Artists and collectives Yoshiko Shimada, Taeko Tomiyama, and the Tomorrow Girls Troop have tackled the theme of comfort women in courageous shows of rebellion. Here's the original article on Hanabi Temple.
They Call Them Comfort Women
They call them comfort women, a designation that neither conveys the torture they endured nor the abandonment they suffered. They were recruited, persuaded, or bought from their villages in Vietnam, Indonesia, and Hong Kong. They were forced to wash soldiers' uniforms, tend to their wounds, and obey their orders. They were called Kimiko, Akiko, Harumi—names that were not theirs but reminded Japanese soldiers of their own women.
They were abandoned, forgotten, ignored. They have been told, analyzed, and politicized. Today, art can help us remember and heal a raw wound in Japanese history.
“During the day, I sewed clothes and did the soldiers’ laundry. That was easy. But at night, I was dying. I felt like I was dead. I wanted to escape, but I didn’t know how.” – Comfort woman from Miaoli, Taiwan.
The First Accounts of Comfort Women
About 200,000 women were forced into prostitution by Imperial Japan between 1932 and 1945. The testimonies of comfort women began to reach the wider public in the 1990s, and today, their story is known worldwide. Even in Italy, they are more commonly referred to by the English term rather than “donne di conforto,” the translation of the original term ianfu (慰安婦).
Korean woman Kim Hak-sun was the first to publicly share her experience in 1991. From that moment on, many other Korean, Taiwanese, Chinese, and Filipino women found the courage to recount the abuse they suffered. Several contemporary Japanese artists felt compelled to contribute to the narrative, often driven not only by a common fight against Japanese patriarchy but also by a sense of responsibility—or even guilt. Their own fathers were the perpetrators. Their country was responsible. Their mothers were complicit. Their works contribute to the debate on an issue that challenges Japan’s contemporary identity and forces it to confront its past.
Statues of Peace
Example of a Statue of Peace. The bird on the girl's shoulder is a symbol of liberation.
The Statues of Peace depict young girls sitting on a simple chair, usually dressed in traditional Korean attire. Their hair is cut abruptly, symbolizing the severed ties with their families. Their heels are raised, representing their instability. The bird on their shoulder signifies freedom. They have a determined gaze, fixed on a place symbolizing Japan’s overseas presence.
Silently, they demand recognition of the exploitation of young Korean women (and those from other Asian countries) and Japan’s responsibility. They protest against the authorities' reluctance to apologize and compensate the victims—now elderly women, often living in difficult conditions.
Multiple versions of these statues exist worldwide, created by various artists. Many are placed in front of Japanese embassies abroad, with the most famous one in Seoul. Others are in private locations; for instance, one titled Eternal Atonement is displayed in the private garden of a Korean citizen.
Against Forgetting
The Statue of Peace erected in Glendale Central Park, Los Angeles, was also the focal point of a moving performance in February 2018. In Against Forgetting, members of the feminist collective Tomorrow Girls Troop (TGT) lay down on the grass in front of the sculpture. One by one, they rise, helping each other until they all stand hand in hand in a circle.
They then read a statement against the erasure of women’s suffering in war. In a solemn procession, they pay tribute to the statue. There, they meet another presence: artist Yoshiko Shimada (美子嶋田, b. 1959). Dressed like the statue and painted in bronze, as if she were a statue come to life, she embraces the TGT women.
Her performance, first staged in 2012, is titled Becoming a Statue of a Japanese Comfort Woman.
Yoshiko Shimada and Memory
Yoshiko Shimada’s interest in comfort women began after hearing Kim Hak-sun’s testimony in 1991. She also portrayed her in the print Tea and Sympathy (Ocha to dōjō お茶と同情, 1995), overlaying her elderly portrait with historical photographs of Japan’s occupation.
In her 1996 installation Black Boxes + Voice Recorder, black boxes—some chained shut, others with lids slightly lifted—contained photographs of women submerged in water. In the room, amplified recordings of their testimonies filled the space.
Even before these works, Shimada explored the role of women during World War II and Japanese imperialism. In her 1992 etching Shooting Lessons, she used a historical photograph of Japanese women wearing the traditional white kappōgi (割烹着), a symbol of patriotism and loyalty. They are learning to shoot—to suppress local uprisings. They are indoctrinated accomplices, ready for sacrifice.
Being a Woman During War
Comfort Women / Women of Conformity (1994) is a collection of photographs and testimonies of elderly comfort women, interspersed with statements from Japanese feminists of the time. Among them, for example, is a quote from Raichō Hiratsuka, who supported the imperialist cause and believed a woman's duty was to bear children who could contribute to war and national prosperity.
This work destabilizes the common perception that Japanese women were solely victims during the war. In Look at Me, Look at You (1995), the contrast between women from the invading and occupied countries is stark. A Western-style wedding dress hangs from the ceiling. On the other side of a one-way mirror, a blood-stained chima jeogori—a traditional Korean dress—hangs.
The Japanese woman is confined within traditional roles dictated by wartime Japan, manipulated by them. For the sake of loyalty, she not only obeys expectations of being a mother and wife but also participates—directly or indirectly—in the war effort and violence against Korean women. Their lives are different, but both are oppressed.
Coming to Terms with the Past
“I fundamentally like absolute discipline and tend to be influenced more by emotion than logic. I suppose it would have been easy for me to become a fascist.”
Shimada acknowledges that, as contemporaries, we cannot assume we would have chosen “the right side” had we lived in that era.
During her time in Germany and the U.S., Shimada engaged in international discussions on imperialism. Upon returning to Japan, she decided to confront her own past. In her 2004 project Bones in a Tansu: Family Secrets, she exposed family secrets from various participants, including her own. Her grandfather was responsible for identifying and punishing Koreans accused—falsely—of arson during the 1923 earthquake.
Her entire body of work is an unrelenting search through history and conscience: Are we sure we would have been any better?
Taeko Tomiyama’s Tribute to Comfort Women
Artist Taeko Tomiyama (妙子富山, b. 1921) personally experienced the internal conflict of being a Japanese woman during the invasion years. Raised in Manchuria amid expansionist fervor, she is known for her paintings and collages depicting comfort women, infused with references to global religions, rituals, and legends.
Censorship and Dissent
In 2019, controversy surrounded a Statue of Peace at the Aichi Triennale. Organizers suspended the event, fearing right-wing extremists would vandalize the statue by Kim Seo-kyung and Kim Eun-sung. Ironically, the exhibition's theme was censorship.
Similarly, artist Toshihiko Hanai was forced to withdraw his poster Who Am I? (Watashi wa dare desu ka? 私は誰ですか) from a show in Ise after discussions with the mayor. Its offense? Depicting a Chinese comfort woman statue.
In today’s Japan, publicly addressing comfort women remains difficult. Censorship stifles debate and hinders acknowledgment of state responsibility. Yet, we can hope that artists' creativity and determination to tell these stories will not fade anytime soon