In the early decades of the seventeenth century, Korea's Joseon Dynasty maintained a deep and enduring alliance with Ming Dynasty China. Viewing itself as a legitimate cultural and political successor to the Ming Empire, Joseon remained profoundly loyal—a devotion held not only by the royal court but deeply rooted among the common Korean people. Meanwhile, in Manchuria, the Jurchen people were rapidly consolidating power under the leadership of Hong Taiji. Later establishing the Qing Dynasty, they engaged in direct warfare with Ming China. In 1627, the Manchu army launched its first invasion of Korea, an event known in history as the First Manchu Invasion or Jeongmyo Horan. At the time, King Injo ruled over Joseon. The conflict was brief and ended in a temporary peace treaty. Outwardly, Korea established peace with the Manchus, but in their hearts, their unwavering loyalty belonged to the Ming. Over the next few years, the situation grew increasingly complex. Joseon covertly provided support to the Ming Empire while viewing the Manchus as uncivilized barbarians. This deeply displeased Hong Taiji, who demanded that Korea fully acknowledge the supremacy of the Qing Empire.
In 1636, Hong Taiji led a massive army in a second, far more meticulous and powerful invasion of Korea. The Qing forces advanced rapidly toward the capital city of Hanseong, modern-day Seoul. Stricken with fear, King Injo sought refuge in the mountain fortress of Namhansanseong, where he remained besieged for several agonizing weeks. Freezing winter temperatures, severe food shortages, and military exhaustion reduced the fortress to desperate conditions. Finally, in 1637, King Injo was forced to surrender. At a place called Samjeondo, he bowed low before Hong Taiji and pledged submission, marking one of the most deeply humiliating moments in Korean history. This event came to be known as the Samjeondo Submission, later marked by the erection of the Samjeondo Monument glorifying Qing victory. Following this, Korea became a tributary state of the Qing Empire. The crown princes were taken hostage, and countless ordinary citizens were captured and marched to China as forced laborers. Thousands of Korean women fell victim to horrific violence and enslavement during the invasion. For a long time, villagers lived in hiding, taking refuge in remote mountains while agriculture came to a standstill. For years after the war, simple rural women and young men were regularly abducted and trafficked as slaves to the Qing domain. The victorious Qing forces looted the countryside, with women, youth, and children bearing the brunt of these atrocities. Tragically, women who eventually managed to return from China were rejected by their own society, finding no social acceptance after their ordeal. Male slaves who attempted escape had their heels severed upon recapture, while many captured Korean men were forcibly used as frontline soldiers in Qing campaigns against other lands. Korean national pride suffered a devastating blow, exposing the profound vulnerabilities of their military and governance. Yet, despite outwardly accepting the Qing Dynasty, the Korean people held fast to their inner devotion toward Ming China, a complex phenomenon often described as dual loyalty.
The Qing invasion of Joseon was not merely a localized war; it fundamentally altered the geopolitical balance of power across East Asia. It paved the way for the Qing Dynasty to gradually secure complete control over China, bringing about the ultimate fall of the Ming. For Korea, this was a profound and sobering lesson on the necessity of caution and political realism in foreign relations. While the war brought immense sorrow, oppression, and humiliation, it paradoxically fortified Korea's cultural self-respect and identity. The echoes of this tragedy continue to resonate in contemporary Korean literature, cinema, and historical television dramas such as My Dearest. One naturally wonders whether Korea ever sought vengeance against the Qing after such humiliation. The direct answer is no, yet that does not tell the whole story. In the aftermath of the seventeenth-century war, Joseon was severely weakened—its military was devastated, its economy ruined, and its national morale shattered. Meanwhile, the Qing Empire grew exponentially stronger. Under such circumstances, launching a direct military campaign for revenge was virtually impossible. Nevertheless, the desire for retribution never truly died out in Korean hearts. King Hyojong, who had himself suffered the humiliation of being a hostage in the Qing court, nurtured a secret plan known as Bukbeol or the Northern Expedition, aimed at restructuring the military to one day attack the Qing. However, circumstances never favored Joseon, as the Qing Empire achieved immense power while Korea could never fully rebuild its offensive capabilities. Consequently, the Bukbeol initiative remained an unfulfilled dream. In place of military revenge, Korean scholars and rulers pursued a path of cultural resistance. They began to regard themselves as the true guardians of authentic Chinese civilization, drawing upon their deep loyalty to the fallen Ming, whom they viewed as the genuine representatives of refined culture compared to the barbarian Qing. Outwardly displaying formal respect to Qing emissaries, they harbored internal disdain and resistance. Korean scholars continued to use the Ming calendar, traditional attire, and cultural practices for generations. This dual policy allowed Joseon to preserve its honor and survive under the shadow of a dominant empire.
