Who Says the ASEAN Way is Dead?

These days I am getting more and more disagreeable.

One source of my "disagreeability" is a 2004 article by Hiro Katsumata (Why is ASEAN Diplomacy Changing? From "Non Interference" to "Open and Frank Discussions").

My bone of contention was with the examples he had cited to suggest that the ASEAN Way had considerably weakened. He cited the sense of crisis among member states due to the onslaught of the Asian Financial Crisis (AFC), as well as the spurt of mutual criticisms in the late 90s on issues as diverse as the haze situation, the arrest of Anwar Ibrahim, and the appointment of B J Habibie.

These examples, I thought, were merely aberrations, not to mention outdated, considering that the article was written in 2004.

After all, the lesson/s from the AFC seemed to have been forgotten by now, and complacency had once again set in. Besides, the spurt of criticisms had also ceased.

Furthermore, Katsumata had also pointed out that Thailand and the Philippines were the two most vocal advocates of modifying the ASEAN Way of non-interference, and of championing greater democracy and openness among member states.

But with the latest coup in Thailand, the Thais can - at least for the foreseeable future - forget about taking the moral high ground when it comes to advocating democracy.

And let's not even talk about the Philippines, where democracy does not seem to have made a marked improvement in the lives of its people. Quit championing democracy when the said ideology has not done you any good. Isn't that supposed to be common sense?

Park Chung Hee and the Japanese Economic Model

Class discussions today momentarily focused on the Japanese economic model of development, and it is said that apart from South Korea, the model is hardly copied elsewhere in Asia.

And because of that, my mind got side-tracked to South Korea. (As usual)

Former Korean President Park Chung Hee clearly admired the Japanese economic model of development, and wanted badly for South Korea to catch up with its neighbor. His affection or otherwise for Japan is unclear, even debatable, though it was just last year or the year before, that he was named a prominent "Japanese collaborator," which was clearly a blow for her daughter Park Geun-hye, currently head of the opposition Grand National Party.

Apparently, in order to rapidly develop South Korea in the 1960s, Park kept two sets of economic data under his desk - one of Japan, the other Korea - primarily to remind himself of the huge economic gap that still divided the two, as well as to spur him on to seek further development for his country.

Japanese collaborator or not, he was certainly credited for the country's subsequent phenomenal development. And also for being corruption-free.

Japanese Invasion of China Was Merely Accidental

Or so according to Kentaro Hayashi in an article titled "Japan and Germany in the Interwar Period".

He noted that the Japanese invasion of China was not the planned action of the central organ of the army. Rather, it developed as an independent undertaking of troops dispatched to Manchuria or China proper, and that the army "only followed in their footsteps."

Therefore, the decision of the International Military Tribunal for the Far East that there existed a conspiracy within Japanese government circles, he argued, was incorrect.

What the army did was merely to "improvise" as they went along.

Hmm.

ASEAN Way - The Permanent Way

ASEAN has often been accused of several things.

Such as - ignoring each other's problems, paying lip service to tariff reductions, and doing a half-hearted job in promoting its own tariffs to businesses. The regional grouping is also accused of having members who do “sneaky” things like forging their own bilateral trade agreements that undermine collective negotiations, and of not even doing something as simple as beefing up its secretariat.

But despite the litany of shortcomings, ASEAN has occasionally been credited for streamlining customs procedures, pressing ahead with priority sectors such as fisheries and aviation, as well as establishing a monitoring group and a dispute-settlement procedure.

Not the best that many can hope for. But given the group’s vast disparity in economic development, is there a better way?

The “ASEAN Way” may often be derided, and sometimes deservedly so, for being sluggish and for placing a higher emphasis on harmony than on concrete results. But it is precisely this consensus seeking and non-interference approach that has strengthened ASEAN over the years, and given it its unique regional identity.

Apart from recently raising its disapproval of Myanmar by a few decibels, it is unlikely that the “ASEAN Way” will be significantly modified any time soon. As a Myanmar foreign ministry official once pointed out, given that everyone is in the same boat, doing anything drastic would be tantamount to rocking the boat, and causing the boat to capsize.

But having said that, there is little doubt that ASEAN needs to get out of its sluggish mode. The regional grouping needs an impetus, and this came in the form of China and the deafening “sucking sound” of investment emanating from the Asian power. But with Beijing’s proposal for a China-ASEAN Free Trade Agreement, perhaps that impetus has been momentarily lost?

And with other FTAs in the pipeline, most notably, the Japan-proposed East Asian Free Trade Bloc (or Pan Asian Free Trade Area – if there is a consensus, talks will begin in 2008), would the same problems that plague ASEAN continue to plague these proposed FTAs? But perhaps that might be a premature question to ask for now, due to doubts about whether the Japan proposal will be realized, given Tokyo’s uneasy relations with its neighbors.

Ito Hirobumi and Samurais

It is heartwrenchingly painful to admit my ignorance. But I had no idea that Ito Hirobumi was Japan's first premier after the Meiji Restoration, no idea that he was known as the Bismarck of Japan, and no idea that he had played such a massive role in drafting the country's constitution and in Japan's subsequent developments.

I only knew he was the first governor-general of Korea during Japan's colonization of the Korean Peninsula, and that he was assassinated by Korean patriot Ahn Chang-gun, whose statue is now erected on Namsan in the middle of Seoul.

Hirobumi was born into a poor peasant family and it was only by adoption that he was raised to the lowest samurai class. Apparently, the samurai lost their property during the Meiji Restoration and subsequently had to earn their living like commoners.

"That they remained the backbone of society was due not to their inherited wealth or status, but to their culture, their tradition of public service, and their aspirations for advancement, " wrote Kentaro Hayashi in an article titled "Japan and Germany in the Interwar Period."

That's good to know, given that my initial and somewhat lasting impressions of samurais were of people with extraordinary martial skills, who moved about in the dark killing people, and then do drastic things like slicing their own bellies if they were ever caught by their enemies. A case of watching too many samurai movies as a teen, and of worshipping Japanese samurai actor Hiroyuki Sanada, who must be a senior citizen by now.

Japanese Bureaucracy - Deja Vu?

Call me confused. I am supposed to be reading up on Japanese politics in the 1930s but how come I feel as if I am reading about contemporary Japan?

Robert M Spaulding Jr suggested in an article "The Bureaucracy as a Political Force, 1920-45" that some government ministers were virtually dispensable, and were only deemed useful when procuring for the ministry’s budget. Otherwise, they were treated like "something to be placed on the "hat-rack." Hmm. Doesn't that sound vaguely familiar?

Unsurprisingly, bureaucrats, especially outstanding ones, were seldom impressed by ministers, who were seen as partisan creatures.

