The Third Side of the Triangle: The China-Japan Dimension
Horner, Charles, The National Interest
Of all the relationships in the world that do not directly involve the United States as one of the parties, the one between China and Japan is likely to have the greatest effect upon us in the first half of the twenty-first century. Indeed, it has already much influenced the depth and the range of our Pacific involvements. Important strategic decisions yet to be made will be based on assumptions about relations between these two, but those relations are not very well understood. If our grasp of intra-European relations has been seriously hampered by a propensity toward provincialism, imagine what awaits as we try to plumb the relationship between two countries that are culturally much more distant and foreign. Forced to rely on "Pekingology" or the competing models of "Japan, Inc.", we have trouble enough fathoming just one of these ancient and complex countries in isolation; divining what connects them and what they mean to one another takes us to a level of much greater difficulty.
Many will argue in favor of analyzing the China-Japan relationship as we would any other, employing the customary constructs of international relations and strategic analysis, and discovering perhaps that there is nothing very mysterious here after all. It is always a sensible injunction to Westerners in general to hold their fascination with "oriental stratagem" in check. We are also well-advised to remember that China and Japan are aware of the West's cult-like fascination with the Orient's ancient wisdom and may use it as a way of keeping us permanently uninformed - or misinformed - about their business. We should assume that there are those in Tokyo and Beijing who are occasionally bemused by our invocation of the pithy aphorisms of their ancient sages to explain what our interlocutors in China and Japan are "really" up to.
On the other hand, there are aspects of Sino-Japanese relations that should make the invocation of standard Western international relations theory equally suspect. There is nothing, for example, in our Western understanding of even so rudimentary a term as "bilateral relations" - nothing provided by the "models" we know best from the study of European history, like Britain-France or France-Germany - that adequately prepares us for the mixture of respect, disdain, emulation, and rivalry that has characterized the relationship between China and Japan for many centuries.
In the first place, it is hard for us really to grasp China's historic influence on Japan. We know something about it, of course: Chinese characters that form Japan's written language; Confucianism and Buddhism that shape Japan's political thought and religious sensibility; a grand cosmology that connects the natural and human worlds and places an emperor where the two intersect (though it is only in Japan that an emperor still reigns); the theory and practice of aesthetic and poetic that make representation in the arts mutually recognizable and intelligible. But these, for most of us, are only data. We are accustomed to think that only Western ideas have had, and will have, profoundly transforming societal effects. Yet in the centuries preceding the advent of Western intellectual influences in East Asia, it was Chinese thought that had unchallenged transforming power. The subsequent inroads of the West have been far from superficial, and we need not contest Japan's fundamental article of faith that both sets of influences work on something that is uniquely Japan's own. But for all that, nothing short of a thousand years of exposure could make Japan as Westernized as it has already been Sinicized.
Thus, when Western power began to establish itself in East Asia in the mid-nineteenth century, there was no obvious reason to anticipate that China and Japan would pursue seemingly different strategies in the face of a common danger. Our conventional rendering of each country's response to the West - that Japan "modernized" with a vengeance, whereas China dallied and resisted - emphasizes that difference, and one can trace much of the ensuing Sino-Japanese clash to these divergent responses. But well before Sino-Japanese rivalry came to dominate politics in East Asia the two had sensed a common predicament, and neither saw itself as sufficiently powerful to deal on its own with the Western onslaught.
The Japanese, for complex reasons of their own, decided to place the imperial institution at the center of their effort at national revitalization: the Meiji reform. The Chinese, led by Dr. Sun Yat-sen, opted to junk their imperial system, replacing it with a "republic" that was Western in appearance. These contrasting responses reflected a verdict on the utility of certain inherited traditions, the Japanese leadership deciding to make some use of "Confucianism", broadly understood, the Chinese elite concluding that it had outlived its usefulness. At first, there was a mural respect for the passionate intensity each country brought to its own course of action. In particular, Japan's early successes were inspiring to Chinese revolutionaries, and Japan provided practical models for the mainland in nearly every realm. But in the next generation, the Japanese invoked Asian and racial solidarity in an ultimately futile effort to unite Asia and to marshal Asian resources against the enemies Japan had chosen for itself.
