Tanzimat #2: The Desperate Sultan
The Sultan of the Ottoman Empire pondered what the Supreme Leader of the Korean Empire had done—and was still doing—what he himself could accomplish here, and what he ultimately had to achieve.
The empire's core problem was its population size and the woefully inadequate number of troops relative to it. Non-Muslims were refusing conscription, branding them infidels and such, which led even the Muslim population to balk at service. To resolve this, he believed he needed to Islamize the non-Muslims and maximize every available conscription resource. That's why he'd secured trains from Britain and France, pushing forcibly—however necessary—to convert the non-Muslims. It was the only way to ensure the empire's survival.
But was it, really? He could no longer hide the doubts creeping in.
His thoughts remained unchanged. The empire's path was unchanged. The question was whether that path truly guaranteed survival.
For a sultan like him, the terror had only deepened recently when Britain and France joined hands with Russia.
"I needed to turn the entire empire into Allah's army and seize lands across the seas... but now even that's impossible."
He felt the door closing.
Ukraine's wheat, coal, iron—and the industrial base Russia was feverishly developing. The Ottomans, stripped bare by Russia, couldn't even complain aloud, but deep down, he coveted it all. Turning the Black Sea into an inland lake, plundering Ukraine's iron, coal, and industrial foundations. Repaying them in kind, just like that badass Supreme Leader of Korea.
To the Sultan, iron, coal, and industrial capacity weren't optional for the Ottomans, who lacked them all. It was a matter of national survival. With every great power racing toward industrialization, without those, you were doomed. You couldn't industrialize.
The Ottomans had iron and coal, sure, but it was all buried in remote inland frontiers infested with unbelievers. There was no path to industrialization except hauling Ukraine's resources—right across the sea from the capital—back home.
"Ally with Germany and strike Russia!"
What bullshit. The Sultan hadn't lost his mind that far. How could anyone trust those Huns? Britain and France weren't exactly trustworthy either, but that didn't mean you could trust the Germanics.
"Ally with Germany, seize Ukraine, secure our living space!"
Get the hell out. The Sultan crushed such demands from certain military officers with his whole body, persisting in militarizing the agrarian Ottoman state. First, create some margin for victory. Not by borrowing German hands. Even if it meant relying on British and French support—or going without it—they had to wrench Ukraine from Russia. No matter how unrealistic, as long as Allah willed it!
He gazed desperately at the Quran being presented to him, then at the biography of that badass Supreme Leader lying beside it. The English-language tome he'd given up reading midway because his English sucked. Drawn by some inexplicable pull, he picked up not the Quran, but the discarded biography.
"This too is Allah's grace."
Shortly after, the Ottomans inquired about purchasing tractors from Korea. A first step out of their agrarian trap. Truly Allah's grace.
Even though Korea and Britain had reached some agreement, the grand Indian bathhouse project ran into trouble from the start. This place was too far from the cradle of Western civilization, Rome. It was a land of elephants, tigers, and rampant wilderness—India, India, India.
"The Indians are sprinkling cow urine at the site designated for the bathhouse water reservoir."
"…"
"Without malice?"
"Yes, they say it's a blessing ritual."
Are these people insane? Kim Ok-gyun—Kim Ok-gyun, Kim Ok-gyun—abruptly dispatched to India as the Supreme Leader's top man for this mad bathhouse conquest.
"Even when Joseon was at its poorest and most ignorant, I don't think we stooped that low."
"Shh, don't say that anywhere else."
"No, culture and customs have limits."
Cow piss terrorism in the water supply? At least it wasn't actual cow shit terrorism—small mercies.
In truth, hygiene issues like this harbored the biggest problems. That's why the Supreme Leader, fully aware, had sent him—head of Korean hygiene—to India. Not to solve or dodge the issue, but to amplify it. To score zero, you send the guy who gets 100... or 1000. Getting zero is harder than it looks; you have to pick only the absolutely wrong answers.
