Post-Confucian East Asian television dramas: Staging medical politics inside the White Tower

International Journal of Cultural Studies 14(3)251 –264 © The Author(s) 2011Reprints and permission: sagepub.co.uk/ journalsPermissions.navDOI: 10.1177/1367877910391865ics.sagepub.com

ArticlePost-Confucian East Asian television dramas: Staging medical politics inside theWhite Tower

Liew Kai KhiunNanyang Technological University, Singapore

Abstract Between 2003 and 2007, three versions of the Japanese novel, Shiroi Kyotou (The Great White Tower) were screened as television drama serials in Japan (2003), Taiwan (2006) and South Korea (2007). The phenomenon of White Tower reflects the vibrant multiculturality and transnationality of East Asian television dramas. Accordingly, this article seeks to use the various narratives of White Tower as manifestations of the underlying tensions of post-authoritarian and post-miracle economies of Taiwan, South Korea and Japan. While audiences are awed by the technologically sophisticated hospital settings and the rigidly disciplined health professionals in the productions, they are also exposed to the ugly realities of cronyism, neglect and arrogance of the predominantly male medical elite. Given the conservatism of most mainstream television dramas, the challenge here is to determine how to interpret the latest versions of White Tower as simultaneously exhibitions and critiques of Asian modernity.

Keywords collectivism, Confucian values, Japan, masculinity, medical dramas, South Korea, Taiwan, White Tower

The colour white represents the ideals of the highest and purest attainment of knowledge and is indicative of the noblest mission to mankind. But within this tranquil tower, a series of vicious struggles are at play. (author’s translation from Chinese)

The excerpt above comes from the Taiwanese novelist Huo Wen Yeung’s symbolization of medical politics in his version of The Great White Tower published in 1996. The gen-esis of this television drama can be traced to Yamasaki Toyoko’s 1964 novel, Shiroi Kyotou. It had inspired a film adaptation in 1966 and was subsequently adapted several

Corresponding author:Liew Kai Khiun, Nanyang Technological University 50 Nanyang Avenue, Singapore 639798. Email: [email protected]

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times as a drama series in Japan in 1967, 1978, 1990 and 2003. Between 2003 and 2007 however, White Tower also became popularized outside Japan, with similar remakes in Taiwan (2005) and South Korea (2007). Fundamentally, the script revolves around two surgeons with contrasting characteristics – one wholeheartedly devoted to his patients and research; the other politically ambitious and keen to ascend the hospital hierarchy. The exploration of these three television drama versions of White Tower reveals several socio-cultural trends within the flow of transnational East Asian popular culture and the appropriation of televisual texts.

In addition, by dramatizing the vicious politicking and corruption behind the otherwise exalted medical profession, White Tower also frames a broader critique of East Asia’s pater-nalistic political culture – a political culture often credited with the region’s post-war economic development. Emphasizing the significance of the mutation and magnification of medical discourses in the popular realm, Polsky argues: ‘even though the authority of bio-medicine is often perceived to be unilateral, biomedicine and popular culture always work in collaboration as mutually constitutive discourses’ (2002: 167). More than an entertain-ment product, White Tower may be viewed as the site of intersection for otherwise divergent disciplinary paradigms of media and popular culture as well as biomedical discourses.

Good doctor, bad doctor

Unlike soap operas and ‘idol’ television dramas catering for either the female or youth markets, the various instalments of White Tower seem to target the adult male audience. It is in these audiences that the relationship between hypermasculinity and television is formed, where such dramas attempt to privilege male egocentrism and elevate otherwise infantile aggressive behaviours into valorous struggles in order to be culturally accepta-ble to male viewers (Joyrich, 1997: 216). On the whole, both the recent versions in Korea and Japan have followed the novel faithfully. Nonetheless, as part of efforts to cast the net wider, the directors of the series have deliberately placed at the forefront, more prom-inent male artistes like Karasawa Toshiaki, Lee Seon-gyoon and Jerry Yan, who have been heart-throbs in youth ‘idol dramas’. In the Japanese and Korean versions, Dr Zaizen Goro (Karasawa Toshiaki) and Dr Jang Jun Hyuk (Kim Myeong-min) are outstandingly dexterous carcinogenesis specialist assistant professors in the Department of General Surgery at the Naniwa and Myeongin University Hospitals respectively.

