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Unsurprisingly, some of the 46 Korean survivors reject what Abe calls an apology. They probably could not have accepted even a more fulsome apology from a man who issued it after previous grumblings about forever apologizing, who didn’t consult survivors about what they needed to hear, who didn’t provide formal reparations, who didn’t make concrete and specific commitments to prevent similar crimes in the future, and whose wife posted Facebook pictures of a shrine honouring convicted war criminals on the very day that her husband offered his non-apology.

But according to reports, Japan is turning a evasive manoeuvre into a cheap bribe. If these reports are true, the government has attached strings to the $11.5 million CDN that it’s offered a foundation that supports victims. To receive any support, South Korea must take down the statue of the little girl across from the Japanese embassy.

It’s remarkable, really. In the vaguest possible terms, Abe has acknowledged that, with his country’s involvement, a very bad thing happened. He has admitted that he feels bad about this bad thing. He understands that the victims of this bad thing have felt very bad for a very long time. He’s willing to give these victims some money so that they won’t feel quite so bad anymore. But what he won’t do is allow them to express their memories publicly in even the small way that seems most appropriate to them.

It’s not hard to see why survivors’ memories make Japan uncomfortable. Actions have consequences, and those consequences may not be limited to cash or the word “sorry.” Taking full responsibility usually means coming to a new understanding of one’s fallibility — which is to say, to feel vulnerable. By dictating the terms on which it will remember the atrocities it committed, Japan can assert more control over its identity, rather than live with the vulnerability that follows a full accounting of one’s errors.