5 posts tagged “castle”
Okinawa is dense with historical and cultural finds. So much so that, wherever you wander on this ostensibly tiny island, you're likely to run into an interesting site you hadn't reckoned on.
On the way to the Southeast Botanical Gardens, instead I found a sign leading toward Yara Castle on the outskirts of Okinawa City.
Built on a limestone hill, the castle reaches 38 meters over sea level, offering a formidable defensive position. It's arranged around local park facilities -- baseball diamonds, playground equipment, and a path leading to a nearby river -- so the fact that it isn't the largest or most impressive castle around is offset by its concordance with the local landscape.
(This particular gusuku site is also known as Okawa Castle, after the feudal lord who ran the place. There is another site also called Yara Castle or Yara Fort, but it's a different enterprise, and was built in Naha in the 16th century to defend against pirates.)
Stone formations work with natural vegetation to create a timeless landscape:
Amawari, who you may remember as the rebellious lord of Katsuren Castle and traitor to the kingdom, is said to have been born here. This isn't certain, but it's held in common belief.
When you've got history right in your backyard, at some point it ceases to become history and merely becomes the backyard. So it was for these beer delivery truck workers, who chose the castle parking lot to take a noontime nap.
Note: a week of minimal internet connectivity has hamstrung my posting capability. The site should start updating as normal, on a daily basis, starting today.
Over Okinawa soba last month, the debate intensified. The one that had been raging in the back of my head, that is, except this time the arguing principals were friends of mine from Naha. He (fiery activist) and she (thoughtful journalist) found one point of disagreement to hash out between noodle-slurping. I listened.
The issue: When we say "Okinawan," who is an Okinawan, anyway? The meta-issue, for You, The Reader: What does this have to do with a trip to Nakijin Castle?
Let's start with the simple. Nakijin is the largest castle in Okinawa. The sturdy construction on the Motobu Peninsula is, even today, imposing as it looks out toward the East China Sea. When the landscapes were dominated by regional lords known as anji, having a fortress of rock and stone was an essential bulwark against the slings and arrows of one's rivals.
High vantage points helped keep track of the enemy's advance:
All the views in the world, though, won't defend a kingdom against a superior army. A recurring theme in local history, the poor denizens of Nakijin would fall to an invading force. Just another example of the unfortunate Okinawans being conquered.
Except this time they were conquered by other Okinawans. Kind of. Until the 15th century, when Sho Hashi conquered the whole of Okinawa, the island was divided into three kingdoms divided by geography.
A quick translation: the term for "conquer" in English historical language is "unify." Funny, that. I remember when kids in school used to unify our respective lunch monies in a wallet that wasn't mine.
Nakijin, before the "unification," was the seat of Hokuzan ("north country"). The lord of the castle and his main aides all committed suicide after the battle to defend their kingdom went south. Reading about this campaign -- and later campaigns, in 1500 and after, to pacify the islands of Miyako and the like -- affected me more than I thought it would at first.
When you're writing a book about how an essentially nonviolent population has been consistently caught between larger, warring powers, there's more than a little disquiet that comes from reading about smaller scale internal violence -- to learn that Okinawans treated each other the way the Shimazu clan of Satsuma would later treat them, as subjects to be brought to heel.
A little cognitive dissonance is good, though. Cleans the brain, opens one up to new perspectives. So it was as I sat and listened, soba disappearing, awamori glasses being refilled.
When we say Okinawans, she was saying, we're really saying "people from the main island, and even then, mostly people from the populated south." For a long time, people from the rural north were looked down on in the manner of American hillbillies. It's even more clear for people from the outer islands, she continued: the word Okinawans call themselves in the local language, "uchinanchu," doesn't exist in the southern dialects. Miyako people don't call themselves uchinanchu, and neither do people from the Yaeyamas.
Sure, came the gruff reply, we haven't always been one. But we're one now, and language doesn't matter as much as a shared fate, anyway. Besides, maybe we can tell the difference between a Kunigami villager, an urbanite from Naha and a surfer on Iriomote -- but can anyone else? Can the people building airports on hallowed ecological spots? Do they care?
The discussion was polite, if forceful. And there was more than a little surprise that these two would disagree. Neither hesitates to use the label "Okinawans" when defending the island against those who would act against local interests, and this is illustrative.
Language is deployed differently for descriptive purposes than for activist purposes. "Leave the peace-loving Okinawans alone!" is a much better slogan than "Leave the largely non-aggressive, though occasionally internally violent, population of the former Ryukyu Kingdom alone!" "Save wild Okinawa!" works better than "Preserve the chain of Ryukyu Islands, which at one time politically did not include Miyako, Yaeyama and other outer islands!"
In communication, criteria matters. The journalist knows this, and I suspect she was playing a bit of academic Devil's Advocate.
Time, too, has to matter. Sho Hashi's aggression happened almost 600 years ago, ushered in an age of relative prosperity and created the entity we now refer to as the Ryukyu Kingdom. It gives me pause now, even at this point in time, to issue sweeping pronouncements about Okinawans as one unitary monolith. But my historical musings prove little other than that the victims sometimes become executioners, and vice versa. Identities form when they form, sometimes organically, sometimes from necessity.
One more informative detail. My Devil's Advocate friend? She's a transplanted mainlander with a background in Okinawan history. The staunch defender of uchinanchu identity is a local, born and raised. Note the different perspectives of the learned academic and the native-born rabble-rouser. With detachment comes perspective, on occasion at the expense of passion.
