The Great War Ends, the Great Recession Begins
The First World War—no, the magnificent world event known as the Great War—was drawing to a close. Right before my eyes lay the looming Great Depression patch and the immediate postwar slump.
"There's no other way but to expand trade."
"I agree."
Up until now, war had forced trade into a somewhat voluntary and involuntary lockdown. With U-boats prowling around, it would've been ridiculous if it hadn't been sealed off. If we could kickstart free trade and make it bustle, we might soften the massive demand contraction that came with the war's end, even if just a little. It was the golden age of free trade dawning after the dark age of the Great War.
Of course, I knew all too well that the end of that free trade era was the Great Depression. The pain from free trade concentrates on the weak, while the gains from it get distributed to everyone. In truth, protectionism existed to shield their own economic weaklings, so the dawn of free trade—the death of protectionism—meant the collapse of that safety net for those very weaklings.
In civilizational terms, it was like trade routes once used to fill food and production needs suddenly pivoting overseas for profit. Sure, you'd make money that way, but there were bound to be limits to scaling up by embracing your nation's economic underclass. And without that scale-up, you get demand stagnation, straight into the Great Depression.
So the Great Depression was inevitable. Economies balloon toward peaks the deeper the troughs they start from, but populations and markets don't expand at the same explosive rate. Especially now, with Europe's prime working-age men slaughtered en masse, immediate productivity was wrecked, and the gender ratio was fucked beyond repair. The kids who were today's consumers couldn't easily fill tomorrow's producer slots either.
If the Great Depression didn't hit in a situation like this, that would be the real anomaly. Look at most 21st-century nations: they're sinking into middle-income traps due to internal redistribution issues and international market limits. The Depression was a sure thing. The problem was just that its intensity exceeded what Europeans imagined.
Nevertheless, we must pursue free trade. But even so, for the current crisis and the road ahead, free trade remained the path. Politically, free trade was an incredibly hard concept to establish. Unless it was right now, with the war over and America holding the keys, it'd be impossible under normal circumstances. Harder than the seven-person entry blockade.
That's why the Grand Line I'd demanded before was perfect for taking that first step into free trade. It created a channel of regular shipping lines like a virtual nation, where members traded tariff-free through it. This virtual channel consisted of ships floating across the seas loaded with goods from around the world, and the cargo on those ships—both current and future.
In other words, tariff-free trade, but with quotas limiting how much everyone could trade. This protected their industries from being undercut while letting all members suck some sweet tariff-free honey. My argument was that this would naturally lead everyone toward full free trade.
Despite Britain's subtle opposition—"Why should we do that?"—I'd wrangled their agreement somehow. With these regular liners, I tried to bind the world together, and I succeeded. Britain was the lone dissenter; everyone else agreed.
Of course, their agreement came with limits. Tariffs could still be slapped on in the form of fees or usage charges. And while the operation was multinational, the ships had clear nationalities—and so did their cargo. Meaning, buyers for much of the cargo were pre-designated. Third parties could buy at ports, sure, but they'd have to wait in line. Or pay express fees or premiums.
Despite these limitations, it was a clear step forward. Why? Because even so-called beggar nations could now access coal, iron, and oil through international markets. The flow of these ships along sea routes granted access to industrialization's essentials and opened export paths to the nations in between.
Industrialize? No problem. Export? No problem. Unlike before, when Britain controlled canals and routes, forcing you around the Cape of Good Hope if they said no. Now, market participants exploded in number.
As the market itself grows, the Great Depression gets delayed a bit. That buys us time to prepare while they don't. The Depression usually hits as a combo of stock and real estate crashes plus real-economy contraction. You can't tell which comes first phenomenally, so prepare for both. Not respond—prepare.
After issuing building contracts to former colonies facing postwar slumps, I turned to internal Korean Empire affairs. The world seemed to sigh in relief with the war over, but that was knowing one thing and ignoring two. Predators are opportunistic as hell. They only bite when something's weak. Meals? They shove their mouths in first and figure it out later. Waiting means no scraps.
And now was mealtime. Poland declares independence, then German separatists revolt there. Turkish uprisings in Greek Constantinople. Every damn place spilling meals and dirty dishes. Natural enough, really. Poland aside, Greece pulling that shit too.
From reports, Greece aimed to reclaim Constantinople, which meant evicting the Turks entrenched in the capital. So they did—really did it. But the entrenched elites wouldn't go quietly. They rallied the Turkish majority to resist. Result? The world was in postwar slump, but for me, it felt like the war never ended. Serbia looked ready to revolt too, pissed they fought a war but got no land.
But Wilson, me, Britain, France—none of us planned to give Serbia shit. Wrong lesson otherwise. Serbs thought differently, apparently. Hence the full uprising brewing.
With the Great Depression maybe less than a decade away, I want to focus on domestic issues, but with fireworks exploding everywhere, that's tough.
"Your Excellency! His Majesty has passed away!"
"Hm? The Kaiser?"
"No! His Majesty—our His Majesty!"
"Ah, aah."
Come to think of it, he'd been fading in and out. And we had our own ticking firecracker. My feelings toward Gojong were complicated. Setting aside that he was the king who doomed his nation like no other, the man I met and heard reports on was your typical reformist monarch. Or maybe not so typical, since reformist monarchs are rare.
He was the type who knew something was wrong and willed change. That's why I helped him. His limit? Being a figurehead emperor stuck there just for his bloodline. Legitimacy alone planted him, so he couldn't touch the scholar-farmer-artisan-merchant order that underpinned it.
Unable to reform that order, his eyes, ears, and hands were bound. Unable to reform it, he ended up under my scalpel. As emperor, he was born blind and deaf. He tried using his hands as best he could, but results from a blind, deaf man won't shine.
Assemble a guard division with in-laws? Under the scholar-farmer-artisan-merchant order, they're all the same crooks. He couldn't even escape his father's shadow or persuade him properly. Bad situation, mediocre skills. Yet he had the will to change—must've been hell living like that.
Common sense says if you lack ability, just hunker down and survive. But as king, he couldn't even do that. His achievements in Joseon history? Pitiful guy in every way. But pity doesn't mean he deserved real power.
He probably thought lack of power stalled him, but that was half-right. He lacked power because he lacked skill. No power, no skill. He had some grasp of the situation, but with legitimacy rock-bottom, he could never have kingly competence. Hell, only in death would he be treated as king.
Strip a king of legitimacy—what's left? National violence? At least that would've been salvageable. If he'd just breathed while I put out fires, I'd have helped, filling his legitimacy gap with popular support. Back then, I was busy everywhere recovering embezzled slush funds and treasury. Gotta fill the coffers first to win hearts.
But he sought to fix his legitimacy deficit by hitching to the Qing—click. Modern Koreans deny it, but at that point, the Joseon I saw was blatantly Qing's vassal. No foreign map showed otherwise. Qing recognition? He'd be Joseon's monarch, popular will be damned.
And maybe that's when I gave up all hope for Joseon—for Gojong. Things cooled off fast. I'd been helping him purely as a hobby, but his "pragmatic diplomacy" mask slipped to reveal vassalage, leaving me speechless. Plenty of other help to ask for—why borrow legitimacy from Qing? Asking for troops or cash, I'd buy pragmatic. But legitimacy? No.
Already meddling via legitimacy, borrowing more? We were plotting to carve up Qing for the Great Qing War. So I pressured Gojong and rebuffed Qing's diplomatic meddling. Alongside Japan, who'd been eyeing chances. And we won.
And now, Gojong was dead. In the current Korean Empire, there was no king, no emperor, no Son of Heaven.