University of Georgia

Unearthing hidden histories with Timothy Yang

Timothy Yang, in a brown blazer, stands with arms crossed on a pathway before a grand brick building with columns and trees, evoking the hidden histories woven into the campus surroundings.
As a professor of history in UGA’s Franklin College of Arts and Sciences, Timothy Yang uses his research on niche topics, such as the role of commodities in Asian countries, to demonstrate broader themes and global impact. (Photo by Chamberlain Smith)

For Timothy Yang, history isn’t just about the past. It’s also key to understanding how the world came to be.

As an associate professor at the University of Georgia’s Franklin College of Arts and Sciences, Yang approaches his research using a “microhistory” perspective, using one event or case study to demonstrate larger themes and global impact. On the surface, his research focuses on Asian history and the role of commodities like food and medicine. Diving deeper, however, reveals how seemingly minor forces can have surprising influence.

Consider an example in Yang’s upcoming book on food security in post-World War II Japan. It’s especially timely, he said, considering how recent events, like the war in Ukraine, have impacted wheat prices around the world. It’s similar to a severe food shortage in late 1940s Japan, which made the country rely heavily on U.S. wheat and contributed to the popularity of ramen in the years that followed.

“Fundamentally, history is about learning how things came into being,” he said. “You can’t understand how things work today without understanding the history behind it.”

In his research and teaching, Yang follows that idea across borders and disciplines, tracing how medicine, business, empire, and food have shaped the modern world.

Histories beneath the surface

As the son of Taiwanese immigrants, Yang was always curious about his family’s history. His father grew up in Manchuria under Japanese colonization. His mother’s family moved there after siding with the Kuomintang political party in the Chinese Civil War. Despite that family history, Yang’s parents never talked about it, leaving him with many questions about his background.

“It almost felt like I was lacking something,” he said. “I think it’s the reason I ended up pursuing history.”

Yang first pursued it as an undergraduate at Dartmouth College, guided by advisors and mentors who recognized his deep fascination with the past. Several years later, while pursuing his doctorate at Columbia University, Yang completed a dissertation that would eventually become his first book, “A Medicated Empire: The Pharmaceutical Industry and Modern Japan.”

His choice of topic was inspired by his parents’ work in pharmaceuticals. Yang views medicine not only as a means of treating disease or advancing humanitarian goals, but also as a business.

“I wanted to write about pharmaceuticals and their role as commodities,” Yang said. “I wanted to study the relationship between medicine and capitalism.”

Originally, Yang planned to focus on the history of tropical medicine in Taiwan. As he dug deeper into modern Japan, he became increasingly interested in the role medicine played in imperial rule—not only as a tool for improving public health and projecting benevolence, but also as means to legitimize Japanese control in places like Taiwan, Korea, and Manchuria.

He began researching pharmaceutical companies in Japan and happened across one failed company, Hoshi Pharmaceuticals, which would become the case study he uses to explain the core themes of his book.

Luck led Yang to Hoshi, but the company proved especially valuable because its bankruptcy made its archives accessible. Its story mirrors the rise and fall of modern imperial Japan, Yang said. As a failed company tied to broader global networks, Hoshi gave him a way to explore not just one business, but larger questions of medicine, capitalism and empire.

Book cover of A Medicated Empire by Timothy M. Yang, featuring vintage Japanese pharmaceutical and tea products on a red background.
In “A Medicated Empire,” Yang explores the history of Japan’s pharmaceutical industry in the early 20th century through a close account of Hoshi Pharmaceuticals, one of East Asia’s most influential drug companies from the late 1910s through the early 1950s.

Yang writes about how medicines are produced, sold, and distributed, and why people choose some medicines over others. But he also stresses that medicine served another function: It could “benefit the government by making society healthier.” Healthy bodies produce productive citizens, he explained, revealing medicine not only as care, but as a disciplinary system tied to governance.

“There’s this disciplinary angle to it,” he said. “They’re claiming they are trying to civilize people by providing them with good medical care and raising their standard of living and therefore making them productive members of society.”

Rather than pharmaceuticals, his new work turns to food—or, more specifically, food security in post-World War II Japan.

At the heart of his book is a big question: “How did Japan go from devastation after World War II to an economic superpower and democracy?” He approaches the question by looking at the global circulation of rice, soy, and wheat to trace Japan’s political and economic rise in power. These commodities, he says, are “inextricable to the way in which the Japanese government and society both came into being.”

“Post-war Japan has had such prosperity that people tend to forget that, for much of its modern history, Japan did not have enough food to feed people. In contemporary times, issues like food security generally fall by the wayside until an emergency comes up,” he said.

From isolation to connection

Growing up as one of few Asian American kids in his school, Yang worried about fitting in. He often felt isolated and, as a result, initially rebelled against going to weekend Chinese language schools.

However, during graduate school, Yang realized he needed to learn Chinese to become a better researcher.

“To do the history I do, you have to be fluent enough to read sources,” he said. “I began learning Japanese in high school, and I’ve since learned Chinese as well. It’s something I regret that I didn’t do earlier.”

“When I became director, I wanted to create a space where people could connect across disciplines. My role at the center is to provide linkages with other colleagues…It’s really become a vibrant, active center, and I hope it continues to grow in the coming years.”

– Timothy Yang, associate professor in the Franklin College of Arts and Sciences, director of the Center for Asian Studies

That experience informs Yang’s role as director of UGA’s Center for Asian Studies (CAS). He describes the center as a place that brings people together who might have research interests related to Asia, offering “a space of connectivity” for conversations that might not otherwise happen.

Yang took over as CAS director after earning tenure in 2021.

“When I became director, I wanted to create a space where people could connect across disciplines,” he said. “My role at the center is to provide linkages with other colleagues.”

CAS offers a certificate in Asian studies, where students take classes from an interdisciplinary curriculum to gain foundational knowledge of Asia. Affiliated departments and disciplines include anthropology, media studies, history, geography, linguistics, and religion.

The certificate’s enrollment, which was effectively zero five years ago, has grown to almost 30, and it will soon have its own physical presence on campus with a new space in Joe Brown Hall.

“It’s really become a vibrant, active center, and I hope it continues to grow in the coming years,” he said.

An insatiable curiosity

For Yang, history is not simply a record of the past, but a way of understanding how the world took shape.

When asked what keeps him curious, Yang had a simple response:

“Everything,” he said, explaining that there is always more to learn. He carries this philosophy into his teaching.

While in the classroom, Yang encourages debates and discussions, inviting students’ perspectives on historical subjects and seeing how they compare to what he thinks.

“You have to always challenge the professor,” he said. “At least in my courses, I want people to think and the only way to think is to hear different perspectives and then make a case of your own.”

In that sense, Yang sees history not only as a way of understanding the past, but as a tool for teaching students to think critically about the present.