In history, there are times for unity. Then, there are times for taking sides. It takes intellect to see which is which and passion to follow through on what one knows.
When the phone rings at 11:30 p.m., the news is either great or awful. When mine sang out last night, I was relieved to hear from a friend of mine in the Air Force who usually works the late, late shift. He'd gotten off early (great news) and was dipping his toe into the waters of the night.
Zakimi Castle, he says, is very cool at night. Nocturnal cultural activity was the order of the day. We loaded up in a van with coffee, apple juice and onigiri for a little light-impaired sightseeing.
Zakimi Castle is in Yomitan Village, the well-preserved remains of a hilltop fortress. Gosamaru, who I wrote about here as lord of Nakagusuku Castle, was lord of Zakimi as well. "Gusuku" is the Okinawan language word for "castle" ("shiro" in Japanese, if you're scoring at home). While I'm here in Okinawa, I plan to visit every Gusuku world heritage site. This leaves Nakijin and Katsuren castles next on my list.
Naturally, I plan to check out Zakimi during the day as well. Word is that the sunrise view from the ramparts is astounding, and you can see why by scoping the night view of Naha City:
While I was taking that picture, using limestone as a makeshift tripod, we hears low voices and saw the glowing red end of a lit cigarette. It was about 3 a.m. Two couples, high school maybe, had quietly advanced up the path to join us.
Exchanging the chance encounter greetings, I got the feeling the young men were non-plussed to see anyone else there. No matter: we were getting hungry, I had my photo, and it was time to clear the lane.
We left. One couple walked north along the parapet. Another walked south, and paused at the castle wall, lingering awkwardly. For a moment, I though of yelling "Just kiss her, stupid!" in Japanese. Instead, I just started humming "Love is in the Air." Subtlety. It's all about subtlety.
Some say the world will end in fire
Some say in ice
From what I've tasted of desire
I hold with those who favor fire.
-- Robert Frost
Four times the world of Shuri Castle has ended in fire, most recently with the mighty conflagration that occurred here during World War II. Today's Shuri is the fifth incarnation, and what better color for a fifth-generation phoenix than red?
Historian George Kerr called Shuri "one of the most magnificent castle sites to be found anywhere in the world, for it commands the countryside for miles around and looks toward distant sea horizons on every side." The Chinese influence is apparent, and some of the surviving stonework originates from Okinawa's old ally, parent state and trading partner. This dragon fountain, for example:
Situated on a hill and protected by a stout outer and inner wall, Shuri made an effective fortress when it wasn't being accidentally torched. Say what you will about simple living, but a modern fire extinguisher could have saved the Ryukyuans a good deal of treasure and heartbreak between 1453 and 1709. It wouldn't have done them a lot of good during the Second World War, when the Japanese co-opted the palace for use as their military headquarters. But then, not much would have done the Okinawans good during the Second World War.
This wasn't the first time Americans had used force on Shuri, though it was certainly the worst time. Commodore Matthew Perry bullied his way into the palace in the 1850s, putting Okinawans in a bad spot. That's a post for another day, though (and what we in the business of typing our thoughts call "foreshadowing.")
Nowadays, the castle is a place families can while away entire days. If you're interested in historical artifacts (old technology, royal regalia, various forms of art), you can find them here. You can also stroll through the royal gardens, roam the walls marveling at the architecture, or just take in the view:
Shuri survived as the seat of Ryukyuan government for hundreds of years. Even the parts of it that died survived in a way, preserved beneath the new castle site as rubble:
Not quite ashes, but modern Shuri rose from them anyway.
During long stretches of Okinawan history, the principalities had cause to fear each other. For defense, the local lords built castles. Some of these castles, like Shuri, were utterly devastated multiple times, then rebuilt over the years. Others, like Nakagusuku, lived on as ruins after their utility passed.
The story of this particular ruin is quite tragic. Its lord, Gosamaru, learned that a rival (Amawari of Katsuren) was fomenting rebellion against the king. Though Gosamaru moved to bolster his military forces, Amawari chose the more cunning path. He convinced the king, Sho Taikyu, that the lord of Nakagusuku was the one planning an uprising. After all, wasn't he mobilizing men and arms?
The king moved against Gosamaru, and rather than fight his liege, Nakagusuku's lord committed suicide. Sad story, no?
[Of course, the denouement involves some comeuppance: it's awfully tough to convince a king that the guy who just killed himself rather than fight you was the troublemaker. Amawari fell at his own castle shortly thereafter.]
Today, you can relive these good times, and even visit Gosamaru's grave, one of the oldest turtleback tombs in all of Okinawa. When entering the park, you're greeted by the first of many gajuumaru (banyan) trees. If the castle itself weren't so impressive, the nature surround it might become the focus.
The southern entrance of Nakagusuku is where visitors first spot the castle walls today. Historically, the main gate was on the other side.
By any standard, the stonework is very impressive.
I find the incongruities intriguing, like the places where irregular stone walls meet symmetrical ones.
The views from the castle walls are spectacular. Centuries pre-DiCaprio, you can imagine Gosamaru standing here, looking out at the western shore and shouting the uchinaaguchi equivalent of "I'm the lord of all I survey!"
At least the lord of Nakagusuku went out on his own terms. There may (or may not) be a lesson there.
