Technology and prejudice: a brief history of techno-orientalism
Technology hasnever been more capable of bringing people together. The social media explosionemerging from thestreets of Hong Kong is the most recent example of people harnessingconnectivity and tech to enact genuine change.
At the sametime, it brings together people that are fundamentally different. China’stendency to detainsocial media critics is not without logic; Donald Trump’s Twitter activityhas fast become a tedious, clichéd way of using tech to divide, differentiateand demean. People are often uncomfortable when connected with people whoaren’t like them.
The medialandscape, from Brexitto Iran,would have you believe that these divisions are worse than ever. But tribalismhas been an obstacle for us since time immemorial; we’re just more aware of it.
‘Othering’groups of people — emphasising the ‘irreconcilable’ differences between the‘them’ and the ‘us’ — is one of the oldest political tools we know, andtechnology has often been a weapon in this fight. Traditional orientalism isthe perfect example; the ways in which the western world doggedly differentiateditself from eastern cultures as more civilised, more moral, or simply superior.
Orientalism wasat its peak immediately after World War II. The vicious combat involved of thePacific had given the Japanese a reputation as savage, animalistic, zealousself-martyrs to westerners. Japan’s defeat through the atomic bomb, moralityaside, was an incredible demonstration of technological superiority. It servedas ‘proof’ to westerners that they were better than the ‘others’.
In the post-warera, the Japanese upended this caricature. The industry sparked by the KoreanWar kickstartedJapan’s economy, with its GNP growing at a 10% throughout the 1960s and a5% in the 1970s. When it levelled out in the 1980s, Japan had fully establisheda high-wage economy.
As a response,traditional orientalism gave way to techno-orientalism. Given Japan’s economicand industrial prowess, the animalistic parodies of WWII couldn’t apply anymore. A new prejudice, driven by a fear of Japan’s economic and industrialsuperiority, portrayed its people as sacrificing personality and freedom in thename of efficiency and machines.
This imagepermeated swathes of western pop culture in the 1980s and ‘90s. BladeRunner’s incredible backdrop is both intimidating, dystopian, and veryJapanese. Both versions of Ghost in the Shell’s cyborg protagonist embodythe stereotypeof western beauty and yet have been constructed, as though the orientcouldn’t produce it naturally.
As it turns out,such prejudice was a knee-jerk reaction — who knew?! — as hypocritical as itwas premature. Japan’s economy suffered a downturn in the 1990s, and brandslike Sony and Toyota were increasingly assimilated into western countries. Theinhuman machine was suddenly seen as a bumbling nation without much economicdirection, even if it happened to make great cars and stereos.
Western suspicionssoftened as a result, and as technology has permeated our lives, the ‘othering’of Japan has increasingly dissolved. The 2011Tōhoku earthquake andtsunami is atragic but poignant example. The costliest natural disaster in history atUS$235bn and the claiming of over 15,000 lives received immense coverage in thewest.
Humanitarianefforts from all over Europe and America came to the nation’s aid. Interestingly,hysterical US clickbait peddlers waved at (incorrect) maps showing the potential spreadof radioactive material. Japan’s problem was suddenly their problem too.
Techno-orientalismis fascinating both in the way that it weaponised technology as an alienatingforce, and in the way that we can look back on it as a product of the politicaland cultural landscape at the time. Misgivings about other cultures will alwaysfeel more justified without the gift of hindsight. When we wade into battlewith other keyboard warriors about today’s issues, that’s worth remembering.