Their increasing prominence in the media limelight and among the medical fraternity provokes the jealousy of their former mentors and outgoing directors, Professor Azuma Teizo and Professor Lee Ju-Wan. Like his Japanese counterpart, Lee seeks to marginalize his former student by attempting to bring in a successor from outside the hospital, thereby starting the fierce leadership contest within the institution. In contrast, Satomi Shuji (Eguchi Yosuke) and Dr Choi Do-yeong (Lee Seon-Gyoon) in the Department of Gastrointestinal Medicine are more interested in medical research and patient welfare than office politics. Unlike their politically ambitious former classmates, Satomi and Choi invest most of their time in the laboratories and at the patients’ bedsides, rather than indulging in bureaucratic jostling and chasing the attendant trappings of power.

Aside from a staunchly loyal junior medical staff (inclusive of nurses and housemen), both Jang and Zaizen are also generously backed by their wealthy fathers-in-law. Though

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amassing substantial wealth from their gynaecological private practices, the two elders do not command the social prestige of their peers in the medical establishment. Hence, it is only through their promising sons-in-law that the private practitioners hope to obtain greater social capital and recognition within the fraternity. In the two versions, they are instrumental in abetting Zaizen and Jang, in that they bribe and cajole senior professors to throw their support behind their sons-in-law. Aside from the men, the protagonists’ wives and lovers are also thrown into the political arena. The dolled-up spouses make themselves actively visible in the network of wives of senior figures in the hospital estab-lishment, both at formal events and in informal settings, winning the hearts of the more prominent women in the group. On a different plane, Zaizen’s and Jang’s lovers operate more discreetly in gathering information through their positions as hostesses-cum- owners in posh bars that are frequented by senior medical professionals. Collectively, they manage to influence the final vote (held behind closed doors) of the senior medical authorities by a narrow margin of 16–14 in the favour of Zaizen/Jang, and the two aspir-ing candidates promptly assumed their new positions.

Shortly after their appointment, Zaizen and Jang bask in the limelight of success. At which point, they become aware of the trappings of their new positions. They are espe-cially pleased to be able to exhibit their surgical skills in high-profile but extraordinary difficult operations at international medical conferences. However, an oversight in one of the more casual surgeries in their own hospitals results in the aggravation of their patients’ condition, leading to their eventual deaths. Their disregard for the politically and finan-cially less important patients is shown in their denial of any mistakes in spite of the repeated warnings from Satomi and Choi, who first detected signs of complications.

Eventually, the relatives of the deceased decide to take legal action against the principal surgeons, Zaizen and Jang, with Satomi and Choi agreeing to be the key witnesses. Upon being cleared of the charges, both the accused discover they have actually been suffering from advanced brain cancer and have only months to live, a suggestion of the limits of their arrogance. The drama ends with the magnanimity of the Zaizen’s and Jang’s predecessors, who set aside their differences to help save the lives of their former students. Nonetheless, their efforts are unsuccessful, and the curtains comes down on both serials with the reunit-ing of the medical fraternity in grief at the passing of the two controversial mavericks.

Taiwan’s version of White Tower (titled Hospital) deviates partially from the original Japanese script in that it closely followed the version penned by Taiwanese novelist, Huo Weng Yeung, wherein the local political context is caricatured more intimately. Like the Japanese and Korean versions, Hospital features an ambitious Dr Chiu Qing Ching (Leon Dai Li Ren) and the more politically innocent Dr Su Yi Hua (Jerry Yan). Both are embroiled in the aggressive competition of their seniors, Professor Tang Guo Tai (Ng Man Tat) and Xu Da Ming (Chang Guo Chu), who are vying to succeed the retiring medical director of the Lian Da hospital. The main ‘prize’ for the competing parties in the first half of the drama is the responsibility for overseeing the operation on the daugh-ter of Taiwan’s President, Liu Xing Ping (Saya Cheng), who is suffering from leukaemia. Although Su shows genuine concern for Liu, he is unceremoniously edged out by Tang and his subordinate Chiu, who take charge of this highly publicized operation.