But interestingly, a bureaucrat with extensive experience once noted that he does respect a few ministers, as these ministers "came to office without the sordid thought of personal gain". It was apparent that Yoshino Shinji "respected politicians who brought political strength to the ministry instead of trying to acquire strength from it (either politically or financially)."

Lest I went away with the impression that politicians were/are useless dispensable wimps subjected to the whims and fancies of the bureaucracy, it is good to know that the competition within the bureaucracy for advancement to better posts or higher rank gave the Cabinet some leverage in obtaining bureaucratic cooperation.

Repressing Lust Will Lead To Masturbation and other Ailments

Or so according to Japanese Home Ministry official Yamazaki Dennosuke in 1931.

That year in the Land of the Rising Sun, Purity Society members introduced in the Lower House a bill which aimed to abolish licensed prostitution.

Responding with a speech laced with obscenities and graphic language, Yamazaki reportedly said that "since lust was absolute, to try to repress it would only bring on masturbation, the chief cause of respiratory problems." (Sheldon Garon, Moulding Japanese Minds The State in Everyday Life)

And I've always wondered why patients who sought medical attention for respiratory problems looked so breathelessly red-faced. Silly me.

Samguk Yusa

The book (三国遗事, or Memorabilia of the Three Kingdoms), is a collection of legends, folktales, and historical accounts relating to the Three Kingdoms of Korea.

There are lots of fascinating stories, such as turtles which cough up sparkling jewels, dragons that need to be placated, and kings who had ears shaped like a donkey's. Also included are countless stories of monks with magical powers, rivalries between monarchs, as well as rebellions, loyalties and deceptions - in other words, all the necessary ingredients for a successful television drama epic.

But can't say I truly enjoyed the book coz there are too many dates, periods, events, characters and their relations to one another. Or perhaps I am not a great fan of books that are fancifully fictitious. Or perhaps it's due to my "contemporaneous" strain - I like to understand factors that make the world, or in this case, Korea, the way it is today.

So I guess in that sense, the Chosun period fascinates me a lot more than the Silla/Three Kingdoms period, coz the "linkage" between the Chosun period and contemporary Korea is a lot stronger and perceivable. But having said that, it was interesting to read about how Buddhism came to Korea, as well as its historical background.

It was also interesting to stumble upon tales of Queens having countless lovers, as well as the non-censorial tone about carefree love-making, and children borne out of love, often referred to in the book as "love child". The non-judgmental tone in these tales is quite different from the later Chosun period. But I guess that cannot serve as a gauge for comparison, given that tales from the Samguk Yusa are partly rooted in legend, and hence not entirely factual. And besides, like the Chosun period, the Three Kingdoms era also appeared to be fairly hierarchical, and values such as filial piety were heavily stressed.

Stylistically speaking, the book contains lots of lyrical passages, such as the following:

"Youth and beauty may meet in love for a moment's joy,
But rosy cheeks soon pale in sadness, like autumn leaves,
Wealth and nobility are like floating clouds,
And this temporal life of desire is only an empty dream."

Another thing that occurred to me after reading Samguk Yusa is how the nature of power politics and warfare hadn't changed that fundamentally over the years. The endless tales of conquests for power threw up various questions relating to power and state/national identity, and reminded me yet again of a contemporary debate in China about whether legendary Chinese hero Yue Fei could really be considered a "national" hero.

The book also reminded me of John Mearsheimer's "Politics of Great Power Politics". Mearsheimer had suggested that despite modern day developments and the facade of greater international cooperation, it is highly unlikely that the question of power and might, as well as the prospect of war, will ever fully disappear in the real sense of the word.

Cracking Down On Religions in Japan

In explaining the Japanese authorities’ crackdown on religions in the 1930s, Sheldon Garon wrote in his book "Moulding Japanese Minds The State In Everyday Life" that it was not so much due to the teachings or rituals, but rather the “rapid development outside the state-approved hierarchy of the established religions” that had led to the downfall of these religions.

For me, that seemed like a portrayal of China’s crack down of Falun Gong. Apart from the reference to the 1930s in his account, Garon could be mistaken for attempting to explain Beijing’s 1999 decision to rein in the spiritual sect.

“Although earlier “pseudo religions” had engaged in superstitious practices and healing, the police did not regard them as a serious challenge, precisely because they were generally folk religions with small local bases. The new religions became a “social evil” only after they attained nationwide organization and influence over hundreds of thousands amidst the “religious revival” of the early 1930s.”

While there are distinct differences between the two, one often cited reason for Beijing’s crackdown was due to the Chinese leadership’s tenuous hold on power. Hence there is an overwhelming desire for a type of social stability that does not allow for any real or perceived challenge to the status quo.

But in the case of Japan at that time, I am under the impression that democratization, though messy, was underway. Communism, though a menace, was under control. Political dissent, though in existence, was not so serious that it could unravel the leadership’s legitimacy. And religion, though widespread, had served the needs of the regime. So why was there a siege mentality on the part of Japanese leaders?

China-Singapore Suzhou Industrial Park

For those of us with a deep and abiding interest in the Suzhou Industrial Park, it is interesting to note that the high-level bilateral project between China and Singapore is beginning to make its presence felt as a "case-study", mostly negative, invariably cautionary, in articles/text books about the region.

Such as "Remapping East Asia The Construction of a Region" (2004), which contained an article by Natasha Hamilton-Hart titled "The Regionalization of Southeast Asian Business".

Unless I am gravely mistaken, the purpose of incorporating the case study was to highlight the author's point that 1) "despite being made up mostly of ethnic Chinese, Singaporean companies apparently do not naturally have the skills to operate in the region", and 2) "Singaporean companies investing in China need to acquire skills and strategies that are different from those employed in Singapore".

In the article, she noted that although some firms were attracted by the Singapore brand name, both the Suzhou and the Wuxi industrial parks ran into difficulties, especially in adjusting to the political and regulatory environment in China.

"According to a manager of the company set up to develop the Suzhou Industrial Park, "normal" companies could use whatever means to make a profit: "You can be above table, under table, back door, front door or whatever you think of, but not for us. Number one we cannot embarrass the Singapore government."

"Indeed, an article in the Chinese press noted that because of "strict laws and regulations, and drawing on Singapore's experience of honest and clean government, not a single civil servant in the park's administrative committee has broken the law or committed a crime".

Hamilton-Hart added: "Squeaky clean operations and high-level political support might underpin successful industrial parks in Singapore, but in China the lack of flexibility and attention to local government priorities caused problems for the Suzhou Industrial Park from the start."