The Sino-Japanese dimension to this undertaking has receded from our view, but it was the seminal occasion for the engagement of the United States in Asia!s affairs in the twentieth century. There is, first of all, "the fifty-year struggle" that began in 1895 with what the Chinese like to call the first Sino-Japanese war; among other things, it resulted in China's ceding Taiwan to Japan and in the displacement of China's influence in Korea with the Japanese annexation of the peninsula in 1905. There followed the "thirteen-year war" (1931-45) that began with Japan's detachment of Manchuria from China proper and the establishment of Manchukuo, and ended with Japan's capitulation. It was the second phase of that war, beginning in 1937, that finally drew the United States into the struggle. For it was China that was the principal issue between the Americans and the Japanese. At the end of the day, the United States could not acquiesce in China's incorporation into a Japanese empire.
Of the various theaters of World War II, the second Sino-Japanese war can be likened only to Europe's eastern front in its intensity and destructiveness. It was, of course, a rather one-sided ferocity. Beyond the brutal hands-on war crimes of every description, Japan's war in China caused enormous collateral damage, compounding the already deep misery resulting from a century of internal decay. But at the same time, the protracted war on the China mainland worked to America's advantage; two million Japanese soldiers were tied down by it, so that America's acquisition of Japan's Pacific holdings was comparatively easily gained.
On the other hand, it is now generally understood that the war fatally debilitated the Nationalist regime of Chiang Kai-shek. Ironically, it was his promising initiatives in the early 1930s that had prodded the Japanese to attack when they did, before China could become too strong. As for the ultimate inheritor of Japan's mainland holdings in China, the People's Republic, its leaders have never been shy in acknowledging that the Japanese gave them their chance to seize power. China's President Jiang Zemin, speaking at a rally commemorating the fiftieth anniversary of Japan's surrender, reminded younger comrades that before Japan's invasion the Chinese Communist Party was hemmed in, and that it was China's war against Japan that allowed the Communist Party to spread its influence throughout the country and, ultimately, to build the enormous military and political organization that made its victory possible when China's civil war resumed.
Residues and Explanations
Japan's defeat and the extension of the Cold War into Asia abruptly severed the enforced Sino-Japanese intimacy that invasion had created, but there were important residues. The scale of Japanese involvement in China had been enormous. Beyond its field armies, Japan had deployed a vast array of administrative functionaries, businessmen, students, and other intermediaries. It ran the government of Manchukuo, and as an occupying power had a wide range of relations with a collaborationist government based in Nanking that had effective jurisdiction over at least one hundred million people. In Manchuria, especially, the Japanese left behind a substantial industrial and transportation infrastructure. There, and in some other areas, Japanese was widely used as a language of instruction, and there was a sustained and expensive effort at what would now be called cultural imperialism. The Japanese were also a major player in organized crime, and for a time ran what was then probably the biggest narcotics trafficking operation in the world. Now, even more than French life under Vichy, Chinese life under Japanese occupation has been relegated to history's Never-Never Land, something substantial in its impact but little remarked on. (But awkward reminders do surface occasionally. Taiwan's fifty years under Japanese rule ended with the island's retrocession to China in 1945. Lee Teng-hui, 73, Taiwan-born and recently elected president of Nationalist China, is reputed to speak better Japanese than he does Mandarin. Indeed, his occasional interviews in flawless Japanese with Japan's media have had the effect of rekindling some sentimental affection for Taiwan amongst the Japanese.)
It is understandable that both Chinese and Japanese would seek some explanation of how it was that their essentially benign interactions across the centuries, and their initial common sense of danger in the face of Western expansion, resulted in such mutual destruction. Intra-European wars had become routine over the centuries, and explanations for them abounded. But the Pax Sinica had also become routine, and there was nothing in the traditional Sino-Confucian view of international affairs that could explain the Sino-Japanese struggle. There were no real precedents. China had not threatened Japan since 1281, when Khublai Khan, as emperor of China, launched a failed invasion of Kyushu. Japan had not rebelled against traditional Chinese hegemony in the region since Toyotomi Hideyoshi, as Japan's dominant warlord, launched two failed invasions of Korea in 1592 and 1597.
The Chinese felt themselves well prepared for a re-evaluation. In their new state-supported ideology, "Marxism-Leninism-Mao Zedong Thought", Japan's behavior could be explained by "imperialism." Nothing personal here: The Japanese had merely done what History made them do, given the unequal levels of socio-economic development of the two countries. In attempting to usurp the position of the European imperial powers in China, Japan was doing only what a properly educated person (that is, a Marxist) would expect of it. Similarly, capitalist America's resistance to Japanese expansion was seen to be equally low-minded, and the previous decades of American support for China needed to be understood in this light.