Even though Chiu is directly involved in Liu’s surgery, his department head, Tang, takes credit in public when the operation proved successful. This initial success puts


Tang in an advantageous position over Xu, but it is not long before Liu’s condition deteriorates and the blame shifts to Tang, particularly after findings from the President’s secret investigation into the hospital’s affairs come to light. Following the wishes of the head of state, Tang is sidelined in favour of Chiu in the race for the hospital’s top posi-tion. Like Jang and Zaizei, Chiu has the support of his lover, a prominent female journal-ist Ma Yi Fen (Cheryl Yang), who provides him with potentially scandalous information on his rivals. After assuming his new position, Chiu’s private and public dealings become increasingly unethical as he tries to cover up medical negligence as well as his extra-marital affair, to the extent that he compels Ma to abort their baby. In contrast to the Japanese and South Korean versions, redemption for Chiu comes with the fatal accident of his young daughter. A guilt ridden Chiu subsequently retreats from high office to focus on medical care in the Accident and Emergency Department.

The crux of these three medical dramas lies in the contrast between the politically and medically motivated doctors. Goodier and Arrington highlight the necessity of mutual trust, sensitivity and security in fostering a reciprocal relationship between a caring phy-sician and cooperative patient (Goodier and Arrington, 2007). The differences between the politically ambitious Chiu, Zaizen and Jang vis-a-vis their more sensitive counter-parts Su, Satomi and Choi are manifested in their approaches towards patients. In gen-eral, these characters are portrayed as highly qualified and skilled medical specialists, capable of making complex diagnosis and surgeries. Nonetheless, those aiming for higher office tend to prioritize their patients either according to their social and financial status, or because they are cases with potential opportunities for scientific breakthroughs. On the other hand, the more sympathetic physicians in the serials give greater priority and emotional attention to patients based on the severity of their illnesses. When first tasked with the role of principal physician for the President’s daughter, Su quickly devel-ops a personal rapport with his patient. However, after being removed from the case by his more ambitious seniors, Su fears her health is increasingly being sacrificed for politi-cal gain. In various ways, he tries to intervene, going so far as to sneak through the President’s security personnel, but his enthusiasm is treated with derisive cynicism in the end. In this respect, the presence of characters like Su, Jang and Satomi become personi-fications of the ideals of modern medicine, ideals untainted by the human temptations of power, wealth and lust, and ideals that the television audiences should desire, both within and outside the hospital.

Dramatizing medicine in East Asia

American-based popular television medical dramas like Emergency Room (ER) and Gray’s Anatomy have attracted scholarly attention for providing insights into public impressions of the medical establishment and as tools of health communication (Davin, 2003; Dutta, 2007). These productions are set within the more time-conscious Accident and Emergency or Cardiology departments, where life and death is virtually a heartbeat away. Almost every episode involves teams of uniformed medical staff rushing either bloodied or gaping patients on trolleys and ramming past swinging doors into brightly lit operating theatres. Within critical minutes, the subjects have to be examined, diagnosed and operated on by the surgical teams which need to decide immediately on the most

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appropriate procedures. The drama quotient in the operating room would usually soar with the unexpected adverse reaction of the patients to the surgeries, typically character-ized by uncontrolled blood splattering amidst the quickening pace of warning beeps from electronic indicators. In the heat of action, critical actions have to be taken promptly, with little time for explanations and emotions.

Overall, the principal appeal of these sequence fast-paced style of medical dramas lies in the juxtaposition of morbidity with glamour, and medicine with media (Jacobs, 2001). Widely circulated around the globe, the popularity of these medical dramas has not escaped the notice of national television networks keen to appropriate such narratives into their own productions. The small screens of East Asia, in this respect, have wit-nessed the burgeoning of distinctive medical dramas from the 1990s. Among the more prominent series in Japan are Team Medical Dragon I–IV (2002–6), Nurse Aoi (2006), Dr Amashow (2006) and Code Blue I & II (2008, 2010), etc. In South Korea, Surgeon Bong Dal Hee (2006) received the highest television viewership ratings in the country, while in Hong Kong the TVB drama series Healing Hands ran successfully for several seasons from the late 1990s.

Previously sideshows in scenes pertaining to births, injuries, sickness and deaths, the hospital and medical profession are now the primary focus of attention in East Asian television dramas. In addition to complicated diseases, these serials centred around highly skilled and benevolent professionals struggling to transcend personal angst, patient idiosyncrasies and bureaucratic hurdles. From merely ferrying patients to their beds, giving a diagnosis and announcing deaths, the doctors and nurses are now given their own narratives as both individuals and professionals. The institutions in which they operate in are presented as being generally highly modern, efficiently organized and technologically sophisticated. The emphasis on technology in medical dramas show-cases the mastery of knowledge and the physician’s dominance over nature in treating the patient (Harter and Japp, 2001). Another visible indication of modernity in these hospitals on screen has been the presence of female doctors and specialists, who are seen to be working side by side with their male counterparts. Nonetheless, in most medical dramas, it is the latter who are not only shown to naturally possess medical expertise, but also as having moral and bureaucratic authority. Unlike the female doctors and nurses in these soap operas, who seem to be required to undertake a steep learning curve in the cases of Nurse Aoi and Surgeon Bong Dal Hee, the clinical knowledge of men is natu-rally assumed.