Fear of China Not "Misguided"

As a Southeast Asian, I was momentarily excited to read in Edward J Lincoln’s book “East Asian Economic Regionalism” that “investment in China does not seem to have come at the expense of the rest of Asia”.

But that momentary excitement was dashed when the writer went on to say that “the particular problem faced by ASEAN countries in the past several years had little to do with China and more to do with their economic problems in the wake of the 1997 financial crisis.” Lincoln also added that much of the drop in investment in ASEAN from 1996 to 1999 occurred mainly in two countries – Indonesia and Malaysia.

I agree with Lincoln that investors’ decision to invest in a country is a multi-pronged one, where having a good legal framework and ease of international travel are just as important factors as low wages. I also agree with many analysts that the region as a whole needs to strengthen its investment environment through, among other things, financial and banking reforms, and ensuring greater transparencies.

But I am not convinced that the fears of ASEAN permanently losing out to China on investment flows are “misguided”. This lack of conviction is accentuated by the outdated figures employed by Lincoln. The latest figures he used to back up his position were 1999 figures, which does come across as a little feeble and unfortunate, given that the book was published in 2004. Certainly, he could have made used of more updated figures to strengthen his case.

Indeed, I would venture to say that the fears are not “misguided” at all, given the continued strong flow of foreign direct investments into China, and the rising sense of Southeast Asian countries feeling "left-behind". Indeed, the fears are so real, and so perceptible that China thought fit to eventually broach the idea of a China-ASEAN Free Trade Area.

Taiwan's History

For someone who is more sympathetic to the Chinese point of view when it comes to cross-strait relations, it was illuminating to read about Taiwan's history. And somehow, the sense that I got was - the more things change, the more they stay the same.

Take Murray Rubinstein's account of Taiwan's history in his book "Taiwan A New History" for instance. He noted that since the 16th century, the Chinese central government had encountered various problems with keeping coastal provinces in line. In Fujian's case, ships were sent out without permission from the central authorities. Indeed, this problem of keeping provinces in line still persists today, albeit in different forms.

In the 1680s, the Chinese leadership already envisaged that keeping Taiwan will be a headache. Why am I not surprised?

In the old days. China wanted to keep Taiwan to prevent it from turning into a haven for criminals and dissidents, and to offset foreign pressures. Now Beijing wants to re-claim Taiwan for different reasons. But what remains unchanged is the massive migraine the little island has caused, and will continue to cause.

Separately, Rubinstein also wrote that "a rice and sugar economy emerged on Taiwan despite the government's attempts to resist the cross-strait trade, prohibit family immigration, and limit the reclamation of aborigine land testified to the powerful stimuli at work."

Economics seems to have a way of propelling politics in the past, acting as an impetus. It is likely that the same principle will apply in future. In fact, there are already signs that greater economic integration had already propelled politicians from both sides to handle cross-strait relations in ways otherwise thought impossible, such as the direct flights between Taiwan and the mainland during festive occasions.

Turning to Denny Roy, despite his own personal claims of being non-biased and offering a "balanced assessment", I sense a certain biasness in his book "Taiwan A Political History". I felt that he was trying to find ways to suggest that the links between Taiwan and China were tenuous, and hence China has no basis for staking its claims over Taiwan.

For instance, he took pains to explain that those who came to Taiwan from the mainland were people who wanted a "fresh start", and hence had no desire to return to China, especially since "emigrating" was illegal at one time. I think Roy's reasoning is conjectural.

Sure, people wanted to get away from the poverty and the adverse living conditions in mainly Fujian and Guangdong provinces. But not being able to return home is probably a source of pain and sadness for many of them, given the strong Chinese sense of ancestral belonging. So instead of giving up their past, many sought to turn Taiwan into a tiny replica of the homeland they left behind.

Indeed, getting away from conditions in China certainly does not mean forgetting one's roots, else the concepts of luo ye gui gen (落叶归根 - or "Fallen Leaves Returning To Their Roots") and ren zhu gui zhong (认祖归宗 - or "Acknowledging One's Roots and Ancestors") would not have had such a stronghold on generations of Chinese over the country's long history.

Given my inclination, I was glad to read in John F Copper's book "Taiwan" that no other country had laid claim on Taiwan based on historical ties and even if so, its claims could not seriously compete with China.

He wrote: "Thus if history is to serve as the basis for a territorial claim, China has the best case to make."

Family and Pig, Rubinstein and Ba Jin

In his book "Taiwan A New History", Murray A Rubinstein rightly pointed out that "the Chinese words for home and family (chia) (jia in hanyupinyin, or 家 in Chinese characters) are the same."

The ideograph represents a roof sheltering a pig, a clear indication, according to Rubinstein, "of the domestication of space and the prominence of the pig in household life."

This reminds me of one of the characters in one of Ba Jin's novels who, in despair with China's feudal family system, remarked that "jia" is nothing but "a cluster of pigs under a roof!" (家只不过是屋檐下的一群猪!)

Can't seem to remember the name of the character, age must be catching up on me. But the novel was certainly <家>, <春> or <秋> in <激流三部曲>.

Unique Japanese Political Culture?

In an article published in the Journal of Japanese Studies this year, Kenneth Pyle had rightfully pointed out that “few countries had revised their domestic order so sweepingly to meet the needs of the new international order.”

Japan, he noted, had demolished the Sino-centric system, embarked on a US-inspired system, and later attempted to create an East Asian world order.

Separately, in his book titled "Machiavelli's Children", Richard Samuels had provided a riveting account of how individuals such as Hirobumi and Yamagata had re-shaped the Japanese landscape into one that is totally transformative in nature.

While these are certainly indicative of Japan’s flexibility and ability to adapt, can it also be interpreted as a sign of malleability?

Or worse, the sense of not having anything distinctive or unique in either its political culture or cultural heritage that its people were proud of such that they had to guard and protect with their lives, or at least defend its encroachment if not demise, with greater enthusiasm and vigor?

Virtual States Remain A Fantasy

The rise of the "virtual state" as depicted by Richard Rosecrance in an article written in 1996 seems compelling, but in a tantalizing way.

The very fact that virtual states had not taken root in a significant way in the decade since the article was written is perhaps an indication that though captivating, the concept is one that remains somewhat illusive and out of reach.

Rosecrance argued that since land is no longer the major factor of production and an indication of a country’s power, states would increasingly focus on mobile factors of production such as human resources, capital and information. Hence, wars of conquest will lose the allure and justification that they once possess.

But if states are no longer obsessed with land and expanding overseas empires, it follows that this lack of interest in war will imply that states need no longer fear one another. But this is certainly not the case, particularly in Asia, where fear, distrust and traditional animosities remain, and military buildup continues, sometimes at an alarming pace.

