My grandpa and grandma worked the field all of their life and farming was the only they knew. They
were simple, aged dirt poor peasants, but their love for Korea was deep and unshakable. They planted
patriotism deep in my soul. It is easy to preach patriotism, but actually practicing it is an entirely different
matter. My grandparents raised children to serve the nation, they had stoically endured countless ordeals
and tribulations; they had looked after their children and their children without any complaint and with
precious little reward. Engaging the enemy in pitched combats or serving prison terms were much easier
than what my grandparents had to go through.
The tragic fate of my family was a natural consequence of our nation's downfall, but it was an
insignificant paragraph in the annals of the Korean people's tragedy. Tens of millions of Koreans died
from starvation, from cold, from fires and from tortures under the Japanese genocidal rule. When a nation
falls, its people, rivers and mountains invariably suffer; even those traitors who sell out their own nation
do not get to enjoy their loots for long, for sooner or later, the hands of justice will reach them. Stateless
people may go through the motion of living, but their life is no better than that of the beasts. Mountains
and rivers may continue to be, but they lack the spirit and shine.
Those who realize this cold fact of truth are called progressives; those who act to save their nation are
called patriots; those who sacrifice their life in order to motivate others into patriotic actions are called
martyrs. My father, Kim Hyong Jik, was one of the forerunners of anti-Japanese movements. He was born
on July 10, 1894 at Mangying-dae and died on June 5, 1926 after a life-long struggle against the
Japanese. I was his eldest son and was born on April 15, 1912, two years after Korea was annexed to
Japan, at our family home in Mangyong-dae
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