Korea exclusion 17, 110
deterritorialization 53 everyday life 2, 3, 4, 6, 7, 8, 9,
Devasahayam, Theresa W. 11 10, 13, 19, 51, 52, 53, 63,
diaspora 53 110, 173
Korean 17–19, 20, 21, 28, everyday practice 69–70
31–2, 59, 87–9 see also everyday life, practice,
Korean diaspora’s national strategy, tactics
belongingness 89
discrimination 21, 109, 111 family
see also multiple discriminations cooperation of family
Caste 173 members 129
racial 113 extended family 109, 111–14,
see also racial Other 120
religious 113 see also extended household
divorced women family caretaker 71
Japanese 111 family gathering 95, 116
Korean 101 family member 73, 116
Doi Moi 78 family planning 45, 46, 156
domestic sphere 69, 113, 114, family reunion dinner 125
117, 118 family system 95
see also private sphere Japanese family 95
196 Index
family—continued gender
natal family 73, 116, 123, see also patriarchy
130–2, 136 gendered national identity 31
see also natal home gendered position 31
traditional family system 71 gendered relation 21
transnational 105, 111–13 gendered situation 26
Vietnamese 142–4 role 19, 21, 26, 37, 168–9
family ancestor house traditional gender role 26, 29
(nha tho gia dinh) 149 generation 22–30, 32, 37, 69, 71,
father 26 75, 83, 84
fathers’ association 24 see also intergenerational exchange
female activist 18, 21–7, GHQ/SCAP (General
29–32 Headquarters, the Supreme
female head of household 37 Commander for the Allied
see also mother with multiple Powers) 20, 24
children giving birth 17, 35, 36, 42, 44,
female modesty 109 45, 46, 108, 109, 129
see also gender role, good wife see also pregnancy
and wise mother, motherly globalization 2, 64, 65, 88
role, motherhood, sexual see also postcolonial era
modesty good wife and wise mother 21,
female population 41 29, 150
female sibling 130 Gorkha 186
fetus spirit 155, 158, 161, 164, grassroots peace movement 19
167–8 grave
aborted 155 visiting ancestors’ 125
financial restriction 93 group purchase 70, 78
filial piety 139, 140 Guanluoyin 155, 159–61, 162–5,
see also Confucianism 165–6, 166–8
flexibility Gyeongsannam-do 55, 58
flexible self-judgment 65 Gyeongsanbuk-do 58
of elderly people’s gwali guthi 182
living arrangement 144,
149, 150 Ha Tinh province 145–6
food 70–1, 76–7, 83–4 Hall of Complete and
foreigner 18, 114 Virtuous Eternity 155,
foreign husband 105, 111 160–1, 162–5
foreign marriage migrant in health reference 40
Japan 97 Hengwon-ri 57, 60, 61, 62
foreign woman 115 hierarchical relationship
foreign worker 107, 110, 119 117, 118
foreignness 111 Himeji 71–3, 75, 77–81, 84
folk healing 158 Hobsbawm, Eric 5
Frankfurt School 4 Hokkien Association in Johor
Fraser, Nancy 9 Bahru 129
Freedman, Maurice 12 home nation 53
Index 197
homeland food see food iodine 54