While corporations can, as Rosecrance argued, sub-contract their production processes and facilities elsewhere, it is doubtful if the same principles of lowest costs, production efficiency and bottom-line can be applied to countries. After all, states have various concerns that extend beyond the profit motive, to include concerns such as sovereignty and security.

Perhaps it can be argued that the concept of virtual states had found some semblance of fruition among smaller economies such as Hong Kong, Taiwan, Singapore and Netherlands (the example of Nestle in the article), where land and other natural resources are scarce. But even so, it should be pointed out that the concept of virtual state is not one that is borne out of deliberate consideration, but is instead unwittingly foist upon these smaller economies. Indeed, these economies have no choice but to internationalize and to look beyond their shores if they hope to survive, let alone prosper.

Work for the North Korean Government?

You know, it might be interesting to work for the propaganda department of the North Korean government.

Some of the great writings emanating from that department:

"When the most beloved leader Kim II Sung passed away, thousands of cranes descended from heaven to fetch him. But the birds couldn't take him away because they saw that all North Koreans cried and screamed and pummeted their chests and pulled out their hair. Deeply moved, the cranes instead put Kim II Sung to rest in a heavenly palace built on earth."

"The momentus event caused pear trees to bloom in autumn, and fishermen netted a rare albino sea cucumber - a marine animal that had come to hail the Dear Leader's triumph. Seeing the mysterious natural phenomena, Koreans say that Kim Jong-II is indeed the greatest of great men produced by heaven."

It's a great job coz you are given the creative license to turn a tiny morsel of information (whether fact or fiction) into a colossal gospel truth. Isn't that great fun?

But then I guess it might be a high-risk job. Plus it might also compromise certain important but inconvenient values such as integrity

Under the Black Umbrella Voices from Colonial Korea 1910-1945

Though the selection of interviewees in this book by Hildi Kang was somewhat skewed, I could not remain unmoved by the many vivid and poignant accounts, particularly the dashing of hopes and dreams of countless of ordinary people during the Korea's occupation by Japan. But I also could not remain uninspired by the tales of courage, bravery, and the resilient human spirit.

It is one of those books that made me sighed and laughed at the same time. Laughed because one of the anecdotes described a Confucian scholar as "someone who does no manual work", adding that "when it rains and the roof leaks, he sits there in his room with the rain pouring on his head".

Another anecdote noted that "what is unchanged in the midst of constant, rapid, incomprehensible change is the taste of soju". This anecdote didn't actually make me laugh. Rather, it gave me a comforting thought. A sense of assurance. Kind of hard to explain. You might be able to understand what I mean if you have lived in Korea and know that soju is unquestionably the number one national beverage in (South) Korea.

The Politics of Affective Relations

In the book "The Politics of Affective Relations", there is a chapter titled "Negotiating Confucian Civility through Constitutional Discourse".

I thought the Korean court cases mentioned in the article were interesting, particularly the Constitutional Court's decision that a court-ordered public apology was considered insincere because it was coerced and hence would be meaningless as an apology. The author noted that the issue had been framed "in terms of an individual's freedom of conscience". Anyway, I found this aspect of the Court's ruling exceedingly progressive as it seemed to put the individual on a higher pedestal than faceless entities (mainly media companies). Progressive because the Court seemed to be the champion of the underdog.

But I wonder how the Court would have ruled if it is a case pitting one individual against another individual? And what if real defamatory harm had been done to the aggrieved party? I cannot imagine the Court upholding freedom of conscience when real defamatory harm had been inflicted, because maybe I am naive, but doesn't freedom of conscience comes at a price? I would imagine that freedom of rights, conscience, etc, doesn't give one the right to slander and defame. And then later refuse to apologize coz doing so would be against one's conscience.

But overall, in the three cases cited, I take the author's point that the Court had veered towards being too "Western-centric" in their rulings, while overlooking the country's cultural tradition.

I also wonder about the arguments of those who "feared that the abandonment of Confucianism will bring about decadence and disorder in Korean society". After all, I cannot imagine how there can be a clean break between Korea and Confucianism, given that Confucianism has no organized polity, no structures, no organization etc in Korea. I suppose there are Confucian academies but I am under the impression that such institutions are merely academic in nature, and that their influence on the public discourse is minimal.

I also found interesting the author's reference to the movie "The Story of Qiu Ju". It was certainly a very well-known Chinese movie and even won some award or other. But strangely enough, I never felt compelled to watch it. Maybe I am biased against the lead actress Gong Li as I think she is just too over-rated. She is also a member of the Chinese People's Political Consultative Conference (CPPCC) where her most distinguished political contribution is to show up once a year for picture opportunity at the Great Hall of the People at the annual opening of the National People Congress. But I digress.

Anyway, one of my last and more memorable pieces of half-hour documentary which I produced before I left Beijing was people demanding justice from the authorities for a wide range of grievances. If you ask me, this is one of China's most explosive problems - the lack of proper channels for people to settle their grievances, and the lack of a fair and equitable justice system to channel such grievances. If left untackled, the issue is like a ticking time bomb that is just waiting to be ignited.

Anyway, I did this documentary in the final months of my Beijing days so I am not sure if the documentary was eventually aired due to its sensitivity. It is way too long to go into the details of the documentary as well as the case studies of all those folks from all over China congregating in Beijing to petition the central authorities. Most fail in their attempts, anyway.

Suffice to say that the reason why I brought it up is when I read the author's point about 1) the kind of justice administered through the system, and 2) that apology is still very important in the Chinese culture.

1) The kind of justice - in most cases these days, given China's rapid modernization, most people will be happy with, and are indeed seeking, monetary compensation. But even that option is not readily available, or satisfactorily rendered, given the massive levels of corruption, collusion between businesses and officials, between the courts and officials, and the equally massive cover-ups. These mainly involved land disputes where land is forcibly taken from villagers, with little or no compensation. These formed the bulk of grievances in recent years.

2) The importance of apology - as far as the Chinese are concerned, the word "apology" itself is hardly used. But the gist of what many of them are looking for is essentially the same, but the word most commonly used these days is "gong dao", (公道) or some semblance of justice. Indeed, the most common phrase used is "huan wo yi ge gong dao" (还我一个公道) - or "return to me a sense of justice (presumably after the wrong you had inflicted on me)".

To give an example, it could be a straightforward case of someone falsely accused by an official of doing something he didn't so, and then because of the stigma, grief, and pressure, chose to commit suicide. Family members would then petition the authorities for compensation, and most importantly, for a "gong dao", which in some cases would amount to a reversal of an earlier verdict. Which seldom happens, anyway.