For the Japanese, the matter could not be this simple, for they too had to rally around a new state-supported ideology, the one imposed by the American occupation. Through their new adherence to representative democracy, individual rights, and the rule of law, the Japanese were now supposed to understand how they had become similar to, say, the Americans, but remained different from, say, the Chinese. The new postwar regime in Japan, insofar as it was parliamentary and democratic, was thought by many to represent a return to the "natural" course of the 1920s. Then, as Japanese remembered, their country was part of the post-World War I trend that saw the apparent advance of Western-style parliamentarism in places as far apart as Central Europe and China. In Japan, of course, the trend was interrupted by the collapse of civilian government in the wake of the Great Depression, when a kind of militaristic, xenophobic, and expansionist radicalism came to the fore.
For a decade and a half, modern-minded and internationally-oriented intellectual and cultural elements had thus been silenced and suppressed, and the Japanese welcomed the re-establishment of an internal parliamentary order, even if American-imposed. But, as for many of their cousins in the West, the anticommunist, anti-Soviet stance of their new government was another matter. Many of them, too, felt the need for a new interpretation of the relationship between Japan and China, one that, while radically different from the pan-Asianist outlook of the discredited Japanese militarists, somehow made sense of the cataclysmic changes that had so rapidly come to both countries in the preceding decades.
What had gone wrong? How was it that the Japanese had so thoroughly misunderstood their closest and most significant neighbor? The Japanese were, and remain, the world's most industrious, meticulous, and methodical Sinologists, and there is more information to be had about China in Japan than in any other country. The Japanese penchant for bibliography, collation, filing, indexing, sorting, and referencing had been put to use by the various parts of the Japanese imperial enterprise in China. Now it fed interminable, dense, indeed impenetrable debates among Japanese Sinologists about the nature of Chinese society and the course of Chinese history. But, as one might have anticipated, these discussions, which began by trying to understand how Japan's centuries of study of China had yielded a portrait of a country ripe for easy conquest, soon flowed into larger ruminations about Japan itself.
The discussions harked back to a much older debate, begun in the late nineteenth century, and still highly relevant today. As far back as 1885, when Japan's modernization was gathering steam, the country's most Western-oriented and cosmopolitan intellectual, Fukuzawa Yukichi, published a famous appeal to his countrymen to "leave Asia." He maintained that Asia belonged to the past, and that Japan's future lay in the closest collaboration with, and emulation of, the advanced countries of the West. The rest of Asia, he thought, would more or less have to fend for itself and do the best it could in the great struggle for survival. The contrary case was also made the same year by another commentator, Tarui Takichi, who put a different gloss on Japan's growing material advantage over the rest of Asia. Tarui thought Japan was obliged - fated, in fact - to encourage its neighbors to concert their efforts against the West, and ultimately to lead and then dominate a pan-Asian campaign to dislodge Western influence altogether.
Europe's Means, Asia's Ends
Critics of Japanese behavior, both in China and Japan, would later come to note the entanglement of both points of view, in that Japan ultimately employed techniques perfected by the Western imperialists to pursue ambitions supposedly rooted in a higher Asian sensibility. Originally, however, the hope of the "liberals" was that China would be inspired and edified by Japan's successes as a constitutional monarchy that blended the best of the traditional and the modern, thus sparing itself untoward upheaval and dislocation. The two nations were not presumed to be rivals as such, and thus this outlook might be deemed "pro-Chinese" in the better sense. More militant "pan-Asiatic" elements might also have claimed to be pro-Chinese and to have China's larger interests at heart, but they were also more cynical and vainglorious and, in the end, too imitative of the worst behavior of the Westerners they claimed to despise. In the event, having promoted "Asia consciousness" and "China awareness", Japan came to be undone by these very monsters of its own making. As one Japanese historian ruefully summed it up, "in the end what was produced was Asian disappointment, Western animosity, and Japanese self-destruction." Chinese commentators return repeatedly to the same hortatory tale: To the degree that Japan thinks of itself as "Western", it will pursue policies that will unite its neighbors against it. To the degree that it remains "Asian" - knowing its place, which is to say, deferring to China - it can enjoy material prosperity, help improve the material lot of others, and enjoy the high regard of all.