hometown 69, 70, 72, 101–2, Islam
124–7, 129, 131, 133–6, see also Muslim
139, 140 conversion to 108, 109
household 37, 113, 115, 118 negative stereotypes of 111
extended 115, 118 “true” 109, 110, 113–17
see also extended family isolation 93, 95
Vietnamese 142–5 IVF (In Vitro Fertilization) 157
identity 3–5, 8, 18, 19, 30, 105, Japan 17–24, 27–8, 156
106, 111, 118 Japanese husband 88, 90, 92,
children’s 109 95–7, 102, 120
ethnic 71 Japanese occupation of Korea,
formation 105, 106 1910–1945 17, 21
gender 18 Jayasthiti Malla 176
Japanese 101 Jeju Island 17, 18, 23, 51–2, 54–64
Korean 27, 96, 101 Diving Union 55, 56
mother’s 18, 26, 31, 32 Jeollanam-do 55
Muslim 105, 106, 118 Johor 127, 136
national 26, 31 Johor Bahru 124, 127–30, 132–5
politics 174
religious 31, 105, 110, 117 Kang Pan-sok 27–9, 31
self- 101 Learn from Madame 28–9, 31
ideology 40, 144 Kathmandu 175
Asian familist 53 Khoo, Siew-Ean 10
of caring mother 151 khoroo 40
Ikuno 24, 59 Kim Chon-hae 21
illegal worker 107, 119 Kim Il-sung 27, 28
see also Asian foreign worker Kim Myung-hwa 29–31
immigration kinship
immigrant 69, 71, 72, 77–80, bilateral 123
82–4, 124–5 see also bilateral family
control 113 centrality of women in the
law 119 web of 124
imperialism 3, 6 Chinese 123, 136
see also colonialism realm of practical 136
indigenous 180–1 Kirtipur 186
infanticide 156, 158 Klang Valley 124–5, 127–8, 131–3
intergenerational exchange Kobe 56, 77, 79–81
140, 143, 145, 150 Kochi 59
international marriage 87–90, Korea
92, 96 as homeland 18, 19, 20, 28
see also cross-border marriage Town 59
International Red Cross 179 Korean Children’s Union 26
intimacy 99, 116, 118, 140, Korean church 96, 101
158, 169 Korean enclave 21, 24
198 Index
Korean Fishing Laws 54 masculinity 107

Korean mainland 51, 55 see also patriarchy
Korean national movement in matchmaking agency 88, 93
Japan 18–21, 26–7, 31–2 Maternal Glory see Mother Glorious
Korean peninsula 19, 20, 23, maternity
51–2, 55–7, 59, 63, 64 hospital 129
Korean War, 1950–1953 19, leave 131
23, 57, 58 Melaka (Melacca) 127, 132
KMT, Kuomingtang 156 microfinance 183
micro-politics 10
labor 35, 105, 107, 145 Mie 52, 60, 61, 62
domestic 70 migrant 19
elderly people as labor force 145 see also migration
Latour, Bruno 52 fishing labor 55
liberation 52, 53, 58–9 foreign marriage migrant in
Korea’s liberation, 1945 17, Japan 87, 93
20, 21, 22, 23, 28, 52, 63, 64 Korean marriage migrant
liminality 166 88–90
literacy 22, 23, 24, 27 labor 105, 107
illiterate first generation 24 Muslim 117, 119
lineage paradigm 136 Pakistani 105, 107, 109,
Liutiaohu Incident in 1931 54 117, 119
Lord of Heaven 162 migration 10, 11, 12, 51, 52, 59,
low-cost flat 129, 134 64, 125
living arrangement see also migrant
see also co-habitation Asian women’s 12
elderly people’s 139, 142–5, chamsu’s labor 52, 53, 63, 65
146–9, 151 feminized 53
in Northern and North-Central global 90
Vietnam 142–5 internal 125
in Southern Vietnam 143 Korean newcomer see newcomer
narratives on 139–40, Korean oldcomer see oldcomer
144–5, 149–50, 151 labor 52–6, 58–9, 61–5
narrative on 139
Mandir prabes movement 177 rural-urban 125–6, 139, 142
manufacturing company 93 in Vietnam 139, 142, 146
marginality of women 10
see also exclusion Mindan (Korean Residents Union
socio-economic in Japan) 20, 22
marginalization 108 Mindan-Buinhwe (Korean Women’s
social 117 Association in Japan) 22
marriage market 88 Ministry of Health, Labor and
market Welfare, Government of
capitalist economy 52 Japan 91–2
economic period 47 Ministry of Justice of Japan 89
compare socialist period Mint and Ornamentation
ethnic 78 Factory 39, 47
Index 199
Miyake Island 59, 60 Muslim 176, 178, 179, 181

