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Risked Life for the Nation’s Independence

Even an individual who has achieved many great feats or occupies a position of great power can disappoint the public by revealing problems in their private life, being obscure about public or private matters, or revealing an arrogant personality. This is a familiar phenomenon today, a time in which values are confusing and arguments are not refined. Kim Koo (Baekbeom) is the figure who can serve as a wake-up call for today’s world. As his pen name “Baekbeom” means and suggests, he did not mind doing the lowest and most miserable work. He served and loved the nation and its compatriots while devoting his whole life to national independence.

His thoughts, words, and deeds did not change from beginning to end. The fact that his life, dotted with turmoil and ups and downs, creates an emotional impression may be due to his firm view of life and death that did not compromise with the beliefs of his time.

The shadow of death haunted him all the time. He watched countless dear and loved ones die. After joining Donghak at the age of 18, he began his lifetime by crossing the line between life and death as jeobju or in the vanguard and was always in close proximity to death. He killed a Japanese person out of fury over the brutal murder of the mother of the state (Empress Myeongseong) in what is known as the Gukmobosu (國母報讎) incident and then tried to kill himself in an attempt at suicide. In the 1911 Anak incident involving An Myeong-geun, repeated torture made him lose senses and awaken seven times. Nevertheless, Kim encouraged his fellow prison mates by shouting, “The body can be killed but the spirit cannot be taken away,” and renewed his determination to be the strong “boulder.” After all, he received the heavy sentence of 15 years for an incident with which he had nothing to do and for which An Myeong-geun was the main culprit. The ferocious power and the dark era led an ordinary person (Kim Koo) to the path of a revolutionary, who made it his mission to fight for the nation’s independence and liberation, even if it meant risking his own life.

Kim sent numerous patriotic colleagues, such as Yun Bong-gil and Lee Bong-chang, to the field of death. He survived the hellish battlegrounds and bombardments next to mountains of dead bodies. He walked close to death because of gunshots fired by a young opponent in Nanmuting, Changsha, China, after trying to unify the independence movement circles. In the end, he was shot to death in Gyeonggyojang House, Seoul after his return home. His statement in an interview with Kim Dong-hwan (Pa-in (巴人)) on September 1, 1948 reveals the inner thoughts of the patriot who risked his life for the nation’s independence - Kim Koo’s view of life and death: “Life is like a wild goose feather. Life is as light as a feather. This thought crosses my mind every time I get myself into trouble.”

The Pain of Losing a Child, The Sadness of Scars

Kim Koo had to endure the loss of four children. The death of his first daughter (born sometime between late 1908 and early 1909) happened when moving from Sincheon, Hwanghae Province to Anak via palanquin in the cold of winter. The baby, who was exposed to brisk wind, died only days after birth when Kim was 33. His second daughter (Hwagyeong) died during the early years of her life when learning how to walk and babble, just months before 40-year-old Kim’s parole. At this time, he was in jail for being involved in the Anak incident in 1915. “Do not inform father of my death. I’m afraid he might be hurt.” Kim Koo must have been a “foolish father” who heard the 6-year-old baby’s assertive “will,” instead of seeing her bright smile, through words of her grandmother. Eun-gyeong, the third daughter, was born in the midst the mourning of the loss of their second daughter. She left the world just months after being born in 1917, when Kim Koo was 42.

In late March 1919, only 100 days after his first son, In, was born, breaking the family’s streak of death and misfortune, Kim Koo secretly went into exile in Shanghai at age 44, without throwing his mother a 60th birthday party. His wife, Choi Jun-rye, came to Shanghai with In in August of the following year. Two years later, their second son, Shin, was born. They lived in a rented house but experienced the joy of living together for the first time in a long time. Yet bereavement continued, even while in exile, as if a family life might have been too luxurious for a revolutionary. 

His wife was injured from a fall while descending the stairs from the second floor, bringing water to bathe the toddler, Shin. The baby, stricken with pleurisy and pneumonia, had to be relocated from Boryung Clinic in the French concession, to a hospital specializing in lung care, outside of the concession. At the time, no one knew it would be a lifelong separation. Kim could have crossed the Oebaekdogyo Bridge to meet his wife, but rigorous scrutiny prevented him from taking even one step outside of the concession.

“I visited the hospital where Mrs. Choi Jun-rye was hospitalized on the first day of January. Upon hearing that she was on the brink of passing away, I rushed to her room. She lay there exhausted, face pale. Speechless but with a clear mind, she recognized us. After all, Baekbeom could not come to Hongkou District. His mother, Gwak Nak-won, was only able to come to the hospital, but Mrs. Choi had already died and her body had been moved to the mortuary. Mrs. Choi breathed her last breath just like that, without feeling the warm bodies of her husband and mother-in-law even once while on her deathbed,” (Jeong Jeong-hwa’s memoir, “Janggang Ilji (Janggang Journal)”).