The interplay between these themes has had much to do with the theory and practice of Sino-Japanese relations since the end of the second Sino-Japanese war. Even within the context of the Cold War, the two nations continued to deal with matters that had been the substance of their prior relationship. After all, China's return of Japan to its former, and very "Asian", pre-Meiji dimensions was not quite complete. Whatever else may be said of Chinese intervention in the Korean War in 1950, for example, one explanation had to do with the reassertion of China's traditional hegemony on the peninsula, which had been usurped by Japan. Similarly, Taiwan's de facto independence from China and the re-establishment of Japan's commercial presence in Southeast Asia were reminders that China's war aims had not all been fulfilled.
The dispute about sovereignty over the Senkaku/Diaoyu islands, which flared up this past September, reminds us that, as much as Japan and China are at peace, the Chinese still see possibilities for a contemporary "cold war" based on earlier hostilities. The islands are eight bits of uninhabited rock, about 125 miles northeast of Taiwan, and about 200 miles southwest of Okinawa, the largest island in the Ryukyu chain (and itself intermittently a Chinese "vassal state" until annexed by Japan in 1879). it is the relationship between these two larger islands that, of course, actually matters. In late imperial times, China held the eight islets within Taiwan's jurisdiction, so that when the Japanese acquired Taiwan in 1895, they also acquired the islets. The Japanese then came to include the islets within Okinawa's jurisdiction, so they passed back to Japan when Okinawa itself was passed back to Japanese administration by the United States in 1972. The Chinese never seemed to make much of this bit of historical sleight of hand, and even in the early 1970s, when it was already apparent that ownership of this otherwise inconsequential real estate could have implications for the control of both marine and sub-seabed resources, the Chinese were willing to set the matter aside.
Yet the issue was there, waiting to be picked up by the Chinese whenever it suited them. Why now? Perhaps because the Chinese wished merely to remind Japan that, despite the prospect of "enhanced security cooperation" - a widely bruited by-product of President Clinton's visit to Tokyo in April 1996 - the new Japanese-American declaration on security issued when Clinton was there was worth less than it seemed. (Indeed, the United States has since declared that it has no position on the sovereignty over the islets; the invocation of the U.S.-Japan Security Treaty in response to a Chinese attack is therefore moot.) Or, perhaps, Beijing decided that residual dislike of Japanese by all Chinese provided a way of enlisting Chinese patriotism in easing its recovery of Hong Kong and, later, Taiwan. (The Republic of China on Taiwan also asserts sovereignty over the islets; as a claimant of the legacy of Chinese nationalism, it can hardly afford to be outshouted by Beijing on this question. And, for good measure, Sino-Japanese controversy has helped further solidify China's relations with increasingly influential Chinese people around the world.)
Strategic Design, Political Theater
Seen across a longer term, the Senkaku/Diaoyu episode should remind us that one high priority of "rising China's" strategic policy is the restoration of the historic balance in Chinese-Japanese relations - scarcely an easy task. Japan is wealthy, successful, technologically sophisticated, a potential military power of some consequence, and a political influence in the world in its own right. How then to assure that Japan does not acquire strategic influence commensurate with its economic strength?
In 1972, when Sino-Japanese diplomatic relations were formally re-established, the Chinese said there were two issues that would retain pride of place: "historical awareness", that is, Japan's past conduct in China; and "Taiwan", meaning China's recovery of the remaining piece of territory that had been lost to Japan. The two are certainly related, but it is noteworthy that the first question, that of history, has remained surprisingly effective in keeping the Japanese psychologically intimidated and politically subordinate. It is as if the Chinese understood better than the Japanese themselves that, properly handled, the memory of Japan's wartime conduct could be made to shape the relationship for decades to come, that Japanese politics would somehow contrive to make the issue so difficult to confront as to place substantial inhibitions on Japan's freedom of action.
The problem of "historical awareness" has lost none of its power to roil Japanese politics, and there is no end to its influence in sight. It is not that the Japanese do not know how to appear contrite. They are renowned for assuming responsibility. Corporate executives and government ministers resign routinely when egregious conduct is revealed. Just this past March, Japanese newspapers printed a photograph of some pharmaceutical executives kneeling on the floor, prostrating themselves in apology to dead victims of AIDS-tainted blood their companies had purveyed. This particular instance of overwrought sentimentality and stylized grieving happened to fit nicely into that wonderfully Japanese obsession with the gory details of disease. Nevertheless, the rituals are so well-established, so customary, that it is the absence of exaggerated displays of remorse that compels attention.
