South Korea protests Japan Takeshima Day over Dokdo

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Seoul has repeatedly ​objected to Japan's territorial claims over the tiny islets known as Takeshima in Japan ⁠and Dokdo in South Korea, which controls them. japantimes.co.jp

A solar farm in Nakai, Kanagawa Prefecture, in March 2016. Japan gets about a tenth of its electricity from solar panels despite having nearly no domestic production of photovoltaics (PVs). japantimes.co.jp

Sonic the Hedgehog, Castlevania's Alucard and the weak yet lovable Slime from Dragon Quest are just some of Japan's iconic gaming franchises celebrating midlife anniversaries in 2026. japantimes.co.jp

A Ukrainian rises in the traditional world of sumo japantimes.co.jp

Choi Jeong-yoon koreaherald.com

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South Korea has protested Japan’s annual “Takeshima Day” event, calling it an unjust assertion of sovereignty over the islets Seoul controls and knows as Dokdo. According to Reuters, cited by The Japan Times, South Korea’s foreign ministry objected to the ceremony organised by Shimane prefecture and to the attendance of a senior Japanese government official, urging Tokyo to abolish the event. Seoul also summoned a Japanese diplomat to lodge a formal protest.

The islands themselves are small, but the incentive structure around them is large. The dispute is a low-cost way for both governments to generate high-salience domestic signalling without immediately paying the price of real strategic choices. It is nationalism as a reusable asset: a yearly ritual that converts abstract sovereignty into television-ready grievance.

Tokyo’s decision to send a Cabinet Office vice-minister—rather than a full cabinet minister—illustrates the calibrated nature of the game. Japan wants to reassure domestic constituencies that it has not “yielded” while avoiding a step that would force South Korea into a proportionate escalation that could spill over into trade, intelligence sharing or military coordination. Seoul’s response is similarly structured: strong language, diplomatic summons, and repetition of the claim that Dokdo is “clearly” South Korean territory, historically and under international law.

Economics lurks beneath the symbolism. The waters are valuable fishing grounds, and Seoul has long argued the area could sit above significant deposits of natural gas hydrate—resources that become more politically useful the more energy security is securitised. In practice, the dispute functions like a barrier option: neither side needs to extract anything for the claim to be valuable; the claim itself is the bargaining chip.

The background problem is that Japan and South Korea are supposed to be security partners in a region where China is the dominant strategic variable. Yet identity markers—islands, flags, ceremonies—work as tools to discipline allies as much as to deter adversaries. A government can demonstrate toughness by picking a fight that is politically safe: a neighbour bound by alliance logic and economic interdependence.

That dynamic is visible in the parallel debate about flags and symbols at international sporting events. The Korea Herald notes that incidents involving incorrect flags can rapidly become political because the Taegeukgi’s design details—trigrams and orientation—are frequently mishandled. In other words, bureaucratic sloppiness becomes diplomatic fuel. A misprinted flag is not just an error; it is a ready-made narrative of disrespect.

From a governance perspective, this is the kind of conflict that persists precisely because it is manageable. It offers politicians a way to mobilise domestic opinion and shift attention from harder reforms—demographics, productivity, defence procurement—into a moralised arena where compromise is framed as betrayal.

Neither Reuters nor the Korean and Japanese sources report any immediate policy change beyond the protest and attendance level. That is the point: the ceremony is the policy. The cost is paid in accumulated mistrust—priced quietly into cooperation—while the political upside is collected loudly at home.