The Beggar of Beggars Befriending the Shadows

Around the time when Kim’s wife was fighting disease, their first son In’s illness became so serious that he had to be hospitalized in other hospital. In was discharged from the hospital after the funeral of his mother. In and Shin lost their mother on the first day of 1924, 5 years and 2 months and 1 year and 4 months after their births, respectively. The problem was the youngest baby. Shin was a baby who had just taken his first steps when he lost his mother. He was fed by milk but could fall to sleep at night only by suckling the dried bosom of his grandmother.

At the time, Kim was very good at taking care of babies and soothing crying children. This was a naturally learned skill because he often stayed at compatriots’ homes for room and board. Feeling pathetic about his lack of a home, the wife of Um Hang-seop gave him a few pennies to buy candy for the babies. Unable to bear the situation any more, Mrs. Gwak Nak-won returned home with Shin in November 1925. Her first grandson, In, was also sent back home two years later to “reduce the number of mouths to feed.”

As Kim recalled, “My family life was short. My vagabond life began ever since I threw away my ink brush, at 18. The longest period during which I lived with my family was for 4 years in the French concession of Shanghai.” His state of residence was hardly regular. Kim lived his whole life without a place to call home. A vagabond life was his fate. After losing his wife, he wandered alone for nearly 10 years and stayed at compatriots’ homes or lived in a group. Kim’s escape and life in seclusion were beyond description. He was always being pursued bounty hunters and freeloaded here and there.

As he, himself, expressed, the “beggar of beggars” and the “odd man out befriending the shadows” was the portrait of Kim Koo in exile. To make ends meet, he lived on sewing income while his wife was alive. He was impoverished enough to eat the outer leaves of the Chinese cabbage that his mother picked out of the garbage before returning home as his only side dish. When the Provisional Government of Shanghai was in operation, he was under constant pressure to pay the rent for the landlord’s office. After his mother returned home with his two sons, he beat his tormenting loneliness by taking care of the compatriots’ children, befriending the shadows.

Inexistent Father, Indifferent Husband, Unfilial Son

Out of his 17-year married life (December 1906-January 1, 1924), the period of time during which Kim Koo had lived together with his wife was less than 10 years. His wife was at home busy supporting Kim in prison and spent more than one year, out of her three and a half sick years, in Shanghai longing for her two young sons in a hospital before dismally meeting the end of her life. She had no time or opportunity to play her role as a mother of three daughters and two sons. Her three daughters left the world very early in their lives and the two sons lost their mother too early. Her youngest son, Shin, was unable to learn and use the word “mom,” and instead learned the word “grandmother” first.

The period of time during which In lived together with his father was only 7 years of his lifetime of 26 years and 4 months (November 1918-March 1945). His second son, Shin, lived together with his father for less than 5 years that break down to 3 years and 2 months after being born and 1 year and 9 months in Gyeonggyojang House after Kim returned home. Shin looked back on his school days, “I endured the four seasons in a big overcoat. During vacation, I used to walk the bumpy roads to Chungching to save on bus fares, traveling to buy and eat meat.” As if having known about such circumstances, Kim Koo wrote in “Baekbeom Ilji (Baekbeom Journal),” “Because I did not fulfill my duties to my children as a father, I do not want them to fulfill their duties as children to me either.” The creation of “Baekbeom Ilji (Baekbeom Journal)” may have been due to the remorse Kim had felt towards his young children, as a father who did not have the chance to share affectionate words with them. The book begins with a request, “In and Shin, my sons, please read this.”

His mother (Gwak Nak-won) struggled with a relapsed sore throat and an endemic disease while traveling with her large family on the road for over 5,000 kilometers. Eventually, her disease got worse and she was hurriedly sent back to Chungching. She died at age 81 in 1939 when Kim was 64. She left a will reading, “Strive to achieve independence as soon as possible. Upon your return, be sure to bring with you my remains and those of In’s mother and bury them in our hometown.” She was a wiry mother who presented Kim Koo with a handgun after buying it with money she received for her birthday, saying, “Kill the Japanese!”

“When grandma (Gwak Nak-won) died, my father Kim Koo burst into tears, sensing her the last moment by instinct. ‘Because of this unfilial son, mother passed away like this, after much hardship during her lifetime.’ Even my tenacious father was merely a collapsing human being when faced with death of his mother,” (Kim Shin’s memoir, “Flying in the Sky of the Motherland”).