It was widely noted in Japan that Emperor Akihito's 1992 visit to China to mark the twentieth anniversary of Chinese-Japanese normalization was especially significant for him because his late father had long wanted to visit China but had never done so. Still, Hirohito, in 1984, had managed to speak of "extreme regret concerning the unfortunate past." In 1990, Akihito's phrase was "a feeling of great sorrow." When he got to China in 1992, he said he felt "deep sorrow.... I deeply reflect that we should never again go to war." It had taken twenty years to get to that particular point, for the Japanese had indeed committed themselves to "deep self-reflection" in the joint declaration of 1972. Now, Akihito could say that he had reflected on the matter and was able to report on the results of his own introspection. Of course, these are all carefully wrought terms of art, hard to render into other languages, and perhaps chosen for precisely that reason. But for all the attention to rhetorical detail, high-ranking Japanese officials will, every now and then, engage in what we might call "Rape of Nanking denial", or reflect publicly on the deeper purity of Japan's motives in the Greater East Asian War. They will then be compelled to resign and recant.
It is easy to make too much of this kind of political theater, even though it has been running for fifty years now. But what it does reveal is that there is little basis for the reassertion in Japan of a "great power" consciousness, especially the kind that is supposed to make it a genuine rival of China for strategic hegemony in Asia. There is surely no principle of "Asia consciousness" that could serve as a basis for such a dramatic turn in Japan's behavior, and the idea that Japan might come to invoke a "Western" principle for this purpose is even more farfetched. The notion that Western standards of both international and domestic practice will somehow be asserted by Asian states against a growth in Chinese power, and that Japan will be the leader of such a coalition of principle and interest - or will even cynically exploit such concerns to its own advantage - is, for one thing, too hard to reconcile with Japan's conspicuous lack of interest in performing such a role.
What Shape the Triangle?
Japan is supposedly the great test case for the applicability of Western values and practices in Asia, but so far the Japanese are not satisfying the high expectations that some Westerners have in this regard. Even rhetorically, the Japanese are not involved in the great contemporary debate about Asian and Western values, and despite the fact that they are regularly congratulated for the growing "normalization" (that is, Westernization) of their politics, they show no inclination to become so involved.
In this one respect, there has been no Japanese prime minister more cosmopolitan than Hosokawa Morihiro, distinguished by his descent from one of the country's great modern-minded nobles and by his distance from the corrupt practices and factions of the ruling party. In advance of what turned out to be his eight-month tenure during 1993-94, he was supposed to represent the best in liberal, internationally-minded Japanese politics. Yet even he was not prepared to make his nation's case when a conspicuous opportunity arose. In the spring of 1994, at a high point of international attention to China's human rights practices and their effect on Sino-American relations, Hosokawa was in Beijing, meeting with the same Chinese officials who had recently finished giving Secretary of State Warren Christopher a very hard time. Hosokawa talked about human rights as universal principles, but also expressed the view - surely an ironic one, coming from a Japanese - that democracy could not be imposed by one country on another. True, it is only fair to concede that few really believe that the Japanese model that is up for emulation in Asia is the political one - the freely elected parliamentary democracy. More compelling, supposedly, is the economic one. But that, too, looks more dubious as the Japanese economy, at least by its previous high standards, seems less overpowering, and as capitalism, which in the Orient was once confined to Japan alone, establishes vigorous roots in other Asian countries.
In practical terms, both the security and commercial aspects of Japan's international relations are changing. Russo-Soviet power once dominated the high politics of national security, and trade with North America still dominates day-to-day politics, economics, and commerce. But, inexorably, Japanese attention is shifting to China in both cases. The security aspect has become prominent, especially since the widely publicized bellicosity of the Chinese in the Taiwan Straits early in 1996. But tectonic shifts in the world economy are also being measured, and they indicate that Japanese trade and investment are being drawn away from the West and channeled toward Asia, especially China. Sino-Japanese trade is expected to grow markedly over the next twenty years or so, fundamentally transforming a host of previously well-established relationships. Talk of Sino-Japanese "economic convergence" abounds because the two nations are now on a course to create the largest economic agglomeration in the world. Moreover, there are others - Taiwan and South Korea most notably - whose trade and investment are also being increasingly drawn into it. Taken together, all this will bring to fruition the grand vision of Sino-Japanese cooperation articulated in Japan decades ago - except that it is China that will dominate the second coming of the Greater East Asia Co-Prosperity Sphere.
