Happy March First (100th anniversary)

From Wikipedia (the passage below is a compilation of selected material):

The March 1st Movement, also known as Sam-il (3-1) Movement (Hangul: 삼일 운동; Hanja: 三一 運動) was one of the earliest public displays of Korean resistance during the rule of Korea by Japan from 1910 into 1919. The name refers to an event that occurred on March 1, 1919, hence the movement's name, literally meaning "Three-One Movement" or "March First Movement" in Korean. It is also sometimes referred to as the Man-se Demonstrations (Hangul: 만세운동; Hanja: 萬歲運動; RR: Manse Undong).

The Samil Movement arose in reaction to the repressive nature of colonial occupation under the de facto military rule of the Japanese Empire following 1905, and inspired by the "Fourteen Points" outlining the right of national "self-determination", which was proclaimed by President Woodrow Wilson at the Paris Peace Conference in January 1919. After hearing news of Wilson's speech, Korean students studying in Tokyo published a statement demanding freedom from colonial rule.

At 2 p.m. on March 1, 1919, 33 activists who formed the core of the Samil Movement convened at Taehwagwan Restaurant in Seoul; they read out loud the Korean Declaration of Independence, which had been drawn up by historian Choe Nam-seon. The activists initially planned to assemble at Tapgol Park in downtown Seoul, but chose a more private location out of fear that the gathering might turn into a riot. The leaders of the movement signed the document and sent a copy to the Governor General.

The movement leaders telephoned the central police station to inform them of their actions and were publicly arrested afterwards.

Massive crowds assembled in Pagoda Park to hear a student, Chung Jae-yong, read the declaration publicly. Afterwards, the gathering formed into a peaceable procession, which the Japanese military police attempted to suppress. Special delegates associated with the movement also read copies of the independence proclamation from appointed places throughout the country at 2 p.m. on that same day.

As the processions continued to grow, the Japanese local and military police could not control the crowds. The panicked Japanese officials called in military forces to quell the crowds, including the naval forces. As the public protests continued to grow, the suppression turned to violence, resulting in Japanese massacres of Koreans and other atrocities.

Approximately 2,000,000 Koreans had participated in the more than 1,500 demonstrations. Several thousand were massacred by the Japanese police force and army. The frequently cited The Bloody History of the Korean Independence Movement (Hangul: 한국독립운동지혈사; Hanja: 韓國獨立運動之血史) by Park Eun-sik reported 7,509 people killed, 15,849 wounded, and 46,303 arrested. From March 1 to April 11, Japanese officials reported 553 people killed, and more than 12,000 arrested. They said that 8 policemen and military were killed, and 158 wounded. As punishment, some of the arrested demonstrators were executed in public.

I recently spent some bitter column-inches complaining about an annoying aspect of Korean culture. Let me flip that around today and talk about why, despite the annoyances, despite the racism, despite the many big and small ways in which this damn country drives me fucking crazy every single day, I've lived here for almost fourteen years.

First, I'll observe how special today is: it's the 100th anniversary of Korea's declaration of independence, a self-assertion against Japanese oppression—and what a century it's been for the southern half of the Korean peninsula. Going from being under the Japanese boot, to liberation thanks to Allied forces in 1945, to postwar economic and civilizational recovery from 1953 to the present, South Korea has shown the power of industriousness and focused dedication. Its people are hard-working, and they hold and cherish a positive vision of the future. Their ways of achieving that vision are often flawed and misguided, but there's an essential collective positivity that is impossible for any perceptive expat to deny.

It's been said of many other cultures, but Koreans are a singing people, a dancing people, and a passionate people. They're capable of great warmth, and even when they verbally trip over themselves or seemingly act boorishly, their intentions are usually good. With each passing year, I myself become more and more accustomed to life on the peninsula, and even though I know I can never be accepted as "one of them," I'm generally fine with the level of acceptance I experience. Having a small measure of competence in the language has proven very helpful in most everyday situations; I can function fairly independently with the level of Korean I possess, and that opens up plenty of opportunities in terms of food, travel, etc.

As I've written before, Korea's appeal comes not from the grandiose, but rather from the little things—the charming hole-in-the-wall restaurant that serves awesome soup in a tucked-away corner of Seoul, the uniquely local tone of the neighborhood immediately surrounding such-and-such university, the obscure mountain temple or mountain-spirit shrine, the quirky art museum located in or near the downtown area. Korea doesn't have a Grand Canyon or an Eiffel Tower to make it memorable, but shot through the country are ubiquitous reminders of a long and proud history: fortresses, Confucian academies, and traditional dwellings abound if one has the eyes to see and the ears to hear.

I could, in theory, live the rest of my life in South Korea without learning everything about it. I'll never eat all of its local food, nor visit all of its museums, nor hike all of its mountain trails, nor master the local language. But if you spin that fact positively, what it means is that, as long as I live here, there's no excuse to be bored, and there's always something to see and do.

Korea—South Korea, anyway—rolls on. Life here can be stressful; there's the whole "hell Chosun" side of things to contend with. But life here can also be quietly wonderful, a sea of little charms that counteract the daily annoyances, and that are the reason why I've chosen to live here for as long as I have.

I tip my hat, then, to a country that, a hundred years ago, was occupied by a foreign power, then suffered a three-year war resulting in the division of the peninsula, and then had to drag itself out of the pit of economic ruin to become one of the leading financial and technological lights of the modern world. There are aspects of the culture that I could do without (K-pop, weepy/screamy K-dramas, ggot-minam aesthetics, aegyo mannerisms, and a host of other things could all use a nice Thanos-dusting), but what is love if not a warts-and-all commitment to the beloved? I love this country. I've hiked across its length, and I know how amazingly beautiful it is, both in terms of the landscape and the people. If the North suddenly spilled across the DMZ, I'd stay and fight and die for this country, even though I'm not a citizen, and even though I'm a proud American. For fourteen years, this country has fed me, clothed me, paid me, and sheltered me. In a very real sense, I owe it my life. Whatever bad points Korea might have, how could I not feel love and gratitude for all it's done for me?

So on this day, I hug this country in my mind, and I wish it another whole century of upward movement. Cheers to you, South Korea—my second home. Long may you breathe your freedom, and may you never squander it.