Similarly, in the recent adaptations of White Tower, the producers have accorded sig-nificantly greater emphasis to medical technology than there was in the novel. Unlike the latter, which references X-ray diagnosis of diseases, the television versions in the recent years have given more on-screen attention to the use of state-of-the-art clinical tools in sophisticated operating theatres. Generally, the sanitized settings of the hospital facilities and the glamorized portrayals of its medical workers in these dramas are probably a far cry from the familiar realities of the overcrowded and understaffed hospitals. Hence, the appeal of these productions featuring contemporary hospitals may rest not so much on the presentation of social realities, but on the idealization of a healing culture that com-bines futuristic technologies with timeless compassion. Widely circulated as part of the transnational flows within East and Southeast Asia (Chou, 2002; Chua and Iwabuchi,


2008; Iwabuchi, 2002), such medical dramas convey to their audiences the promise of the pursuit of modernity and progress.

Hypermodern settings, hyper-feudal feuds

As in many contemporary East Asian medical dramas, the hospital settings in the various versions of White Tower appear ultra-modern and systematized. Indeed, it seems the dramas are prepared in actual hospital environments rather than studio mock-ups, sug-gesting the substantial investment put into these productions. From the corridors to the wards, the featured medical facilities are perpetually clean, tidy and brightly lit. The large operating and lecture theatres, and boardrooms do not merely serve utilitarian func-tions, but are also symbolic spaces for the expression and affirmation of the status and authority of the medical fraternity. For the Japanese and Korean productions, the second level of the operating theatres is the glass-enclosed viewing galleries, fitted with smaller television screens to enable audiences to have both the aerial and magnified angles of the ongoing surgeries. Lecture theatres and boardrooms not only broadcast the speeches and talks, but also enable those attending to watch live video transmissions of surgeries in the operating theatres. The most pertinent affirmation of the scale of the hospital activities can be perhaps seen in the wide and high lobbies of the hospitals’ entrances, which audi-ences are constantly shown as reminders of both the size and importance of the institu-tion. While the spatial layout is meant to awe television viewers with glimpses of the otherwise restricted premises of medical facilities, the medical hardware and equipment featured serves to distinguish the medical profession further. In all three adaptations, viewers are constantly bombarded with the use of state-of-the-art surgical and scanning equipment in robotized and computerized clinical laboratories. Nonetheless, the dramas have also portrayed the ‘softer’ aspects of hospital premises, such as pantry rooms and cafes as well as gardens and rooftops for quiet reflections or informal negotiations.

In many respects, these featured hospitals are probably the proud embodiments of the apparently successful post-war modernization and industrialization projects of East Asian countries. Taken as a whole, they demonstrate mastery in the smooth absorption and appro-priation of the knowledge and application of modern biomedical sciences and technology, which, in turn, places these countries on par with West. Such desires and affirmations are also demonstrated by the recognition by visibly senior Western medical professionals of the protagonists like Zaizen and Jang at international medical conferences. Supporting the advanced infrastructure in these television serials is the highly disciplined medical hierar-chy, divided not just between doctors and nurses, but clinical specialties as well, particu-larly the fields of internal and external medicine. The seniority of the doctors is made apparent through the exceptional physical size of their offices (complete with luxurious sofa sets), and also the deference that their junior staff show towards them.

A daily ritual display of such subservience can be perhaps reflected in the morning ward visits that are personally conducted by the medical director, at which all staff are required to be present. The routine usually commences with the group of doctors and the supervising nurse assembling at the entrance of the lift to await the arrival of their depart-ment head. Upon stepping out of the lift, the latter is greeted resoundingly by his team and briefed by the deputy before commencing the tour. The entourage walks through the

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corridors with their chief in the centre, flanked by his juniors on each side and at the back. When checking on patients, he asks some general questions as one of his staff reads out the related case sheet for further deliberations. It is evident even to the audiences that the recommendations and decisions of the director are merely ceremonial in normal cir-cumstances. Nevertheless, it also is clear that such visits are meant as another display and assertion of authority, both to the patients as well as the medical staff.