mobility 53, 59, 64 see also Islam
downward social 107 born 109
upward social 112 discrimination against 111
women’s 113 practicing 110, 116–17
Monetnii Dvor factory 39
Mongolia nagarikata 180
Central Archive of 39, 47 narrative 24, 28, 106, 110–11,
history of Mongolian 117–18
development 47 on migration 139
Mongolian dress for elderly people living
see deel alone 139
Mongolian People’s Republic see also living arrangement
see People’s Republic of natal home 129, 131–5
Mongolia see also natal family
Mongolian socialist 35 National Dalit Human Rights
compare post socialist era Council 180
Mongolian women 35, 36, nationalism 1, 3, 5, 6
47, 48 nationality 9, 20, 32, 96, 118
National Assembly of the naturalization 101
People’s Republic of 47 neoliberal global economy 9, 10
mosque 106, 109, 110 neoliberalist 11
mother 71, 73, 75 Nepal Khadgi Sewa Samiti
see also motherhood 176, 178
mothering 123 network
motherly role 21, 103, 106, 114 see also social network
mothers’ congress 19, 27 ethno-religious 120
mothers’ job 84 see also ethnic network
mother’s role 26–9, 31–2, kin 113, 120
157–8, 161, 168 natal female 133
with multiple children 35–8, transnational 73, 83
43–5, 47, 100 women-centered kin 124
nursing 129, 131, 133, 135 women’s self-help 187–8
see also baomu newcomer 11, 19, 89, 133
revolutionary 27, 29, 31 Newar 175
single 97, 100, 101 nomadic cattle husbandry
Mother Glorious 35, 38 see pastoral and nomadic
Mothers of the War Dead way of life
(Me Viet Nam Anh non-marriage 142
Hung) 147 norm 113
motherhood 11, 26, 109, 117, 129 gender 29, 31, 32, 71, 112, 114
multiple discriminations 23 see also mother, motherhood,
see also double minority patriarchy, patrilineality,
Muluki Ain 175, 176 womanhood, woman
mutual aid 123, 130, 133, traditional 71
134, 184 North Korea 18, 19, 22, 23, 25,
see also intergenerational exchange 27–30
200 Index
nurturer 117 power relation 112, 117–18

Nyeosung-Dongmaeng (Korean within home 108
Democratic Women’s Union practice 8–10, 13, 27, 29, 30–1,
in Japan) 22–9, 31–2 127, 133–6
see also everyday practice,
oldcomer 19, 89 strategy, tactics
omoni 24, 28, 29, 30–2 pregnancy 158, 159, 161–2
Onigiri troops 21 see also giving birth
oral history 24 regulating 45
Order of the Mother Glorious Presidium of People’s Great
see Mother Glorious Khural 38, 40, 47
Orientalism 5, 6 primordial soul 160
Osaka 17, 20, 23, 24, 25, 56, Prithvi Narayan Shah 176
57, 59, 60, 61 private sphere 26, 173,
Osaka Asahi Newspaper 56 175, 185
Osaka Mainichi Newspaper 56 property rights 142
Osaka Port 56 public sphere 21, 22, 26, 31,
173–5, 185
Panauti 186 pujyo 62
Panchayat system 175 Pusan 55
parda 112–14, 120 push-pull factor 52, 88
see also sexual segregation
Parent-teacher Association quasi-cohabitation 107, 144, 146
(PTA) 101
pastoral and nomadic way of racial Other 107
life 42 Ranger, Terence 5
patriarchy 19, 21, 26, 38 recreation 84
patriarchal social system 130 refugee 69, 71–2, 77–8, 80, 82
patrilineality 123, 136, 142, relatedness 10, 11, 13, 118,
144, 146 135, 140
pension 37, 142, 146, religious transformation 110, 116,
147, 148 118, 157, 160–1
see also social security benefits remittance 73, 78, 109, 142
performativity 18, 29, 30 repatriation from Japan to
People’s Great Khural 37, 38, North Korea, 1959–1984
40, 47 19, 25, 28
People’s Republic of Mongolia representation 2, 3, 9, 12,
38, 47 13, 14
Pirie, Peter 10 of caring mother 140, 150
placelessness 126 of caring wife 140, 150
planting 70, 84 gender 2
pluralization 3 identical 3
population increase policy 35, ideological 2
36, 37 politics of 2
see also childless tax risk of 2
post socialist era 36, 37 subject of 2, 13
postcolonial era 20 of womanhood 12
Index 201
Republic of Korea see South Korea Sobritchea, Carolyn 10