Essentially, "gong dao" is also precisely what a group of mothers - led by university professor Ding Zilin, formed as a result of their children's death during the 1989 Tiananmen massacre - wanted to see. While compensation would be good, it is not paramount. What they really want to see is a reversal of the verdict, and a declaration that their children are not "counter-revolutionaries". They want a "clean slate" for their children, even though the children are dead.

For most others, "gong dao" would be served if the offending official is investigated, and then removed from office, which of course is not a common occurrence. Though of course sometimes there are "masquerades", where officials are purportedly removed from office for a misdemeanors, but were later appointed as officials elsewhere in the country.

Am opening up a pandora's box here! The article had certainly inspired the series of thoughts.

Union Penalized Over Act in North

In August, a group of labor unionists were reportedly punished for "placing floral tributes at the National Cemetery of North Korea during a visit to Pyongyang," according to Joongang IIbo.

The cemetery had been described as "the graves of North Korean war criminals", and the National Intelligence Service was said to be investigating if the union members had violated South Korea's much feared National Security Law.

Maybe the report was vague, or perhaps I am too much of an outsider to understand the nuances. But I am not sure if the unionists were punished because they placed "floral tributes", or because they visited the Revolutionary Patriots' Tomb without prior permission from the proper authorities.

I am puzzled because "placing floral tributes" itself doesn't seem like an act that would jeopardize national security. Furthermore, there is also the question of having to go with the flow, so to speak, when one is in a foreign country - (a bit ironic, but yes, it's still "foreign" when South Koreans visit the North).

I mean, when I was in North Korea in 2002, I had to bow several times (grudgingly, of course) to several statues of Father and Son, simply because I was a guest in a foreign land, and because the host expected us to. So that they can film us, put us on national television and tell their people that "look, foreigners are in awe of the Great Leader and the Dear Leader". But the point is, sometimes we have to do things to get along with, or at least not to offend the host. Or in my case, to remain cordial with my guide (whom I actually quite liked), and get my job done.

I suppose the reason why the unionists were punished was because they went beyond just "playing along" with the host. And I guess that there are certain standards and clear-cut rules regarding inter-Korean visits, and that what the unionists had done was a clear and outright violation of one of the rules.

As for the question of laying "floral tributes" at a cemetery said to be "the graves of North Korean war criminals", it is just a sad state of affair. So long as the two Koreas remain divided, and so long as the rewriting of history had not entered a final stage (assuming such a stage is attainable), relations between the two divided nations will always remain difficult and contentious.

Or to quote a Korean professor, it is a question of "interpreting the data to construct a coherent storyline", given that "the national narrative is still taking place".

Korean Political Tradition and Law

Since I read "The Korean Political Tradition and Law" very quickly last year while preparing for a final take home examination, I've decided to read the book again more thoroughly recently. Strangely enough, I saw things differently, or noticed things which I hadn't noticed in the past.

For instance, I was a tad amused at the story about the farmer waiting in vain for a second accident-prone rabbit to hit the stump. It is a well-known story that I had read when I was a child. But in the Chinese context, the idiom "shou zhu dai tu" was merely used to describe a person who pointlessly insists on doing something unproductive, with the unrealistic expectation that he would be lucky again. Never in my wildest imagination could I imagine that the idiom can be linked to Korea's political tradition - as in the futility of waiting for virtuous rulers such as Yao and Shun to come along.

I also chuckled at how the word "chon'in" was/is used in in the Korean/Chinese context. In the former, the word means "outcasts". But in contemporary Chinese usage, it is used to describe a woman of ill-repute, and of course, in a derogatory way. Hmm, come to think of it, maybe there isn't such a vast difference in meaning after all.

But mostly, I was surprised at the idea that traditionally, Koreans generally do not welcome the birth of more than one child in a single delivery. I was even more surprised to find out that in the case of fraternal twins, the baby girl would be suffocated to death as under Confucian ethics, incest "was one of the most atavistic crimes". Actually I am more puzzled as to how this practice was linked to Confucianism, and how the idea that "mixed twins often came to have incestuous attachments for one another as they grew up" came about.

The chapters on royal succession in the Yi Dynasty and discriminatory legislations were fascinating, and the palace tales, intriguing! Particularly the debaucheries, and how one of the Kings killed his 8-year old half brother by roasting the latter to death in an over-heated ondol room! There were also double standards galore when it came to the royal family - as in how children of yangbans were discriminated against, but not necessarily royal children whose mothers were concubines/slaves.

To a large extent, I can accept the hypocrisy surrounding yangbans who would rather adopt an heir rather than to recognize their own flesh and blood - as these were vestiges of the (ancient) past that do not have the capacity to violate my sense of righteousness.

But I do find myself getting slightly worked up when I get the sense that what had been described as "power and prestige triumph(ing) over natural affections" in the past is still pretty much alive today ... as in how unwilling Koreans are when it comes to adopting other people's children, or even their own children born out of wedlock.

Certainly, through the book, I now have a better understanding of the question of adoption. The book explained that adoptions had never been a case of pity or sympathy, but were seen as a means to perpetuate the family line. The book also mentioned that in the past, people were actually punished/flogged for adopting children - something I found both revealing and disturbing.

But if it is not just "power and prestige" that mattered these days, perhaps it's something else more in tune with modern day sensibilities ... shame? pride? fear of ridicule? fear of losing face? social stigma? ensuring one's personal happiness? the question of hoju? etc etc, that compel Koreans to export their babies overseas. When export of children took place when Korea was poor and war-ravaged, it was at least understandable. But not when Korea is a member of the OECD. Hmm, am I ranting here?

When I became interested in Korean issues a few years ago, the issue that I've read the most was the issue of adoption. But after all these years, I still can't say I have developed a rational understanding of the issue.

Maybe for me, the issue defies "emotion-less" understanding. Particularly after I got to know a sullen American-Korean guy who looks Korean but could hardly speak a word of Korean. He was in Korea last year to learn the language from scratch, and hopefully, find his real parents. The last I heard, he still hadn't found his parents. Which I suspect may be what his parents want.

As usual, I digress. Anyway, coming back to the book ...

Legalistic beginnings certainly has important significance for a country. Korea has witnessed such dizzying changes that the scenario painted by the late author over three decades ago seemed, when viewed in a contemporaneous light, somewhat anarchronistic, yet amazing, as in how much things had changed since. Examples: the midnight curfews, the "privilege" as opposed to the "right" in getting a passport to travel overseas, people stealing rice in order to feed their children, and how breaking the law was once seen as a "patriotic" act - basically issues from a bygone era.