Kim’s first son, In, died of lung disease at the young age of 28 in Chungching, where the air was unclean, in March 1945, five months before liberation, leaving behind his young wife (An Mi-saeng) and his only daughter (Hyoja) when Kim Koo was 79. There is a saying, “Dogs in Sichuan Province bark at the sun (Chokgyeonpyeil: 蜀犬吠日).” Located in the basin between two rivers, Chungching, belonging to Sichuan Province, was notorious for its bad smell because there was always a large number rain clouds and fog amid the low atmospheric pressure. Moreover, it was difficult to even open one’s eyes and breathe in Chungching because of the explosive population increase after becoming the temporary capital, becoming home to factories from which coal smoke billowed. During the 6 to 7 years when Kim’s big family resided in Chungching, two out of 10 compatriots died of lung disease. Kim’s daughter-in law, who was sick and bedridden, begged for penicillin in a final plea to live, but Baekbeom shook his head, saying, “When a number of my colleagues died of lung disease, how could I get it for my son …” One can only wonder how cold-hearted he could have been to his son, although he was very strict in putting public affairs above anything else.

Is This Country Going in the Right Direction?

Kim Koo’s marriage processes were not smooth either. There were twists and turns that were as serious as his family history. He had to endure a string of unexpected disengagements. Kim Koo got engaged to the first granddaughter of his teacher and Confucian, Go Neung-seon, in 1985 at the age of 20. However, their engagement broke off, interrupted by Kim Chi-gyeong who cited the impulsive promise his father had made during his childhood. His ties with women after this remained blank for a long time.

Kim Koo’s marriage conditions were fresh and unconventional, given the trends of the times. First, fortune did not matter. Second, the bride must be educated. Third, would-be newlyweds must meet and check their chemistry. The third condition was particularly unconventional. In 1902 at the age of 27, Kim got engaged to Yeo Ok, who he had met despite his tricky conditions. However, Yeo died of illness in January of the following year, right before their wedding ceremony.

His relations with An Shin-ho, a younger sister of Dosan An Chang-ho, were strange and pitiful. The two met through the good offices of Choi Gwang-ok who had been involved in the new education movement in the summer of the year following Yeo Ok’s death. They fell in love at first sight, but their ties went up in smoke overnight. Kim’s marriage process with Choi Jun-rye, a well-matched spouse, was also rough. Choi claimed that the “freedom of marriage” was very rare during this time and leapt over the barrier of social customs to meet her lifetime partner, Kim. Kim Koo was 31 and Choi was 18 at the time, in 1906. Kim sent his bride to Seoul to study at Gyeongsin School as soon as they got married.

Meanwhile, Kim’s pitiful relationship with An Shin-ho during his younger days was rekindled dramatically 44 years later. After liberation, An remained in North Korea and was head of the Jinnampo Christian Women’s Alliance Committee. In April 1948, she reunited with Kim Koo who went to North Korea to attend the inter-Korean conference and they roamed around Pyongyang together. Back then, she lost her pastor husband and had become a member of the Communist Party, never opening her lips without hailing Kim Il-sung. “The two people could have been a reunited couple who met again after their hair had turned gray. One was in the South and the other was in the North. It was difficult to predict when they would meet again. Mrs. An sang a hymn aloud in church. The two sat side by side, looking friendly,” (Memoir of Sunwoo Jin, who accompanied Kim Koo to Pyogyang, “Days I Spent with Baekbeom”).

Kim Koo experienced more deaths than anyone else. Moreover, they were the deaths of comrades who were as close to him as his own flesh and blood and siblings. Having experienced the grief and sorrow of death in person, he was aware of how lives were precious and did not give up on the road to the bright future beyond death.

While writing my humble book, “Baekbeom Asks and Kim Koo Answers,” depicting the solitary lifetime of a lonely revolutionary full of unbelievable stories that seem impossible to have all occurred in the lifetime of just one person, I was often moved to tears. Much time has passed since then. This year marked the centennial of the March 1st Movement and the establishment of the Provisional Government. The clamorous ceremonies have finished. There are no vestiges of the moving moments and lingering imagery founded on the past years, and the resolution and vision that greet the new centennial cannot be seen. If we think about the lethargy at the time that came from losing the country 100 years ago and the extreme sacrifices that were taken to reclaim the country, is it proper for us to act like this? Is this country going in the right direction? These days I am sad and ashamed to be unable to answer these questions confidently.