Navigating Memory Wars: A Research Journey Through the Politics of "Comfort Women" Commemoration

Over the past decade, my research has increasingly focused on how societies remember and contest the traumatic legacies of World War Two in Asia. What began as a broader investigation into public history and memory politics in East and Southeast Asia gradually converged on one of the region's most contentious issues: the systematic sexual enslavement of women by Imperial Japan's military, euphemistically termed “Comfort Women”. This research journey has taken me from museum galleries in Japan and China to memorial sites across the United States and Europe, revealing how a historical atrocity from the 1930s and 1940s continues to shape international relations, diaspora politics, and social justice movements in the 21st century.

The “Comfort Women” issue exemplifies what I have termed Asia’s “boom of difficult memories”^[1], an intensification since the 1990s of public engagement with previously suppressed wartime atrocities. Yet this is no simple story of historical truth gradually emerging into the light. Rather, it demonstrates how memory itself becomes a battlefield, where survivors, activists, governments, and diaspora communities struggle not merely to establish facts, but to control narratives, shape identities, and advance political agendas that extend far beyond the historical events themselves and the geographical locations where these memories were initially formed.

From Regional Conflicts to Global Memory Wars

My research has documented how the “Comfort Women” issue evolved from a regional dispute into a genuinely global phenomenon. The system of sexual slavery operated between 1932 and 1945, involving an estimated 200,000 women, predominantly from Korea, but also from China, the Philippines, Taiwan, Indonesia, and other territories under Japanese occupation. For decades after 1945, these women remained largely silent, their suffering marginalized by Cold War geopolitics, patriarchal social structures, and diplomatic arrangements that prioritized economic reconstruction over historical justice.

The breakthrough came in August 1991, when former "Comfort Woman" Kim Hak-sun publicly testified about her wartime ordeal. This courageous act catalyzed a transnational movement that has since erected memorials across four continents, secured UNESCO recognition, influenced school curricula, and strained diplomatic relations between major powers.^[2] My work has traced how this movement's battleground has progressively expanded—from courtrooms and government offices to museum galleries, public squares, and even sister-city relationships between municipalities thousands of miles from the original crimes.

What makes this expansion particularly significant is its intersection with contemporary social movements. The “Comfort Women” cause has become what Carol Gluck calls a “traveling trope,”^[3] a globally recognized symbol of sexual violence in conflict that resonates with #MeToo activism, feminist organizing, and broader struggles against historical revisionism. Yet this global appeal also creates tensions, as different communities appropriate “Comfort Women” memory for divergent purposes, from strengthening ethnic identity among Korean Americans to advancing Chinese nationalist narratives.

Success without Resolution

A central paradox defines the “Comfort Women” movement today: it has succeeded in raising global awareness and building broad solidarity, yet it has not achieved its core goals, i.e., clear acknowledgment, a comprehensive apology, and reparations from the Japanese government. This gap is closely tied to geopolitics. A 2015 agreement between the governments of South Korea and Japan, negotiated without meaningful input from survivors, prioritized strategic stability over historical justice. Its eventual collapse showed both the strength of civil society resistance and the limits of state-led solutions. The issue continues to be shaped as much by diplomatic interests as by the demands of those directly affected. At the same time, important developments have taken place at the local level, particularly in the United States. In California, Korean American and Chinese American activists have played a leading role in establishing memorials and influencing education. These efforts demonstrate how diaspora communities can reshape public memory, but also how such successes can trigger backlash, including diplomatic tensions and organized denial campaigns.^[4]

The collaboration between Korean American and Chinese American activists is rooted in overlapping but distinct motivations. For Korean Americans, “Comfort Women” activism has been closely tied to questions of identity and political voice. In the aftermath of the 1992 Los Angeles uprisings, many in the community became acutely aware of their limited representation and vulnerability. Advocacy around “Comfort Women” offered a way to build collective identity, mobilize politically, and demand recognition—both for historical injustices and for their place within American society. The issue became a powerful symbol through which Korean Americans could articulate both past and present experiences of marginalization.

Chinese American activism, by contrast, has often been shaped by a longer struggle to gain recognition for wartime atrocities such as the Nanjing Massacre. While these efforts faced challenges in reaching wider audiences, the “Comfort Women” issue provided a more accessible entry point into public discourse. Its focus on gender-based violence and human rights resonated more broadly and allowed Chinese American activists to connect their historical concerns to a wider moral framework. Supporting “Comfort Women” memorialization thus became both a way to advance their own memory claims and to participate in a larger, globally recognized cause.

Collaboration between the two groups emerged from this convergence. Korean American activists brought strong community mobilization and a clear symbolic focus, while Chinese American activists contributed experience in framing wartime memory within broader narratives of injustice. Together, they built coalitions that extended beyond national histories, linking their efforts to other communities and causes. At its core, this cooperation has been driven not only by strategy, but also by a shared commitment to confronting denial and preserving historical truth, notably against revisionist voices from Japan.^[5] Activists often recognize parallels in their communities’ experiences – of suffering, silence, and the struggle for acknowledgment – even when their histories differ.

These developments suggest that the future of the “Comfort Women” movement may not lie primarily in state-to-state agreements, which remain constrained by geopolitical considerations. Instead, its strength may continue to come from civil society, especially from transnational and cross-community alliances that frame the issue in terms of universal human rights and gender justice. A potential path forward, therefore, lies in deepening these coalitions while keeping survivors’ voices at the center. This means moving beyond narrowly national narratives and continuing to connect the history of “Comfort Women” to broader global conversations about wartime violence, accountability, and remembrance. While the paradox of success without resolution persists, it also points to where meaningful progress is still possible.