It is perhaps in the South Korean version of White Tower that the exhibition of organi-zational cohesion becomes comparatively more harshly enforced through the use of cor-poral punishments. When one of Jang’s subordinates is found to be ‘negligent’, his immediate supervisors order the entire staff to assemble on the empty rooftop of the hospital without the prompting of the department head. The frantic junior doctors, both male and female, rush up the staircase to the rooftop where they are subjected to a series of ‘physical exercises’ under the watchful eyes of their immediate seniors. Those who are unable to withstand the exercises are hit by the patrolling supervisors. By infantilizing the entire group in this way, such forms of militaristic collective punishment serve to instil the emphasis on collective responsibility that helps to ensure greater social moni-toring and organizational conformity.

In the three drama series, the belief that the preservation of the bureaucratic order and the stability of the medical fraternity should come before the integrity and professional-ism of medical practice is highlighted. For instance, the hospital staff in the Taiwanese version showed utmost restraint in the face of invasive paparazzi in keeping their bitter internal divisions away from the public eye. Hence, during the press conference after the operation on the President’s daughter, Xu grudgingly credits Tang for the apparent suc-cess of the procedure, even though he hints at his displeasure by ‘accidentally’ dropping the microphone he passes to his rival.

The most poignant evidence of the implications of such emphasis in these productions lies in the culture of silence on the part of the medical community when it comes to poten-tially publicly embarrassing and legally problematic areas. When the relatives of the deceased patients decided to take legal action against the apparent negligence of Jang, Zaizen and Chiu, the medical fraternity falls silent when individual doctors are asked to be witnesses. As the audience expects, only the more righteous Satomi, Choi and Su choose to testify against their former classmates. Their struggle for justice on behalf of the powerless is lonely and risky, however, especially in the face of unofficial censure and social ostraci-zation. Satomi and Choi are not only threatened with the withdrawal of funds for their research laboratories, but also with divorce by their wives, who feel that the doctors should not sacrifice their jobs, and therefore the families’ livelihood, for more idealistic causes. Such pressures on the families of the victims also begin to grow stronger as they see their food catering business slump as clients withdraw, afraid of antagonizing the medical insti-tutions. This is a demonstration of how the grip of the capillaries of power subordinate justice for the individual to the structures and interests of the broader social hierarchy.

Collectivity and corruption

In general, the organizational practices of the hospitals in the three television drama adaptations bear strong resemblances to the notions of the highly collectivistic


and hierarchical corporate cultures of East Asia. Among the traits identified, the most prominent is the emphasis of reciprocity and obligations (usually construed as obedience to the higher ups) as part of the maintenance of interdependence (Bhappu, 2000; Flingstein and Feeland, 1995). Unlike the corporate modern western institutions that supposedly place greater emphasis measurable results and value their staff accordingly, their non-western counterparts seem to place greater importance on the less quantifiable social networks and affiliations (Newman and Nollen, 1996). In EastAsia, such paternal-istic and group-oriented cultures have been credited with providing the conditions for rationalizing the bureaucracy by discouraging individualistic and predatory practices; and this rationalizing process has been seen as a major factor in the ascent of the miracle economies of East Asia (Chibber, 2002). However, through the unchivalrous competition for power between the dutiful student and his paternalistic mentor, White Tower reveals the ugly realities behind these outwardly ‘harmonious’ organizations.

The desperation of the medical fraternity to defend its own exalted status exposes the tensions behind the collectivistic organizational mentalities frequently associated with East Asian corporate and political cultures. The virtues of discipline, sacrifice and loyalty are inverted to become repression, conformity and cronyism, where corruption and money politics, rather than Confucian moral suasion, becomes the driving force. In the Taiwan version of White Tower, bribes for the senior surgeons like Tang and Chiu are prevalent, from wealthy patients wanting to fast track their operations. These kickbacks are also given by pharmaceutical companies eager to secure sales of their products to these major medical institutions. Similarly, in their lobbying efforts, Jang and Zaizen have to expend substantial financial resources by giving out huge sums of money to the members of the selection committee, sometimes in rather explicit ways. Thinly concealed in parcels and sports bags, the bundles of hard cash are generously distributed to inter-ested parties in private rooms in up-market bars and, at times, even deposited discreetly in car boots. Upon reaching high office, the aspirants are also expected to use their posi-tions to purchase the pharmaceutical products that their senior backers ‘represent’.

