This August 15 marks the 80th anniversary of the end of World War II. Around this time of the year, I find myself in a peculiar and often uncomfortable position: caught between two nations, two identities, and two histories.
Being born to a Japanese father and a Korean mother, as someone of these two heritages, I am, in a sense, both the “colonizer” and the “colonized.”
Growing up, I have lost count of how many times people told me that Japan needs to fully “own up” to its imperialist past. The word “atonement” often floats in these conversations, as though it were a single act, a measurable deed Japan must perform to finally be redeemed.
I certainly don’t seek to defend every decision Japan made, nor downplay the painful reality of its colonial rule over Korea and elsewhere. My Korean side remembers it. And my maternal grandparents were among those who suffered under it.
But how long must guilt endure before it becomes something else — ritualized, performative or even weaponized? And what does it mean for a nation to take responsibility, and does it ever end?
For Koreans, colonial memory is not abstract. It’s deeply personal. My family members lived through those decades, and their ordeal was real. Yet so was the hardship of postwar Japanese civilians, many of whom had no part in the decisions made by generals and bureaucrats, and who were themselves shattered by a war their country initiated.
The standard language of diplomacy has often sought to put these legacies to rest through treaties, compensation, and statements of regret. Japan and South Korea normalized relations in 1965, and further apologies and compensation from Japan followed in the decades.
Still, public opinion polls in South Korea continue to show high levels of distrust toward Japan. Every few years, a new flare-up over textbooks, monuments or territorial disputes threatens to undo whatever seemingly fragile reconciliation was achieved.
That’s because historical wounds are not healed by legal documents alone. They exist in families, in classrooms, in cemeteries. They are passed down, not merely as facts, but as emotions such as grief, pride and resentment.
Diplomatic settlements aim for closure, but memories resist it.
But here’s the uncomfortable truth. Not all uses of memory serve to heal, and not all grievances must last forever. At some point, nations must choose what kind of future they want to live in.
Must past injustice always define present identity? If so, then the colonizer will always be guilty, and the colonized will always be aggrieved. What room does that leave for mutual dignity?
Koreans have every right to remember colonialism. Yet if remembrance becomes a tool to demand endless moral submission from its neighbor, it risks turning historical justice into political capital. At the same time, if Japan continues to deny the emotional truth of colonial memory, reconciliation will always be one step out of reach.
The past should not be forgotten. It should be studied, debated, written about, and passed down honestly. That said, nations cannot live forever in the shadow of their worst chapters. Guilt is not a political foundation. Neither is grievance. History must guide the future, not imprison it.
The 80th anniversary, therefore, shouldn’t just be a time to remember what was lost. It should also be a moment to ask what kind of peace we’re still trying to build. And whether Japan and South Korea are finally ready to break free from the old shadows and reconcile for a shared future.
Kenji Yoshida is a Seoul-based correspondent for JAPAN Forward. He has lived, studied, and worked in Japan and South Korea for many years and speaks both languages fluently.

Indeed, history cannot imprison the present, but history cannot distort it either. Japan must apologize to South Korea