If any of this is even remotely accurate, then the dilemmas that the United States currently faces in its conflicted relations with China will appear as nothing when compared to what Japan will experience. This is but one rendering of "greater China"; somewhat different versions already inspire dread in many of the world's chanceries. Given the history we have recounted, any variation of it in China will have a profound influence on how the Japanese evaluate their "China policy." For the past twenty years have turned out to be the easiest and most straightforward in that history. Japan and China were both members of a worldwide coalition directed against the Soviet Union. Both were free to indulge in the visceral animosity they had developed for the Russians, an animosity rooted not only in old-fashioned national rivalries but also - and let us not be afraid to say it - in race. Indeed, race was long assumed to be a basic fault line in the relations between West and East in general, though today we seem to hear little about it. The Chinese, for their part, obviously submerged their consideration of it into their anti-Russian accommodation with the Americans. Neither did the Chinese urge Japanese to object to the U.S.-Japan Security Treaty, once all three countries were lined up on the same side. And yet....
In the meantime, we would be well-advised to reflect on how the more mundane facts now before us ought to guide our future hopes. In particular, we should hope and seek to ensure that Japan will play an increasingly larger role in a U.S.-designed effort to balance China's growing power. There are some implicit assumptions here: that the U.S.-Japan Security Treaty's anti-Soviet purpose can somehow be converted into a new anti-Chinese one; that Japan has untapped resources for regional and even global leadership that may be activated; that despite the indications of public anxiety and the instances of institutional incapacity, there is a stable political consensus inside Japan, a consensus tough enough to allow a hardening of Sino-Japanese relations; that the Chinese cannot, in the end, fundamentally alter the nature and content of the Japanese-American connection, even if they were determined to do so and worked hard at it; that the relationship between the Chinese and the Japanese is more amenable to manipulation by us, to our advantage, than it is by either or both of them to be used against us.
Interestingly enough, it is difficult to find many Japanese who will say that they believe any of these assumptions to be valid. And if they are made skittish by the history of the last century and a half - especially by their own failure to come to grips with their great neighbor, which is in fact the origin of the rest of their problems - we should not be surprised. But beyond this, we also overlook (because we seem already to have forgotten) that an effort directed against China even remotely analogous to the one we led against the Soviet Union would be long, difficult, expensive, and taxing. We learned during the Cold War that even our closest and most compatible friends and allies would show the wobbling effects of psychological and political pressures directed against them by the common enemy. Yet such pressures are negligible compared to what the Chinese would be able to bring to bear against the Japanese, were it to emerge that Tokyo was even thinking about becoming our key and necessary partner in some anti-Beijing arrangement.
But is there sufficient reason to believe that things will even get to that point? Past history, contemporary politics, and economic projections all suggest that the revival of a strategically meaningful Sino-Japanese competition is a chimera. Like some of the intra-European hostilities that have dissolved into history, this great intra-Asian one will go the same way in due course. It will have its ups and downs, to be sure, yet it now seems that Japan's efflorescence as the driving force in the relationship must be judged a brief one. When it offered itself to the rest of Asia - and to China especially - as the embodiment of a certain imperial idea, it turned out that its doctrine was too weak, its culture too unfathomable, and its resources too limited to generate the requisite staying power. When, later, it offered itself, even to China, as an example of the operations of capitalism in an Asian setting, the Japanese version of capitalism, with its emphasis on gigantism and conglomeration, began to look less impressive as other variations - more chaotic and less aesthetically pleasing, perhaps - began to thrive. And not surprisingly - given its origin in defeat and shame - the Japanese seem not to believe strongly enough in their Western-style system for it to provide a philosophical basis for renewing a sustained strategic rivalry with China.
The division of Europe ended suddenly with the collapse of the Iron Curtain, thereby reviving older ideas about Europe (a place) and "Europe" (an idea), and also creating new visions both for intra-continental relations and for the continent's relations with the rest of the world. A comparable reconstitution of Asia and "Asia" is also underway, as that continent's Bamboo Curtain dissolves, more slowly than its European counterpart, but no less surely. The United States, which had much to do with defending those lines and then breaching them, should not now expect that the very divisions it worked so hard to end can still be easily called upon in support of some new self-interested grand design in East Asia. And, moreover, if we expect that Japan, whose interests and principles were never wholly ours, will nevertheless help us define and maintain a new and congenial intra-Asian division of interest and principle, we shall be disappointed.
Charles Horner is senior fellow at the Hudson Institute.…
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Publication information: Article title: The Third Side of the Triangle: The China-Japan Dimension. Contributors: Horner, Charles - Author. Magazine title: The National Interest. Issue: 46 Publication date: Winter 1996. Page number: 23+. © 1999 The National Interest, Inc. COPYRIGHT 1996 Gale Group.
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