During his time, the late author was concerned that the disregard for law would become habitual, and how the laws must be indiginized to suit local conditions. While disregard for the law is presumably not an issue these days, perhaps it can be argued that the process of "indiginization" is still ongoing, albeit in different forms and different ways.

Falling in Love with Yun Chi-Ho

Yun Chi Ho was truly a fascinating character! I really love his writing! It is all the more fascinating for me as he wrote his diary (at least most parts of it) in English.

He was funny, reflective, eloquent, yet acerbic, soulful, passionate and uplifting. In other words, he was full of contradictions.

I love his acerbity, particularly his descriptions of Chinese, whom he held an absolute disdain for. He described them as "filthy" and "abominable", and "dreadfully lacking in any hygiene standards".

His description of a Chinese waiter made me laughed out loud.

"I would thank him very much if he did not stick his dirty and long fingernails into the soup, rice and vegetables. Oh my!"

Yun also had a low opinion of Confucianism, which he castigated as the "opium" which had turned Korea into hell.

Even though he held the Chinese in absolute contempt, it was with wicked amusement that when denigrating China, he also took a swipe at Korea.

"The language of China is as full of dirty and filthy expressions as her government is of bribery and corruption. Not a little child girl or boy opens his or her mouth without flinging out a mouthful of dirty words for which the Japanese or English language is too decent. I do not suppose any language can translate them literally but Corean. Shame to Corea!"

One would have thought that he knew the Chinese language well enough to admonish the Chinese for their use of "dirty and filthy expressions". But apparently not.

"My ignorance of the language hinders me from understanding the better qualities of the people."

Certainly, that minor linguistic handicap served as no barrier to his opinionated and judgmental worldview, particularly on China.

His writing was also as witty and humorous as it was humane. At the core, they were also deeply poignant and reflected the throbbing heartbeat of a misguided(?) Korean patriot who later turned out to be a Japanese collaborator.

"The government of Corea has been for the 502 years past an oligarchy. The whole history is the record of the implacable hatred, shameful intrigues and wholesale butcheries that have disgraced the petty factions in the government. This infamous system has proved fatal to talents and virtues by rendering the one unsafe and the other unprofitable".

Ouch.

Yun also wrote with a scathing insight the state of international relations which existed during his time.

"The misery is that Japanese and Chinese get maltreated by Americans and Europeans and then go and do likewise to the wretched and slavish Coreans".

Yet somehow, I wonder if his deep and profound admiration and adoration of Japan and all things Japanese was also not exceedingly "slavish" to some extent.

But yet, he was oh so lyrical when he wrote:

"I can not help loving him as a friend any more than I could breathing".

And..

"When the band ceased and the vocal part alone repeated the chorus softly, every word seemed to whisper itself into the soul".

He also seemed to possess the heart of a poet and wrote with such profound and breathtaking beauty, particularly when he wrote:

"When the mist cleared away, the sun kissed the yellow leaves into gold, the green into emerald, the white cloud into silver balls and the whole slope into a smile as sweet as that of a bride".

And he seemed like a sensitive soul when he wrote:

"One of the waiting maids, Anna, whom I liked cordially for her sweet and lady-like face and manners, was absent. That gave me much pain".

And his depths of emotions were so rich and so vivid that they practically jumped out and touched me in a most peculiar way.

"The sight of the islands, boats and other Japanese scenes awoke in me a bewildering variety of emotions. Five years have passed since I last beheld them on my way to America. The varied experience of American life - its friends, places and associations tender and dear to my heart - passed before my mental eyes like a panorama of the scenes of some strange country seen in a dream. I felt inexpressibly sad, too, when I thought of the friends whom I may never see again".

I think if Yun is still alive, I would have fallen in love with him! Never mind that he was a Japanese collaborator.

But having said that, there are passages which reminded his readers that he was as mortal as the man next door.

"In a bathhouse I saw a pretty young woman in all her alluring nudity. The indifference with which a Japanese can look upon such sight is due to his vice rather than his virtue. He is indifferent not because he can easily control his passion but because he can easily gratify it. For any desire that we have power to gratify anywhere and anytime never gets violent. But the nudity of pretty women which we witness in bathhouses and elsewhere in Japan is certainly a trying temptation to one upon whose passion a social or especially religious check is laid. All honor to the young Japanese Christians who can go through these fiery traits unhurt".

Oh well. No man is perfect anyway. Or woman, for that matter.

A Dream of Good Fortune

Hwang Sogyong's "A Dream of Good Fortune" is a pretty stark, gloomy and dismal story of Korean poverty in the 70s. Initially, given the extent of poverty described, I thought the story was perhaps set in the 50s or 60s. But later I found out from a Korean classmate that the story was actually written and set in the 70s.

I found the story poignant, particularly the working class struggles, the brutishness of life and the harshness of making a living. Perhaps the struggles are no different as compared to many societies in the early days of independence. Makes one wonders if the various brutishness of life can really disappear, or whether even in the face of supposedly economic prosperity, these brutishness may just have been transformed.

The Korean language seems to be a treasure trove of rich and lively expressions. A few examples taken from Hwang's works:

- "If you had a thousand mouths you still wouldn't find anything worth saying" (Ouch)
- "If you were outside of a cabbage, at least I can boil you and make soup" (Hahaha)
- "He is no better than the dirt under my feet" (Hmm)
- "Even a worthless husband is better than a filial son" (Huh??)

Korea's Militant Labor

I have always had a less-than-glowing impression of South Korea's labor movement. I guess this has partly (or mainly) to do with all the reports I've read over the years about walk-outs, sit-ins, and strikes that were conducted on a regular basis.

I've always thought that "gee-whiz, don't these people know any better about?", and wondered how labor can keep on taking militant action and hope to remain competitive in the long run. Already, Korean wages are one of the highest in the region, so how can workers keep asking for more and expect to keep their jobs? Isn't it like digging their own graves?

After all, economics dictate that there is a price to pay for better wages and shorter working hours. And sometimes, technical superiority, better skills, and higher efficiency does not always, even with the best of intentions, move in tandem with these higher wages and shorter working hours.

Especially galling, I thought, was last year's strike by Korean Air pilots who, from the standpoint of most ordinary people like myself, make such indecent amounts of money. Hence, I was more than happy when the government ordered them to return to work.

With Pyongyang being an unstable factor which had resulted in rating firms giving Korea a higher risk factor than it otherwise deserved, I've always thought that Korea doesn't need to add "militant labor" to the list of reasons deemed as the country's source of "instability".

But while I am still unsympathetic to the strike by Korean Air pilots, recently I've became more sympathetic, even saddened, after reading about the history of Korea's labor movement. The repressive and high-handedness adopted by both the authorities and large companies were a shame, as were the self-immolations by labor activists. Given past problems such as low wages, poor working conditions, repressiveness, and a despotic and patriarchal labor-management relations, I now begin to see the labor situation in a different light.