"At this rate, just scribbling a line would get zero."
Korea's exam sheets pursued the pinnacle: no pansy 100-point public education. Amid mountains of problems, in fixed time, wrong answers deducted points, right ones added—in a deadly objective race. Idiots plummeted negative on multiples; geniuses finished them and hit the essay back page. A rare few then met the perpetually shorthanded Supreme Leader.
India, though? Every multiple-choice looked like zero no matter what. Somehow. Did hygiene even exist here? Unclear. Even filthy old Joseon had basic washing concepts. Spreading hygiene here would be a bomb all its own.
His Supreme Leader was brutally cunning. He knew exactly how society would crumble introducing hygiene here—and did it anyway.
When Kim Ok-gyun and the Supreme Leader first spread soap in Joseon, the issue wasn't pricey demand. Hygiene—as absence of odor—laid bare class society's true face for all to see.
The implication was clear: Odorless elites other-ize the stinking masses. Class conflict ignites. Elites see underclass as dirty, lazy, burdensome pests; underclass faces elites treating them like beasts despite their own exhaustion. Once both filthy and coexisting, "hygiene" splits their worlds.
Most effective: Once people start washing, they internalize and rationalize it. Clean mock, scorn, ignore, persecute, exploit the unwashed—too busy or broke for it.
Introducing hygiene in Joseon forced Kim Ok-gyun and the Supreme Leader to face this head-on. Joseon solved it by "washing everyone anyway"—daily mandatory scrubs under military pretext.
India? Impossible.
Like Christ baptizing children to divide believers from heathens, the Supreme Leader and General Secretary sought to soap-wash the world into clean rich and filthy beggars.
Right here, in India.
Britain just saw it as natural civilization, smugly content. The Supreme Leader smiled back, then pressed the hot iron to India's ass.
Whether Lee Wan-yong ran his circus or Kim Ok-gyun danced, the Supreme Leader had work. Especially without those two.
"Did Foreign Minister Lee Wan-yong pass this along separately?"
"What."
"Looks like not."
Handover's a total mess. I wiped tears from the comrade's spicy handover, taking the documents.
"Japan's been aggressive lately."
"Why."
"First time their sovereignty's been violated, probably."
Hey, watch the language, friend. I ascended to Japanese Prime Minister legally.
Scanning the docs slowly, the Supreme Leader's eyes halted on one line.
"Fair enough. If your tech gets sucked dry, anyone'd panic."
If all Korean semiconductor tech sold to China, who'd stay calm? I understood Japan. Their rage too.
Barely scraping by daily, future bleak—who wouldn't rage? Globalization, trade chains—bullshit. Losing your job, your food? Ordinary folk explode. Who cares if it boosts total wealth? Not yours.
"Gotta accelerate Japan's manufacturing collapse."
I scribbled the pen, handed to the aide. Stuff for Japan.
"Double interest rates, minimum wage intro, invest in hotels·tourism·gambling·sex trade, develop local specialties, subsidize high-rise apartment redevelopment."
"Am I reading this right?"
"Yup. Skyscrapers galore where math works. Not Japanese money—ours."
Japan land prices bottomed, edging peak. And that peak's overflowing silver.
"Planning to make Japanese real 'rich,' huh."
"Spot on. High-rises are key—triples commute times magically."
Who commutes from city-center towers to suburban factories? Especially pre-car Japan. Three hours minimum by streetcar?
Bet they'll stick to city service jobs. My plan—factory zones city-center, 8-9 story low-rises on hills—enabled redevelopment, walkable commutes, cheap labor access.
Japan? Reverse: High-rises center spike land prices, shove factories out—explode wages. When they cheer, "You're grown—self-sustain," sell land, buildings, bye Japan.
Raised land means hiked min/service wages; labor costs can't drop, exiled factories can't return.
Japanese manufacturing loses edge, vanishes. Service jobs forever. Fine by them.