Conventionally, low institutional trust and standards are related to, or reflected in, high levels of corruption, where personal connections and considerations overshadow public interests and compromise legal structures. However, in the case of East Asia, both growth rates and corruption indices are double those of their western OECD counter-parts, leading to a puzzling coexistence that has been described as the East Asian paradox (Chang and Chiu, 2007; Wedeman, 2002). This paradox is also reflected in White Tower, where endemic institutionalized corruption, seems to coexist unproblematically with efficiently functioning modern medical institutions. Nonetheless, the manufacturing of such a consensual culture is not an entirely smooth process, especially where the stakes are high for positions of power and influence, as the three medical dramas consistently highlight. The desire for high office brings out the most ruthless and crudest display of emotions from the competing parties. For the more senior players in the hospital admin-istration, the fundamental problem is that of pride. Accustomed to not only the privi-only the privi- the privi-leges, but also prestige of high office, the older members feel threatened by the ascent of ambitious and energetic young Turks.

In the case of the Japanese and Korean versions, both the medical directors, Azuma Teizo and Professor Lee Ju-Wan feel jealous of the laurels that Zaizen and Jang receive.

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This is despite the fact that they are on the verge of retirement. On the surface, their reprimands to the latter seem to stem from paternalistic concerns, and their proposals for alternative successors are meant to create more choices in terms of future hospital leader-ship. However, it becomes obvious to the viewers that these considerations are merely the professors’ final exercise of power to choose their successors. One critical method used by the departmental heads to further strengthen their bureaucratic positions in these dramas is that of matrimony, as seen by the attempts of Azuma, Lee and Xu to marry their daughters to their favoured candidates. Nonetheless, Azuma’s and Lee’s hopes are dashed when their daughters refuse be pawns on their parents’ political chessboards. An exception comes in the case of Su, who goes on to become his medical director’s son-in-law partly in order to escape from the emotional problems stemming from a fall-out with his long time partner Guan Xin (Zhang Yue Ting). Xu had earlier compelled Chiu to resign from his position as head of the Surgery Department after media allegations of corruption, and proceeded to replace him with the more promising Su. As a result, the status of both was strengthened within the hospital, to the point where Su became increas-ingly arrogant. As an indication of the institutionalized licence conferred by power, Su adopts the brash behaviour of Tang as a department head in the final part of the serial, and crudely flings his houseman’s thesis on the ground in the public area of the hospital after taking a quick glance at its contents. As he does so, his accompanying subordinates cower behind him in frightened silence. Following this encounter, the houseman quickly retrieves his thesis and rushes to rejoin the entourage as Su walks on indifferently.

Nonetheless, the juniors are not totally passive. Aside from vote buying, Jang and Zaizen also attempt to obtain any relevant information regarding the moves of their men-tors. Jang goes so far as to take a peep into Lee’s office computer when the latter acci-dentally leaves it on when taking a toilet break. Other acts include getting junior staff to monitor the proceedings of the election process through the keyhole of the conference rooms as well as orchestrating a minor road accident to delay the arrival of a committee member known to be unsympathetic to the protagonists. Once elected into office, Jang and Zaizen deliberately choose not to attend the last morning round of ward visits with their predecessors. This highlights their blatant disregard for the institutional norms of the hospitals. The tensions do not abate under the new leadership, for soon after, one of their patients dies as a result of an operation the medical directors had deemed success-ful. Instead of admitting to the misjudgment, Jang and Zaizen cynically placed the blame on one of the housemen charged with monitoring the post-surgery recovery of the affected patients. The rookies in turn, are made to believe that the fault lies entirely with them (in spite of their earlier warnings of the patients’ deteriorating condition), and that keeping quiet will be good for their career prospects.