But even with a greater sense of sympathy and hopefully a better understanding of the causes of Korea's militant labor movement, I also wonder if all the ills of the past can continue to justify labor's continued aggressiveness.

Cranes and Tigers in Korea

It is interesting to find out that cranes are revered and worshipped in Korea. In the old days cranes reportedly nest in trees at the center of villages. And when they gave birth to a large number of young, it was taken to be an auspicious sign for the village. If not, it was feared that evil events might befall the village.

But apparently, if there is an animal which symbolizes Korea, it is supposed to be the tiger.

A tiger, I reckon, is at least much more respectable than the horrible mythical creature that supposedly symbolizes Singapore.

Known as Merlion, it has the head of a lion and the body of a fish, which is monstrously ugly, hideous and devious, especially when you add pyrotechnics to it at night - which is what the tourism people did to a monstrously-sized 200-meter tall Merlion built on the resort island of Sentosa - and then it becomes absolutely terrifying and downright scary.

South Korean Movies

While watching some South Korean movies, there is always something that bothers me - the prevalence of violence, even in movies with supposedly non-violent themes such as romance movies. It seems that hittings and beatings are common in Korean situations, and these violent scenes are not even central to the storylines!

And what bothers me even further is the impunity which people with authority (bosses, supervisors etc) can do to their subordinates. And some of my most unforgettable scenes from Korean movies involved the way elementary and high school students were punished (sometimes brutally) by teachers in schools. Is this still happening to Korean kids these days?

While I do understand that just as Hollywood movies should never be taken as a true indication of American society, Korean movies should also not be seen as an accurate depiction of Korean life and society.

But with so much violence in everyday situations involving families, relationships and romances (not far-fetched situations like being hunted down by FBI agents or attacked by extra-terrestrial beings), it is hard not to form certain "impressions" about Korea. Already, I have many Asian friends remarking to me, after watching Korean movies and drama serials, that they thought "Korea and Koreans are sooooooooo conservative".

I wonder if this is the unintended side-effect of hallyu (or Korean wave) - these less-than-flattering impressions that people form about Korea and Korean society.

North Korean Intellectuals

I was intrigued to read in Hagen Koo's book "State and Society in Contemporary Korea" that unlike Mao Zedong, Kim II Sung has rarely, if ever, denigrated intellectuals and experts. Kim also explicitly authorized their widespread introduction into positions of authority.

This made me wondered, how come the North Korean intellectuals never spoke their minds the way Chinese intellectuals did? Or maybe they did but were sidelined? Or maybe they were further induced and "sold" into the system? But surely there must have been intellectuals with personal convictions that differed from the official line?

Modern Korean Fiction

Lately I have been reading an anthology of Korean fiction, and a few writers that I particularly enjoy include Pak Wanso, Cho Kwangyong, Kim Sungok, and Cho Chongnae. These writers had given me a new perspective and understanding into modern-day Korea.

Cho wrote about Kapitan Ri (Doctor Ri), or Yi Inguk, an ultimate survivor who collaborated with the Japanese, the Russians, and eventually the Americans. I seriously think one has to admire with genuine admiration the ingenuity and intelligence of Yi. His defence of his "collaboration" was, I thought, particularly realistic and relevant.

"What do they expect of a person, anyway? There's no other way out for the people of a colony. They had no place for you, no matter what your talent. Who didn't cater to the Japs at one time or another? Only a fool rejects the proffered cake. None of us is clean."

Equally unforgettable, I thought, was the main character Chon Mansok as depicted in Cho Chongnae's Land of Exile. A victim of the War and the subsequent division of the country, his tale is heart-wrenching yet mirrors the country's devastating modern-day development.

Oppressed and often hungry since young, Chon became a communist and took revenge on his oppressors. But with the various rapid changes in politics, his life witnessed similar fluctuations. Cho's life is best summed up In the words of a secondary character in the story:

"I think it's the times that are at fault - the times," and "neither you and I had done anything wrong - except for being born with the wrong blood in our veins"

Yi Kwang-su's Mujong

When I picked up Yi Kwang-su's Mujong (or "Heartless"), I had not known what to expect. I first came across his name in one of the readings where he had been described as a thinker and a pioneering modern Korean writer. Hence I looked up English translations of his works, and Mujong cropped up as the book most easily available.

Half way through the book, I found the plot somewhat predictable and the message (the negative effects of Neo-Confucianism in old Korea) unmistakable. In particular, there was a strong dose of criticism on how the system of early marriages had inflicted unnecessary suffering and even wrecked the lives of countless men and women (mainly the latter). As U-son, one of the characters in the novel, put it:

"The evil marriage system of the Choson dynasty had killed within the loving heart the seeds of love received from heaven."

Towards the end, apart from evoking a sense of elitism (i.e. how the elites had an inescapable role to play in reviving the country's fortunes), the novel ended with a strong dose of what I thought was youthful wide-eyed idealism.

Contrived though the plot and particularly the ending may be, overall, I found the book touching and stirring. There were also symbolism aplenty towards the end of the book, especially when the group of 4 young people helped a farmer's wife suffering from labor pains in the midst of the destructive storm that had destroyed the homes and fields of several peasants. It's as if the baby's birth is a sign that a new Korea will be born.

But essentially, what I found most compelling were the simple and straightforward exhortations such as:

"Let us work hard so that when we are old, we will see a better Korea. Let us think of how we resented our lazy, powerless predecessors, and let us work so that our grandchildren thank us."

"Our land grows more beautiful with each day. Our arms, once so weak, grow stronger every day, and our minds, once so dark, grow steadily brighter. We will finally become as sparkling and bright as any other country. The more that this is true, the more we will have to exert ourselves. We need more great people, scholars, educators, business people, artists, inventors and religious leaders."

Also, I thought the book was lyrical and beautifully written, and at times, even magical.

Somehow, I also found solace in many aspects of the book, such as one of Yi Hyong-sik's, the main protagonist, many philosophical pontifications:

"We occupy only a moment in infinite time, and a point in infinite space. How significant could any of our "significant matters" be? Or how painful any of our sorrows?"

I cannot be certain if this book is one of the books that had supposedly "awakened" the Korean people. But for Chinese literature, two writers who had a monumental effect on "awakening" the Chinese people - though it's debatable whether the said people had really been "awakened" - would surely be Lu Xun and Lao She.