residential proximity 123 social development 157
resistance 63 social network 103
retirement 63 social security benefits for the
revolutionary 29, 30, 31 elderly 142, 146–7
revolutionist 29 see also pension
rural area 81, 92, 141, 142, society
143–4, 145–6 Japanese 21, 83–4, 100–2
Russo-Japanese War in 1904 Korean 88, 101
54, 56 local 83
socio-economic level 92
Sado Island 62 sojuni 58
Said, Edward 5 South Korea 18, 19, 23, 58,
salary 97–8 60, 89
Samaj Sudhar Sewa 177 South Korean government 20,
sana guthi 182 23, 57
sano jati 176 Soviet Union 38, 39
Scott, James 7 special permanent residence 89
sister spouse 72
mutual aid among 128, Korean 92
130, 133–4 Japanese 96
sisterhood 136 Stafford, Charles 11
school 21, 110, 112, 128–31, state pension see pension
133, 135, 161 stowaway 17, 19, 23, 52, 59
Japanese 23, 99, 101, 112 strategy 7, 10, 22, 124, 127,
Korean 19, 22–7, 29–32, 144, 150
93, 99–100 see also everyday practice,
self-determination 140, 142, practice, tactics
148, 150 elderly people’s strategy 144
elderly women’s 142, 150, 151 Strauch, Judith 124, 126
self-employed business 89 structuralism 4, 5
self-representation 2, 3, 13, Subaltern Studies Group 4
139, 150 subjectification 4, 5
elderly women’s 140, 150 supervisor 60–2, 64
self-transformation 107, 116, 117 symbol of national unity 3
seniority 113, 117
sexual immoderation 158 tactics 7, 8, 12, 144
sexual modesty 112, 114, see also everyday practice,
115, 158 practice, strategy
sexual moral 114, 158 Taiwan 155, 156–7, 157–9,
sexual segregation 114 159–61, 165, 168, 169
see also parda Taleju 176
shaman 159, 160, 165, 166 Tanahun 186
Sinduli 186 Taoism 159–61
Sino-Japanese war 56, 156 tenaciousness 51, 52, 53
skin diving 57, 60–3 Tokyo 21, 56, 61, 62, 109, 119
female skin diver 51, 58–9, 64 tradition 95, 158
202 Index
transition 35 wife see caring wife

transnational life 113 womanhood
transnational network theory 52 gendered ideology of 140,
Trinh Minh-ha 1 150, 151
woman
U-shape relationship 147, 151 elderly 142
Udayapur 186 Korean 18, 87–8, 97, 101–2
Ulaanbaatar 39 Korean women’s movement
underworld 155, 159–61, 20–4, 26
162–5, 165–8 with multiple children
urban industrial society 123 see mothers with multiple
Urry, John 53 children
women’s agenda 26, 27
Vietnam War 72, 142, 146 women’s bodily experiences 159
visa 107–10, 113, 119 women’s liberation 20–1, 22
15-day short-term 61 women’s reproductive
special permanent residence 89 ability 157, 169
spousal 89, 93, 96–7, world-systems theory 52
107, 108 World War I 54, 56
status 96–7 World War II 89
tourist 60
veiling 118 Yanagisako, Sylvia Junko 123–4
Yeoh, Brenda 11, 53
Wakayama 59, 60 yingling 155, 158, 161, 164, 168
Wallerstein, Immanuel 11 Yokohama 79
Weber, Max 7 Yon San Incident 57
Werbner, Pnina 118
wetsuit 58 zainichi 5, 6, 19, 56, 59, 60, 61
widowhood 142, 146–9 see also diaspora

Rethinking Representations of Asian Women

Uploaded by

Document Information

Copyright

Available Formats

Share this document

Share or Embed Document

Sharing Options

Did you find this document useful?