Over the next two centuries, the Qing Empire, which had reached great heights in military and cultural dominance during the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries, began to rot from within. Internal corruption, administrative collapse, overpopulation, and widespread famines triggered massive uprisings such as the Taiping Rebellion and the Boxer Rebellion. Externally, Western powers battered the empire through the Opium Wars, forcing unequal treaties that stripped away its sovereignty. The ultimate blow came during the First Sino-Japanese War, where the Qing suffered a decisive defeat at the hands of Japan, revealing to the world that the giant empire was now powerless. These shifts deeply impacted Joseon, which had long isolated itself as a Hermit Kingdom. As the Qing weakened, Korea lost its traditional protector just as Western nations and Japan demanded open trade and political access. Following the First Sino-Japanese War, Qing influence over Korea vanished, allowing Japan to expand its dominion, culminating in the complete annexation of Korea in 1910 and ending the Joseon Dynasty. Though Korea regained independence after Japan's defeat in World War II in 1945, the country was tragically partitioned along the 38th parallel between Soviet and American spheres of control. Despite the passage of nearly three centuries, the people of both Koreas still view the Qing as ruthless invaders. Through cinema, literature, and television series, modern generations remain deeply connected to these historical struggles, remembering both the Manchu invasions and the brutal period of Japanese rule with unwavering historical clarity.
This narrative of devastation and cultural survival in Korea offers a striking parallel to the history of Odisha under Mughal, Pathan, and Maratha rule. Just as Koreans suffered immensely under Manchu and Japanese invasions, the people of Odisha endured unspeakable atrocities under foreign incursions. Following the fall of the independent Odia kingdom, Mughal and Pathan forces repeatedly invaded and plundered the region, desecrating ancient temples, violating the honor of women, and taking control of ancestral lands to establish foreign settlements. Then came the Maratha rulers, whose notorious Bargi light cavalry raided villages with merciless violence. They spared nothing, stealing even humble household utensils made of brass and bronze. Out of sheer terror, Odia villagers disguised their wealth, abandoned sturdy homes to live in modest thatched huts, and frequently fled into dense forests, causing agricultural paralysis and economic collapse. Heavy taxes were levied on pilgrims visiting the sacred Shree Jagannath Temple in Puri, and local tributary kings were extorted for exorbitant Chauth revenues, particularly devastating the Garhjat hill states. The common people—especially women, children, and farmers—bore the brunt of this destruction, enduring plunder, captivity, and social upheaval.
While the human suffering in both regions was remarkably similar, a key political difference existed. Although Joseon became a tributary state, it retained its native king and domestic administration, granting it a degree of internal autonomy. In contrast, Odisha came under direct foreign rule, suffering prolonged political instability where local rulers possessed little real authority. Yet the most profound difference lies in how these two regions remember their past. Korea has never forgotten its history of humiliation and resistance; it actively portrays these events in modern films such as The Fortress, War of the Arrows, The Night Owl, and My Dearest, as well as detailed television documentaries, transforming past trauma into a shield of modern self-respect. In contrast, Odisha has largely failed to bring the harsh reality of Mughal and Maratha atrocities to light in modern literature, cinema, or popular media. As a result, serious misconceptions have taken root among the public. Many ordinary Odias mistakenly view the Bargi raiders as heroic protectors or confuse them with Pathan forces, while some intellectuals incorrectly assert that Marathas saved Odisha and performed benevolent works. This intellectual inertia and historical amnesia represent a grave blow to Odia national pride. By failing to remember its history, Odisha risks losing its identity. Korea demonstrates that a nation's true strength lies in confronting its history, honoring the wounds of its ancestors, and turning cultural resistance into a beacon of self-respect. Odisha must now awaken from its cultural slumber, bringing the authentic history of its struggles—from temple defenses to the suffering under Bargi raids—out of dusty scholarly archives and into cinema, theater, and modern literature, thereby paying true tribute to its ancestors and reviving Odia self-worth.
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