I first read - or attempted to read - Lu Xun's "Diary of a Mad Man" when I was 11 years old, as the book was in the family collection, and I randomly picked it up. I remembered not understanding anything whatsoever! While I understood most of the words, I just could not understand why the main character kept using the expression "chi ren" (literally: eating people). I was thinking, surely he wasn't talking about cannibalism? I remember being extremely frustrated at not being able to understand what the book was trying to say.

It was not until my university days that I attempted to read the book a second time. And while till this very day I still cannot claim to understand the work in any respectable depth, I at least understood that Lu Xun wasn't talking about cannibalism! Rather, he was talking about how feudal practices had suffocated and killed the Chinese people. That revelation was a relief as it help cleared the mind of that once confused and frustrated 11 year old kid.

A Heritage of Kings

This is one of the most interesting books I've read recently!

The title "A Heritage of Kings" did not sound inspiring at first but it reads like a riveting novel. The book was full of interesting tales of palace intrigues, factional struggles, and other purported historical rumors such as how King Yongjo murdered his brother in order to become king, and how his mother was a concubine/slave.

The book also helped explain a doubt I had earlier on in the year about why Prince Sado was killed in a rice chest. After reading the book, the idea of killing the Prince in what I earlier thought was an incomprehensible way did not seem so difficult to understand, after all.

But overall, it was interesting to read that Korean kings were generally said to be circumscribed by the powerful bureaucracy and the censorial, and were at times even mere "pawns in the grip of bureaucratic rhetoric".

I thought Yongjo was an exceptional character, especially the theatrics, tears, tantrums and abstinence he had to resort to in order to get his way. He was also highly shrewd in manipulating rituals to advance and consolidate his power.

I also thought he was progressive in many ways, particularly in wanting to reform the penal code and military tax, and in having a strong relationship with commoners who genuinely seemed to support and respect him. Of course it can be argued that he was doing all that to entrench his hold on power. But if the means to an end are progressive and benefit the people, then I guess it can't be all that bad.

It was also interesting to read about King Yongjo's adoption of the moral kingship due to his conviction that power flowed from moral authority, hence his need to assiduously cultivate that image. What he had done, to use a modern term, is to undertake "a DIY sagehood" - or a "do-it-yourself sagehood". It's basically a step-by-step manual on how to declare oneself a sage king!

But of course his treatment of Sado was capricious. Nevertheless, it was tragic, not to mention ironic, to read about the father-son relationship. Particularly:

"Undeterred by his personal tragedy, he continued in his quest for sage kingship until his death. The discrepancy between the ideal of his vision and the reality of his rule was at it sharpest in the most intimate of his relationships - the killing of his son ... yet ... the gap almost disappeared in his role as ruler-father to the people - the most remote, if most important, group to the monarchy. Yongjo, who killed his own son, could become father to his people, the fulfillment of a public paternal role at the expense of a private one."

Chong Yagyong and Korea's Challenge to Orthodox Neo-Confucianism

Some parts were interesting such as scholars questioning and challenging the orthodox teachings of Cheng-Chu, and how some of them tried formulating proposals for the country's development.

The latter, in particular, made me re-think often-made assumptions and the one-dimensional view that the Chosun dynasty was degenerative, backward looking, and was unable to come up with new perspectives and solutions for the country.

What I found interesting was Tasan's (Chong's other name) inclination, especially towards his later years, towards populist policies that were supposed to help curb yangban excesses. But perhaps it should not come as a surprise that he did not manage to successfully implement those policies?

But for the most parts, the book was a tad hard to follow, given the various names, events, and accounts of interplay/rivalries between the various factions. Especially difficult were Tasan's different interpretations of the classical texts.

Hong Yi-sup - Korea's Self Identity

The title of the book - "Korea's Self Identity" is rather misleading. Or perhaps I had taken the title of the book too literally when I picked up the book.

For the most parts, I found the book merely descriptive, which in other words mean it does not provide much analysis and insight. But in the second half of the book, there were occasional insights and interesting nuggets of information, such as how the attempt to transplant Catholicism in Korea failed at one stage due to the assassination of Prince Sohyon.

But overall, I found the views in the book strident, vehement and fairly predictable. But perhaps this has something to do with the fact that the book was written in 1973 where I gather that in the eagerness to develop and progress, there is little disagreement about the idea of modernization, and getting rid of "the old way of thinking" and discarding "Korea's spiritual foundation".

The past, according to the author, has been described as a "bondage" and certainly not something to be celebrated. I don't know why but somehow it bothers me.

Incidentally, the book was published by Yonsei University Press, but unfortunately there was an alarming number of spelling errors.

There was also a picture of the professor against the backdrop of a building that looks suspiciously like Yeonhui Hall in the middle of Yonsei University. He wore the sort of black rimmed glasses popular in those days. He looked rather old in the photograph. Am wondering if he is still alive.

50 Famous People Who Helped Shape Korea

Though fairly "laymanish", the book was fascinating in so far as it provided interesting nuggets of information which would not have been found in respectable Korean history books. In other words, information bordering on "gossipy".

Such as - finding out that Syngman Rhee married Francesca (seen seated in centre in photo) when he was 59 years old! Which begs the questions, was he married before that? What happened to his earlier wife/wives? Or maybe he was single till then. But didn't think that was a possibility.

Also found out that Rhee had smallpox when he was 9 years old which blinded him. And though his family tried various traditional remedies, he was eventually cured by Horace Allen. Well, don't know how real this is.

In the chapter about Koryo statesman Chong Mong-ju (P'oun), it's interesting to read that the bridge where he was killed - the Sonjukkyo Bridge in Kaesong - has now become a monument, and "it is said that a stain of his blood is a brown spot on one of the stones which, to this day, reportedly turns red when it rains." Again, not sure how authentic this is. But "juicy" tales like these sometimes have the effect of encouraging me to read up more about the person/historical context in question.

I laughed when I read the chapter about composer and violinist Hong Nanp'a which spoke about Koreans' reaction to the violin, an instrument they found foreign and unfamiliar. The violin was described as "yang kkangkkang". "Yang" means western, while "kkangkkang" is the Korean rendition of the sound made by the violin.

But overall, the deepest sense I carried away with me is the extent of the Kuomingtang's involvement with Korean independence fighters in Shanghai, a slice of history that I previously had no clue about. Another sense is that in most historical instances, good and upright people who refused to bend with the prevailing wind, or who tried to be progressive, inevitably suffered from imprisonments, banishments, persecutions or even deaths and assassinations. Yet another is the sense that the Chinese saying "shi shi chu yingxiong" (roughly translates as "heroes are produced by the times, situations or circumstances") certainly rings true, loud and clear.

Much has changed, but much, such as the nature of men and politics, have remained unchanged. There is so much about history that we can never seem to learn enough from.