Is this content inappropriate?

Copyright:

Available Formats

Rethinking Representations of Asian Women

Uploaded by

Copyright:

Available Formats

Rethinking Representations

Noriko Ijichi, Atsufumi Kato, and

1. Women—Asia—History. 2. Women—Asia—Social conditions.

List of Illustrations vii

Introduction: Pluralizing Images, the Sphere of

1 The Mother’s Identity among the Korean Diaspora

2 On Encouraging Mothers of Multiple Children through

3 Imperial Japan and the Female Skin Divers (Chamsu)

4 Everyday Practices of Immigrant Vietnamese Women in

7 Working in the City and Rearing Children in the

8 A Concerned Mother of the Souls in the House:

List of Contributors 191

Most of the chapters in this volume are based on papers presented at

Pluralizing Images, the Sphere of

globalization and neoliberal restructuring. We hope that the case

Politics of Representation and

of representation by the forces of imperialism, colonialism, and

“critical” academic-theoretical voice, which could be seen as “bad”

Structuralism and Constructionism

produced by opposing human views within modern social science.

Orient as undeveloped, invariant, passive, and irrational was necessary

Practices, Tactics, and the Sphere

this reality cannot constantly be prepared to ﬁght, to assert oneself as

However, describing women’s decision-making as positive choices

Women on the Move: Reconstruction

relatedness and independence of Asian women’s living strategies, it is

wage earners, even in patriarchal societies in Asia. Thus, domestic or

village (Stafford 2000) in the edited volume Cultures of Relatedness,

Structure of the Chapters

decision-making. Arguments in the volume, then, turn from practices

Fraser, Nancy. 2005. “Reframing Justice in a Globalizing World.” New Left

Images, Ideologies and Identities, edited by Theresa Devasahayam and

The Mother’s Identity among the

The Korean Diaspora in Japan

Before taking up the main subject, it is necessary to deﬁne the

The Korean National Movement

was (1) to aim at Korean women’s complete liberation from political,

female activists of early Nyeosung-dongmaeng could not enjoy consid-

The First-Generation and Second-Generation

Nyeosung-dongmaeng also borrowed money and built buildings. But it was

Han, who had served in a local group of Nyeosung-dongmaeng as an

illiterate ﬁrst-generation female activists in their activities for

The Performativity of Mothers’

According to Ryu, on the day of an open class, the mothers’ associa-

constituting Korean identity is ideologically gendered in the context

The Discourse of the Revolutionary

revolutionary mother raises her son to be a committed contributor

By reading Learn from Madame Kang Pan-sok and the biographies

as a mother. The answers to the three research questions this chapter

Tur munkh Odontuya

been encouraged and rewarded by the Order. In addition to this, con-

state liberated women from social oppression, took measures to

The Order of the Mother Glorious

Figure 2.1 “Mother Glorious” First Class Order

which reveals that an order of 20,000 Second Class Orders of the

Reward-Based Encouragement System with

The number of rewarded mothers

Table 2.1 Women Awarded with Mother Glorious Order

Female Women aged Number of women Number of women

Source: Statistik (1975, 1985, 1999); Gerelsuren and Altai (2008)

(not counting the Mother Glorious) in 1970. Of these rewarded indi-

raising children was a deed beneﬁcial to animal husbandry. Having

Encouragement through Awarding the

The women quoted above were proud to be awarded with Order of