“Did you know there was a country called the South Korean People’s Republic?” Shogo asked. Shuya looked at Shogo, who was staring at a pink azalea flower on a tree branch right in front of them.
It seemed irrelevant, but Shuya answered anyway, “Yeah, it was the southern half of the current Democratic Nation of the Korean Peninsula, right?”
You could learn about what was known as the South Korean People’s Republic and the Democratic Nation of the Korean Peninsula—and the civil strife between the two Korean nations immediately west of the Republic of Greater East Asia’s inland sea—in a textbook: “Although our relations with SKPR were cordial, due to conspiracies concocted by the imperialists of the United States and the DNKP, the SKPR was annexed by the DNKP.” (Of course, following this explanation, the summary would continue, “Our nation must immediately oust the Korean Peninsula imperialists and annex this country not only for the freedom and democracy of the Korean people, but in order to progress towards our goal in attaining the co-existence of Greater East Asia peoples.”
“That’s right,” Shogo nodded. “That country was just like ours. An oppressive government and dictator, ideological propaganda, isolationism, and information control. And support for snitching. It failed though after forty years. But the Republic of Greater East Asia is doing quite well. Why do you think that is?”
Shuya thought about it. He hadn’t really given it much thought, but the textbooks explained South Korea’s defeat as “a cunning conspiracy instigated by the imperialists including the American imperialists” (The vocabulary employed in these textbook explanations was beyond junior high level.) But then why was the current Greater East Asia still prosperous? Of course the SKPR was geographically located right next to the DNKP but…
He shook his head. “I don’t know.”
Shogo looked at Shuya and nodded. “First of all, it’s a question of balance.”
“Balance?”
“Yes. The SKPR was totalitarian—of course, this country is essentially totalitarian. But it employs a subtle, well, this just might have been a fortunate result, but it skillfully managed to leave little bits of freedom intact. By providing this kind of candy, they can proclaim, ‘Of course, every citizen has the right to freedom. However, freedom must be controlled for the sake of the public good.’ The claim actually sounds legit, huh?”
Shuya and Noriko silently waited for Shogo to continue.
“That was how the country became this way. Seventy-five years ago.”
Noriko interrupted him, “Seventy-five years ago?” Hugging her knees under her pleated skirt, Noriko tilted her head with a puzzled look on her face.
Noriko then looked over at Shuya. Shuya nodded and then looked back at Shogo. “I heard something about how the history they teach us is a big lie and that the current Dictator is hardly the 325th Dictator. In fact, he’s only supposed to be the twelfth one, right?”
Shinji Mimura had told him this. Noriko wouldn’t know. It would never be taught at school and most adults kept their mouths shut about it (maybe they didn’t even know), and even Shuya was appalled when he first heard it from Shinji. After all, this meant that before the appearance of the First Dictator less than eighty years ago—in other words, before the Great Revolution—the name of the country and system of government had been totally different. (Shinji had claimed, “Apparently, it was a feudal society. People wore these psychedelic hair styles called chonmage, and there was a caste system. But to be blunt, it was better than what we have today”)
Shuya glanced at Noriko’s surprised face, but when he heard Shogo’s next statement, “Well, even that might not be true,” he raised his brow.
“What do you mean?”
Shogo smiled and said, “There is no Dictator. He doesn’t exist. He’s just made up. That’s what I heard.”
“What?”
“That can’t be…” Noriko said hoarsely, “but we see him on the news… and on New Year’s he makes an appearance in front of everyone at his palace…”
“Right.” Shogo grinned. “But who is this ‘everyone at the palace’? Have you ever met someone who was actually there? What if they were actors too, just like the Dictator?”
Shuya considered the possibility… It made him nauseous. Nothing but lies, there was no truth. Everything felt uncertain.
“Is that really true?” he asked despondently.
“I don’t know. It’s just something I heard. But it seems likely to me.”
“Where did you get that information? By computer on that thing called the Net?”
Shuya thought of Shinji Mimura when he asked him this, but Shogo only grinned again.
“Unfortunately, I’m no good with computers, but there are ways to find out if you want to. It seems likely, because that would allow the government to have no supreme authority. That way everyone at the center of the government would be equal. They would have equal freedom. Which means that their responsibilities are also equal. There would be no inequality. There’d be no objections. The only thing is that there has to be some subtle trick going on. The whole charade has to be kept secret from the general public. The leader figure just has to play a charismatic role.”
Shogo took a deep breath and continued, “Anyway, that’s neither here nor there. To get back to what I was saying, the country implemented this system, and it just kept on successfully evolving. What I mean by ‘success’ is that it succeeded as an industrialized nation. Even though the country stuck to isolationism, it traded with other countries that remained neutral, not only to us but to America as well, and imported raw materials from them and sold products to them. The products sold well. Of course they would. Their quality is really high. Serious competition against the U.S. The only things this country lags behind in are space technology and computers. But the high quality comes as a result of the individual’s subservience to the group and an oppressive government. Still…” he stopped.
He shook his head and continued, “I have a feeling that once we’ve reached this level of success even the people themselves are afraid of changing the system. With this kind of success, and this high standard of living, they won’t be willing to make a few sacrifices, even if there may be a few little problems. And overthrowing the government would be out of the question.”
Shogo looked over at Shuya again and gave him a sarcastic smile. “And one of the ‘few little problems’? This wonderful game. Of course the students and their families might have been dealt a bad hand, but they’re a small minority. Even the families eventually let it go. Sorrow passes with time.”
Shogo’s winding explanation finally returned to this stupid game, the pride of the Republic of Greater East Asia. Perhaps it was Shuya’s grim frown that made Shogo ask, “What’s up?”
Shuya replied, “I feel like puking.” He finally began to understand exactly what Shinji Mimura meant when he said, “This is what they call ‘successful fascism.’ Where else in the world could you find something so sinister?” Shinji must have known and understood long ago everything Shuya had just learned.
“Ha! Wait till you hear this one. It’ll make you sick.” Shogo almost looked as if he were relishing this as he continued, “I think that the fundamental difference between the SKPR and this country is ethnic.”
“Ethnic?”
Shogo nodded. “Yeah. In other words, I think that this system is tailor-made to fit the people of this country. In other words, their subservience to superiors. Blind submission. Dependence on others and group mentality. Conservatism and passive acceptance. Once they’re taught something’s supposedly a noble cause by serving the public good, they can reassure themselves they’ve done something good, even if it means snitching. It’s pathetic. There’s no room for pride, and you can forget about being rational. They can’t think for themselves. Anything complicated enough sends their heads reeling. Makes me want to puke.”