Uncle would say - "my name is Kim Hyong Rok", upon which the police would slap him a few times and
repeat the process; with each refusal, the Japanese police became angrier and more vicious in their beating
of my poor uncle. But, my uncle did not give in.
Grandpa was proud of Uncle's courage and stood behind Uncle's decision to hold onto our Korean family
name. Grandpa told Uncle that it was not right to submit to the Japanese when I, Sung Ju, was leading an
anti-Japanese movement; that it was better to be beaten to death than to submit to the Japanese.
When we stepped out of our family home gate, we swore that we would
be back, but I was the sole survivor to return home. My father died at
age 32 while fighting for Korea in a foreign land, far away from home.
In a man's life, 32 is the prime. After his funeral, grandma came to visit
her son's grave at Yang-ji, Musong. She cried her heart out, hugging the
grave. To this day, I remember the scene as if it were only yesterday.
Six years later, my mother passed away at Ahndo before she could
return home. Soon after my mother's death, my younger brother, Chul
Ju, a guerrilla fighter, was killed in action against the Japanese. I don't
know his body was buried. (
Photo: Uncle Kim Hyong Kwon in prison
where he died
).
A few years later, my younger uncle died from torture at the Mapo
prison, while serving a long-term prison term. Our family did not have the money to recover his body for
proper burial, and he was buried in common graves of the prison. In less than 20 years, most of my
relatives in anti-Japanese movements died at various distant strange places.
When I returned home after liberation, Grandma rushed out to meet me at the front gate and cried out -
"Where is your father, your mother? Why are you back alone? Could you not bring them home with
you?" She broke my heart. I felt for grandma's sorrows and also, I felt greater sorrows over the fact that I
could not bring home the remains of my parents and relatives, buried in forgotten unattended graves far,
far away from home.
Since then at every front gate of every Korean home I have passed through, I have wondered how many
patriots had left the gate never to see it again. Every Korean gate has witnessed tearful partings, painful
longings for the loved ones, and heart-wrenching tragic endings. Tens of thousands of our fathers and
mothers, our brothers and sisters have died fighting for Korea. It took 36 long years to regain our
nationhood; through years of blood, tears and agonies, through clouds of exploding shells and rains of
bullets, we returned home. Thirty six years of our struggle saw oceans of our blood and sweats, and cost
generations of our youth. It was a horrendous and enormous price to pay, but without our sacrifices, we
would not have today's Korea, Korea would still be a slave nation and her people living shameful
miserable lives. The Korean people would have been slaves of foreigners for the whole of the 20th
Century
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