Beasts of a Little Land(36)
“The concept of a nation is a pure construct. It serves to hold up our reality, we need it for government et cetera, but it is neither self-evident nor natural, and becomes more meaningless when you think of it in historical context. For all of human history, nations have been destroyed, absorbed into others, reborn, or forgotten, and that makes no difference to the well-being of the posterity. Whether it’s Koguryo, the Roman Empire, or ancient Persia, it’s all the same. We were annexed by Japan nine years ago, now that’s a fact. If nothing changes, then in a thousand years, there won’t be a ‘Korea’ or the ‘Korean people.’ But people then will not care one bit that their country was once, a thousand years ago, independent.”
The logic of his argument was clear to both of them. A self-satisfied smile appeared on SungSoo’s handsome face as his friend struggled to collect his thoughts.
“What you’re saying appears very rational,” MyungBo said at last. “You may be right that all of this—all the struggle, death, and sacrifice—won’t matter at all in the grand scheme of history. But what you’re saying is like this: suppose there is a little boy who is playing on the train tracks. Suddenly you see the train approaching, and the boy is too young or too scared to know how to save himself. Then you say to yourself, ‘Well, in the grand scheme of things, he will eventually die, whether it’s now or sixty years down the road. So why should I bother saving him? Better to just go about my business.’ That might be rational, but that doesn’t make it right.”
SungSoo was about to respond, “Who is to say what is right then? Is it always you?” But changing his mind, he quietly extinguished his cigarette while MyungBo sat up straighter and cleared his throat.
“Well, that’s enough talking, I think. You wanted to check on the progress?” SungSoo rose from the chair, pulling down at the hem of his smart wool suit. “Come now, let’s go downstairs.”
The two men walked through a narrow hallway, and took the stairs to the basement level. At the landing, there was a locked door under a bare lightbulb; SungSoo opened it with a key and went inside first.
At a glance, it looked as though the cavernous space was completely unlit. As his eyes adjusted, however, MyungBo noticed a pair of tiny windows near the top of one wall, which peeked out onto the street at ankle level of the pedestrians. In the middle of the room, there were two men bent over some tables, busy at work, while nearby another man was operating the printing press. MyungBo walked over to the machine and picked up the top copy from a stack of broadsheet papers; the title THE GREAT REPUBLIC OF KOREA DECLARATION OF INDEPENDENCE was emblazoned boldly at the top like fresh footprints in snow.
“How many copies?” MyungBo asked.
“Two thousand thus far, ten thousand before March first,” SungSoo replied.
“Ah, SungSoo,” his friend exclaimed warmly. “You have done your part for your country. And the flags?”
SungSoo pointed at the two men at the tables, who were painting red, blue, and black ink onto wood blocks and stamping them onto sheets of muslin.
“I don’t care what you say, it’s your actions that count. SungSoo, you are a patriot indeed,” MyungBo said quietly. SungSoo sighed, shaking his head.
“Listen, MyungBo, if you want my advice . . . If you want Korea to truly survive this storm, and not be obliterated without any trace in history, heed my words,” he said, more sincerely than before. “I have no faith that this will work. What will a protest accomplish? What is a ‘Declaration of Independence’ without any true power? All this will cause is more clamping down from the Japanese, thousands of arrests and worse.”
“We are expecting that, SungSoo,” MyungBo said resolutely. “All the representatives have sworn to sign the Declaration together and then get arrested with no resistance. The religious leaders—Cheondoists, Christians, Buddhists—put their weight behind nonviolence, that we must first try to do this without force. None of us have any expectation of getting out of this alive, but we’re going through with it anyway.”
“No, hear me out. If you want Korea to actually overthrow Japanese rule, it’s not going to come from rounding up the powerless people and marching, carrying nothing but flags. What you need is outside help—the United States, most likely. You know about President Wilson’s Fourteen Points speech to reestablish the sovereignty of every colonized people in the world. He made that promise in front of all the nations, and will not ignore us, especially if we make an appeal to American interests in Asia. It doesn’t benefit the U.S. to have a Japan that’s too strong and too greedy in the Pacific, so he will listen,” SungSoo said, revealing more of his inner thoughts than he’d ever had in all these years. For that at least, MyungBo felt grateful.
“I’ve heard this before, of course. Some people even believe that we are so behind the rest of the world that we need to ask America to govern us rather than fight for sovereignty.” MyungBo smiled bitterly, lowering his eyes.
“Well, at least that way we won’t be destroyed. What matters more, a titular independence, or actual prosperity? If you end up killing half the country in order to make it ‘independent,’ doesn’t that defeat the purpose of fighting? You act like you don’t care about death, but the whole point of this struggle is to live, isn’t it?” SungSoo said, and MyungBo saw the truth, his truth, in his eyes. SungSoo was a man best suited to living—no one could do it better than he. MyungBo was only good at making life harder for himself, but he could see no other alternative. He sighed.