The European Dimension

My most recent research has examined how "Comfort Women" activism is beginning to reshape memory landscapes beyond Asia and North America. The 2020 installation of a "Peace Statue" in Berlin's Mitte district on the initiative of a Korean German civil society organisation, Korea Verband, the subsequent controversy that surrounded the statue, and its dramatic removal by city authorities in 2025 raises profound questions about whose history 21st-century Germany is willing to tell in public. Germany's memory culture is rightly celebrated for its confrontation with Nazi crimes, yet it remains remarkably homogeneous and geographically fixated on Central Europe. The Korean German community's “Comfort Women” activism represents an attempt to negotiate space within this landscape for histories that are simultaneously local (as part of German migration history) and global (as part of transnational struggles against sexual violence and historical denial).^[6]

The Berlin controversy has laid bare the difficulties minority communities face when trying to take part in shaping public memory in Germany. When district authorities first responded to the installation of the statue, they described it as an inappropriate import of a “complex conflict between two states”^[7] into the German context. In doing so, they effectively denied Korean Germans recognition as legitimate actors within German civil society—people who are not simply observers of distant events, but participants with a right to contribute to how history is remembered in the place they live. What was presented as a question of diplomatic neutrality was, in practice, also a question of belonging: whose histories are considered relevant, and whose voices are heard in public space?

This response points to a broader tension within Germany’s memory culture. On the one hand, Germany is often seen as a global model for confronting its past. On the other hand, this process has largely developed within a nationally framed narrative, focused above all on the legacy of National Socialism. While this reckoning remains essential, it has also created a relatively narrow framework for public commemoration. In an increasingly diverse society, many citizens bring with them historical experiences and legacies that do not fit easily into this established narrative. The result is a layered situation: on the surface, a selective but well-institutionalized engagement with “the German past” continues, while beneath it, attempts by minority communities to articulate their own complex histories often struggle to find recognition.

The events surrounding the “Peace Statue” illustrate this dynamic particularly clearly. The decision by Berlin authorities in October 2025 to remove the statue was widely seen by Korean German activists as a turning point. Many interpreted the move as a response not only to local debates, but also to sustained pressure from Japanese diplomats. From this perspective, the removal signaled that considerations of international relations with an important economic partner were given priority over the concerns of a minority community seeking visibility and acknowledgment. Whether or not this interpretation captures the full picture, it highlights a perception that minority voices can be sidelined when they intersect with sensitive geopolitical issues.

But there is more at stake here than a single monument. The controversy in Berlin raises a fundamental question about democratic participation in memory culture: who gets to decide what is remembered, and how? In a society shaped by migration, memory is no longer confined to a single national story. It is increasingly shaped by transnational experiences, overlapping histories, and multiple perspectives on past injustices. For minority communities, public acts of remembrance are not only about the past; they are also about recognition in the present and inclusion in the broader social narrative.

Germany now faces a choice. One path would be to continue privileging forms of remembrance that are closely tied to national history and territorial boundaries, thereby maintaining a more controlled and familiar memory landscape. The other would be to open that landscape more fully to the diverse and globally connected histories that many of its citizens bring with them. This would not mean diluting existing forms of remembrance, but rather expanding them. It would mean acknowledging that engaging with the past in a plural society requires space for multiple, sometimes uncomfortable, histories to coexist. The Berlin case suggests that this process is far from complete. Yet it also shows that these debates are already underway, driven in large part by civil society actors who are insisting on being seen and heard. Whether Germany’s memory culture can evolve to meet this challenge will shape not only how the past is remembered, but also how inclusive its public sphere can become.^[8]

Conclusion

My research has led me to conclude that we need to broaden how we think about memory politics. The “Comfort Women” issue cannot be fully understood through national or bilateral perspectives alone, nor is it simply a matter of historical truth versus denial. Rather, it shows how memory operates across multiple levels at once—local, national, regional, and global—with different actors pursuing their own goals while drawing on shared symbols and narratives.

This complexity raises several important challenges. First, how can activists keep the focus on survivors’ needs and broader goals of social justice when their cause becomes entangled in geopolitics and nationalist agendas? Second, how can different communities work together effectively without losing sight of their distinct historical experiences? And third, how can societies create inclusive spaces of remembrance that allow for multiple, sometimes competing, perspectives without slipping into “anything goes” relativism? At a time when nationalism is gaining strength in many parts of the world, these questions are becoming even more pressing. At the same time, the resilience of the “Comfort Women” movement (its ability to adapt, form new alliances, and find new ways of making itself heard) offers some reason for cautious optimism.

Ultimately, the “Comfort Women” issue shows that memory is not something fixed or settled, but an active and often contested force. My research traces how a historical injustice is reframed through different lenses: diaspora identity, feminist activism, nationalist tensions, heritage politics, and struggles for recognition in multicultural societies. It is also clear that this is not merely an Asian story. The spread of “Comfort Women” memorials from Shanghai to San Francisco and Berlin illustrates how remembrance now crosses borders, creating new forms of solidarity while also sparking new conflicts. As societies around the world confront the legacies of colonialism, racism, and historical injustice, the “Comfort Women” movement offers important insights into both the possibilities and the limits of memory activism.