Medical politics for the Taiwanese version is presented in a more explicit manner than in its Korean and Japanese counterparts. This is seen particularly in the explosive tem-perament of Tang, who shouts abuse at his nursing assistants during operations and engages in fistfights with Xu in the changing room while trying to obstruct latter from participating in the surgery on the President’s daughter. Tang also has scant respect for the retiring medical director, whom he manipulates with the occasional thinly veiled threat to reveal his corrupt practices. Nonetheless, his day of reckoning comes after he suffers a serious stroke upon learning that he has been bypassed for promotion to the


position of medical director. Tang’s antics, however, pale in comparison with those of the other senior medics. In another case, a patient dies after an operation by another medical director. He tries to attribute the blame for the operation to the young anaesthetist, Guan Xin, by constantly but gently asking her about any mistakes committed. Nonetheless, even under the pressure of the hospital’s public relations manager, Guan Xin persists in arguing for an open verdict, and her persistence pays off when medical director caves in and resigns out of shame.

Fundamentally, the corruption of the noble calling of medicine in the drama series can be traced to the concept of family. In the highly masculinized world of White Tower, the struggles experienced by Jang and Zaizen originate with their mothers, and for Chiu, his wife and daughter. In the Japanese and Korean versions, significant emphasis is placed on the protagonists’ background, wherein they were brought up in impoverished environ-ments by single mothers who undertook backbreaking work to pay for their sons’ educa-tion. The pressures arising from the expectations placed on these children are so great as to allow them to endure all tribulations. It is this social burden that explains the unre-strained ambition of both protagonists. Here, the audience catches glimpses of the strug-gles of the early years of these characters, particularly in the younger Jang, who is shown to subsist on sandwiches while studying for his medical degree, and enduring stoically the corporal punishments during his days as a houseman. The early hardships of these two characters and their filial responsibilities are meant to provide them with the redeem-ing and humanizing qualities that serve to absolve, if not mitigate, their wrongdoing vis-a-vis the behaviour of the less politically ambitious Choi, Satomi and Su.

Overall, the explicit portrayal of medical politics in White Tower is crucial in destabi-lizing the self-orientalizing binaries and myths inherent in the neo-Confucian notions of ‘Asian values’, which emphasize the development of the collective over that of the indi-vidual. The complexities in this medical drama series produce a hybridized and postco-lonial ‘open-ended and non-ordered process of interaction’ (Han and Ling, 1998: 73). Since the 1960s, the novel, film and the television dramas have consistently and effec-tively problematised the triumphant and positivistic narratives of East Asian post-war modernity. As is shown in the next section, the local adaptation and appropriation of its narrative by the Taiwanese and South Koreans, coupled with the increasing viewership in the rest of Asia, indicates that the medical politics of White Tower is no longer limited to Japan.

White Tower in a democratic age

Following de-regulation and privatization of the media, questions have been raised regarding the role of the state in getting increasingly transnational television networks to mould or propagate desired national and cultural narratives (Turner, 2000). Even while similar trends are occurring in East Asia, where the massive flow of cultural artefacts collectively provides the basis of alternatives identities and processes (Appadurai, 1996), the national agenda has not been entirely drowned out (Langdale, 1997; Noble, 2000). Aside from the impositions of formal restrictive mechanisms by regulatory authorities, television networks in the region have not shied away from productions with, in particu-lar, more nationalistic agendas, whereby historical folk and patriotic heroes and events

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are often re-enacted in soap operas. In other words, television’s placement within the intimate domestic space is an indication of the fact that no other medium has contributed as much to both the historicization of everyday life and the decontextualization of his-torical images (Ito, 2002: 21). Even without official direction, these channels continue to devote their resources towards culturally and nationally specific themes rather than deo-dorizing the nation for the transnational market.

Although most local productions are intended for local audiences, they have neverthe-less gained broader regional and even international appeal, as evinced in the case of the spread of East Asian television dramas. Leung (2004) and Fung (2007) have described such commonalities as part of the cultural homologies of East Asian societies, where audiences would readily associate with the themes of either modernity or development. In examining the spread of Japanese youth culture to Hong Kong, Nakano (2002: 223) notes that this requires the development of (popular) cultural literacy, which permits the systematic inference of cultural codes and meanings. For the viewers of White Tower, however, this inference arises from the striking common politico-historical and cultural backgrounds of their experiences of the modernization and industrialization of their soci-eties. Even as East Asian societies have achieved remarkable growth rates over the dec-ades, the celebratory narrative has been increasingly critiqued. As such, it would not be difficult for audiences in the region to draw parallels between the corrupt organizational cultures in White Tower and their own political realities.

