It has been three years since I arrived in South Korea, yet I have not had the opportunity to visit my father’s hometown, Yeongyang-myeon. My father’s early life was marked by adversity; he lost his biological father at the age of three and lived with his stepfather and mother until his mother’s death, after which he became a wandering beggar at nine. Given this painful past and the uncertainty surrounding the existence of any living relatives, my feet have been hesitant to carry me there. However, my reluctance is not solely due to these factors; it also stems from my deep respect and empathy for my father, who walked a path in direct contrast to capitalism within the socialist system.
My father endured severe injuries during the Palgongsan battle but miraculously survived the war. I am overwhelmed by indescribable emotions when I imagine the battle scenes where my father faced South Korean and American soldiers, with his gun pointed at them.
People are born to live, and there are times when we must devote not only our blood and flesh but even our very lives to secure a happy existence. In the midst of the flames of a class revolution, a young, impoverished man, despite his political illiteracy, was forged into unyielding steel, driven by the hope of acquiring land through North Korea’s Land Reform. My father’s life, a sacrifice for the powerful few, appears eternally desolate and solitary.
Dedicated to a political and class struggle that was scarcely better than rusty farming tools, he endured excruciating battles that left countless comrades bleeding. Such a harsh existence did he lead that, as his son, I cannot fully comprehend nor wish to fathom.
I have not visited his hometown, burdened by profound sorrow and guilt as I reflect on his restless life raising seven children and envision the fire-ridden battlefields of seven decades past.
I recently learned in South Korea that the Korean War was actually initiated by Kim Il Sung, with the support and protection of Mao Zedong and Stalin’s influence. It makes me ponder the countless innocent soldiers and civilians who met unfair deaths as a consequence. I find myself deeply inclined to bow in reverence to those foreign soldiers who sacrificed their youth to this lesser-known country in the East.
Maria Leise, an American trot singer performing in South Korea, shares a similar connection to the Korean War, having lost her grandfather during that tumultuous period. Her songs about the sorrowful old days resonate deeply with my heart.
The sovereignty of a nation emanates from its people, with all power resting within their hands.
At that time, in Wuchangxian, my parents resided with my maternal grandparents and my eldest brother, Park Sang chol. My mother had given birth to him in June 1950, just before my father enlisted in the war in October 1950. Among my seven siblings, only my eldest brother was born outside of North Korea.
My mother was an ordinary farm woman, radiating maternal warmth. She was petite, her face adorned with delicate features, yet she possessed remarkable resilience when it came to managing our household.
Married to my father during her teenage years, she toiled tirelessly to raise seven children, so much so that her fingertips bled. I can vividly recall how she would venture out, rain or snow, dragging her weary legs and cinching her worn chima jeogori — a traditional skirt and upper garment — just to obtain enough grain to nourish her seven children. People encounter various forms of sorrow throughout their lives, but I believe that the anguish of hunger surpasses them all. There’s a saying that claims no one remains noble after enduring three days of starvation. It likely implies that even those with the highest levels of refinement cannot uphold their dignity when faced with hunger.
It is undeniable that the quality of life in North Korea improved significantly after gaining independence, especially in comparison to the Japanese colonial period. The government’s shift towards collective farming, championing the slogan ‘land belongs to farmers,’ played a pivotal role in this transformation.
Prior to the Korean War, farming in North Korea was exceptionally successful, allowing people to maintain a decent standard of living. However, after the devastating three-year-long war, North Korea found itself in a situation where even a piece of unbroken brick was a rare sight. South Korea, now boasting a GDP of 35,000 USD, faced similar devastation during that period.
My parents initially settled in Kyongwon County (Saebyol County), North Hamkyong Province, North Korea, but soon relocated to Hyesan in Ryanggang Province, the northernmost part of North Korea. Ryanggang Province was part of Hamkyong Province until the early 1960s when it gained independence and was renamed, owing to its strategic location, home to the two longest rivers in North Korea, Aprok and Duman.
Even today, it remains a challenging place to live and has historically been a hermitage where government officials were often sent as punishment. The high reaches of Mount Paektu and its surroundings were primarily used for grazing cows and horses during the Choson dynasty, rather than as a residential region for people.
My father’s absence was frequent due to his long-term logging work near Mount Paektu, leaving my mother to struggle alone in the task of feeding and raising seven children. As the saying goes, ‘a mother with a large brood never enjoys a peaceful day,’ her life was indeed restless. The veins protruding from her calves bore witness to countless road trips, carrying heavy loads on her head.
