China’s longstanding disputes over territories, historical identities and cultural heritage have come under renewed scrutiny following revelations that Beijing has registered 24 instances of Korean cultural traditions as Chinese national intangible heritage. The controversy, involving the iconic Korean folk song Arirang, has reignited accusations that Beijing is using historical reinterpretation and state institutions to incorporate the identities and traditions of neighbouring peoples into its own national narrative.
According to a South Korean government research report publicised in October, China has designated numerous Korean traditions, including Arirang, Pansori, Chuseok celebrations, kimchi-making, traditional wrestling and folk dances, as national cultural heritage. The registrations were documented across China’s northeastern provinces of Jilin, Liaoning and Heilongjiang, where substantial ethnic Korean communities reside. The 24 recorded cases include some traditions registered in more than one location.
Particularly controversial is an information board in Zhongxing Village in Heilongjiang Province, which reportedly traces Arirang’s origins to migrants travelling from the Chinese mainland to the Korean Peninsula during the Han dynasty. South Korean professor Seo Kyoung-duk has condemned the explanation as a distortion of Korean history, arguing that it attempts to portray a distinctly Korean cultural tradition as originating from China.
The controversy is not simply about the preservation of a folk song. It raises broader questions about how the Chinese state uses historical narratives, cultural institutions and territorial claims to define the boundaries of Chinese national identity.
In Tibet, Beijing’s policies have long generated disputes over the distinction between political sovereignty and cultural identity. Since China established control over Tibet in the 1950s, the Chinese government has increasingly incorporated Tibetan history, religion and cultural traditions into its official account of a unified Chinese nation. Tibetan representatives and human rights organisations argue that this approach diminishes Tibet’s distinct historical identity and undermines the authority of Tibetan communities over their own religious and cultural institutions.
A recent Wall Street Journal investigation into the transformation of Tibetan culture in Shangri-La, formerly known as Gyalthang, examined how Tibetan religious imagery, traditional clothing and architecture are promoted for tourism while politically sensitive aspects of Tibetan identity, particularly the Dalai Lama’s religious authority, are marginalised. The findings illustrate the tension between state-sponsored cultural preservation and the freedom of communities to define their own heritage.
Similar concerns have emerged in China’s territorial disputes with neighbouring countries. In the South China Sea, Beijing has invoked historical navigation, maps and maritime activities to support sweeping sovereignty claims contested by the Philippines, Vietnam and other regional governments. Researchers examining China’s National South China Sea Museum have documented how historical exhibitions and heritage narratives are used to reinforce contemporary territorial claims, sometimes marginalising the histories of other maritime communities.
The pattern has also attracted attention in the Philippines. Recent reporting by the Wall Street Journal described how Chinese academics advanced historical arguments connecting the Philippine Batanes Islands to Taiwan and, consequently, to China. Philippine officials rejected the assertions, illustrating how competing interpretations of ancient history can become entangled with modern territorial sovereignty.
Although territorial sovereignty disputes and intangible cultural heritage registrations are legally different matters, critics identify a common concern: historical connections can be presented as evidence of contemporary national ownership. A cultural practice shared across borders may be incorporated into a state’s official heritage system, while a historical relationship between peoples may be invoked to support claims over territory or political identity.
China, however, maintains that its national heritage programmes protect the traditions of recognised ethnic minorities, including ethnic Koreans. The existence of Korean cultural practices within Chinese territory is not itself evidence of appropriation. The more contentious issue arises when official narratives appear to redefine the historical origins of those traditions or obscure the distinct identities of the communities that created them.
UNESCO recognised Arirang as intangible cultural heritage under South Korea’s nomination in 2012, describing it as a folk tradition developed and transmitted by generations of Koreans. That recognition does not grant exclusive ownership, but it affirms the song’s central place in Korean cultural life.
Professor Seo has called for a stronger response from the South Korean government, warning that China’s domestic heritage registrations could precede attempts to obtain international recognition. His concerns reflect a wider debate over whether heritage registration serves primarily to safeguard minority traditions or can also become an instrument for asserting national cultural authority.
For Tibetans, Koreans and other communities whose histories intersect with China’s territorial and political ambitions, the stakes extend beyond individual songs, festivals or monuments. They concern the authority to interpret history, preserve inherited traditions and maintain distinct cultural identities across changing political borders.
The Arirang controversy therefore raises a question that reaches far beyond the Korean Peninsula: When a powerful state claims authority over another people’s historical traditions, where does legitimate cultural preservation end and the political appropriation of identity begin?