Television culture, as propagated by the media, has been simultaneously accused of perpetuating the ideologically repressive tentacles of the dominant discourse and praised for celebrating its emancipatory potentials. Leading the pessimists, Bourdieu (2001) dis-missed the conservative and de-intellectualized nature of the small screen as being inca-pable of critical reflections and portrayals. Nonetheless, the production and exhibition of these thematically disturbing medical dramas on prime-time television also reflects the more liberal and autonomous media cultures of post-war Japan and post-authoritarian Taiwan and South Korea. Serving as a reminder of the flimsy moral foundations behind the triumphant notions of ‘Japan Inc.’ since the 1960s, White Tower resonates more loudly in the domestic Japanese households that have been enduring a prolonged reces-sion since the early 1990s.

The Taiwanese and South Korean versions of this medical drama have become part of the continuous critiques of nationalized corruption and institutionalized cronyism under ‘developmental dictatorships’ that mask their authoritarianism under the rhetoric of ‘Asian Values’ (Moran, 1999; Thomson, 2004). The allegory of the trends of democrati-zation is more evident in the Taiwanese version of White Tower. While attending an award ceremony, the hospital’s chairman whisperingly reminds the medical director, Professor Huang, in a severe tone, to be careful in dealing with family of the patient who died during surgery in this ‘democratic age’. Subsequently, unable to cover up his mis-takes during the operation, the latter wonders aloud what happened in the previous era of his parents, where doctors were almost divine personalities. To date, no other country in the Asia-Pacific region has embarked on a remake of White Tower as mainstream televi-sion drama. Aside from the large budgets necessary to do so, it is perhaps only in more sceptical, open and democratic conditions that such explicit critiques can be shown on prime-time television.


Conclusion

Television studies scholars have established the rules of engagement with their sources in accordance with the standards of modernity and postmodernity, dominant myths and counter-myths. In attempting to situate cultural identities within television dramas, those representing the modern and the dominant are productions which reinforce more concre-tized and conservative mainstream ideologies and representations. Their ‘postmodern’ and ‘counter-myths’ counterparts, in contrast, contain more fragmentary, pluralistic and therefore potentially disruptive narratives (Thornham and Purvis, 2005; Tulloch, 1990). However, it becomes problematic to position White Tower in relation to these existing paradigmatic boundaries, where the airbrushed ideals of hypermodern medical sciences and the ‘postmodern’ crude realities of power are simultaneously featured.

Showcasing highly organized and technologically sophisticated hospital cultures, these television series can be considered another idealized form of modernity of the industrialized world. Whereas such ideals have been previously represented by glamor-ized actors in urban settings, now it is the sanitized, computerized and automated hospi-tal professionals who become the focus of desire and pride. The main draw of these drama series, however, has been the vicious power struggles between the incumbents and their successors, as well as the attendant corrupting influences of money politics. Behind the façade of a seemingly highly hierarchicized and paternalistic institutional culture lie intense rivalries among members of the otherwise exalted medical profession.

Essentially, the various versions of White Tower can be regarded as representative of the mainstreaming and popularizing of the critique of the authoritarian and paternalistic political cultures of East Asia. Once celebrated as part of the ethos of discipline and def-erence responsible for the Asian economic miracle, the collectivistic ethos of ‘Confucian’ or ‘Asian values’ is now seen as being hypocritically repressive and corrupt. Screened during the prolonged recession in Japan, and in post-dictatorship Taiwan and South Korea, this set of medical dramas can be identified here as post-authoritarian or post-‘Asian Values’ narratives. No longer subscribing to, or tolerating, the myths of paternal-istic corporations or authoritarian regimes, White Tower is also an expression of the uncertainties of democratization arising from the reversal of roles whereby the patient (however sheepish) starts to challenge the doctor.

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Videography

Shiroi Kyotō (白い巨塔 The White Tower) (1966) Directed by Satsuo Yamamoto (Film).Shiroi Kyotō (白い巨塔) (2003) (Fuji TV) (Television Series).The Hospital (白色巨塔) (2006) (CTV).White Tower(하얀 거탑, Hayan Geotab) (2007) (MBC)

Liew Kai Khiun obtained his PhD in Medical History from University College London. Aside from medical historiography, he has also published articles on popular culture in the Asia-Pacific. He is currently researching the portrayal of medical discourses in East Asian films and television dramas, and is also undertaking an edited book project on Health Communications in Asia. He is an Assistant Professor at the Wee Kim Wee School of Communications and Information at the Nanyang Technological University.

Post-Confucian East Asian television dramas: Staging medical politics inside the White Tower

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