Emperor of Japan

by Donald Keene

  Fleeing the fighting, An Chung-gun took refuge with a priest named Wilhelm, known by his Korean name, Hong Sok-ku. He remained in hiding for several months in Wilhelm’s church. The priest encouraged An to use his enforced leisure to study Christianity, and he complied, spending much of his time reading the Bible and discussing Christianity with Wilhelm. The priest finally convinced An of the truth of Christianity, and An was baptized in January 1897. His baptismal name was Thomas.31 For several years afterward, he and his father actively propagated the faith, and he remained a convinced Catholic to death. In his last letter, addressed to his wife, he asked that their elder son become a priest.32

  An recalled in the narrative of his life that he had studied French for about three months with Father Wilhelm;33 it was the only foreign language he ever learned. When a friend asked why he had stopped studying French, An responded, “Anyone who studies Japanese becomes the slave of Japan. Anyone who studies English becomes the slave of England. If I were to learn French, I could not avoid becoming the slave of France. That is why I gave it up. Once the reputation of Korea rises in the world, people all over the world will come to use Korean.”34 It is apparent from An’s remarks that he had had some sort of disagreement with Wilhelm. Even though An’s faith in Christianity was not shaken, he no longer trusted foreign people.35

  An was intensely nationalistic, but he also envisaged a union of the three great countries of East Asia—China, Korea, and Japan. Perhaps this conception was first suggested to him, paradoxically, by the doctrine of the Yellow Peril, the evil brainchild of the kaiser. An warned of the White Peril, exemplified by the predatory European nations that were pouncing on helpless Asia. The best way for the East Asian nations to end the threat of aggression from the Western powers was to unite. China and Korea especially, because they were even at that moment victims of European aggression, must cooperate to resist the European powers; if they did, the Europeans would withdraw and peace would return to East Asia.36

  An was not anti-Japanese. The man he most admired was undoubtedly Emperor Meiji, and one of his most vehement accusations against Itō Hirobumi was that he had intentionally deceived the emperor, who desired not the subjugation of Korea but peace in East Asia and Korean independence.37An’s knowledge of the emperor’s wishes was derived from the statement of Japanese objectives in starting a war with Russia in 1904.38An was delighted to read about Japanese victories over the Russians and claimed that his compatriots shared his joy over the defeats suffered by one of the agents of the White Peril.39 He regretted only that Japan had broken off the war before Russia was reduced to total submission.

  An was sure that many Japanese shared his hatred of Itō Hirobumi’s policies. He described conversations with various Japanese prisoners of war. One, a member of the garrison stationed in Korea, wept as he told An how much he missed the family he had left behind in Japan. An said that if peace were restored to East Asia, there would be no need for a Japanese garrison in Korea. The soldier agreed, commenting that it was because wicked ministers had disturbed the peace that he had been compelled to come to this distant place, much against his wishes. He added that although he could not do it all alone, he would like somehow to kill Itō.

  An had similar conversations with a Japanese farmer, a merchant, and a Christian minister, all prisoners. They deplored the present situation in Japan, and the merchant, like the soldier before him, wished he could kill Itō. An received from these men a strong impression of hatred for Itō, and he supposed that they typified the entire Japanese populace.40 He reasoned that if even Japanese wished to kill Itō, it was easy to imagine why Koreans, whose family and friends had been murdered on Itō’s orders, detested him. An claimed to have assassinated Itō in his capacity as a “lieutenant general of the righteous army” because Itō, by disturbing the peace of East Asia, had estranged Japan and Korea.41

  An still hoped that relations between the two countries would become closer, providing a model for the whole world to imitate. An urged a sympathetic Japanese prosecutor not to worry about whether or not he would be condemned to death; all he asked was that the emperor of Japan be told why he had committed the crime.42 He was sure that if the emperor realized how mistaken Itō’s policies had been, he would understand An’s action and rejoice. An expected that if in the future, following the wishes of the emperor of Japan, administrative policy with respect to Korea was improved, peace between Japan and Korea could be maintained for 10,000 ages.

  By blaming on Itō every crime committed against Korea by the Japanese, An absolved from guilt not only the emperor, in whose name many of these crimes had been committed, but the entire Japanese people. Once Japan was free of the cancer that had corrupted relations between the two countries, which were meant to be friends because of the many traditions they shared, there was no reason that they could not enjoy peace for all ages to come. In such writings, An seems to have been obsessed with his image of the archfiend Itō, a modern equivalent of the Satan he read about in the Bible.

  An accused Itō of fifteen specific crimes, including the murder of Queen Min. An’s most surprising accusation was that forty-two years earlier, Itō had killed Emperor Kōmei. He asserted that all Koreans knew this, but even if this rumor were true, it is hard to know why An thought killing Kōmei was a crime against the Korean people.43 An’s other accusations describe the unspeakable consequences suffered by the Koreans from the unequal treaties the Japanese had imposed on them. The last of the fifteen crimes of which Itō stood accused was that he had deceived the emperor of Japan and the rulers of other countries by pretending that Korea was at peace and thriving.44

  It was undoubtedly with exhilaration that An fired his gun at the great enemy of the Korean people. No sooner had An fired six shots than he was overcome by Russian guards and carried off to prison. The Tōkyō nichinichi shimbun for November 3 quoted An as saying in his prison cell, “I have ventured to commit a serious crime, offering my life for my country. This is the behavior expected of a noble-minded patriot. But giving me such inedible food is not the treatment a patriot should receive. I absolutely refuse to eat it.”45 According to the same article, he refused to eat anything for two days.

  His treatment improved markedly after the Russians turned him over to the Japanese. Mizobuchi Takao, the public prosecutor, offered him gold-tipped cigarettes after finishing his interrogations and, in their chats afterward, showed his sympathy. An recorded in his autobiography that when he had revealed Itō Hirobumi’s fifteen crimes, Mizobuchi had exclaimed, “From what you have just told me, it is clear that you are a righteous man of East Asia. I can’t believe a sentence of death will be imposed on a righteous man. There’s nothing to worry about.”46

  The other Japanese officials at the prison also were deeply impressed by An, whose attitudes and actions, much in the mold of a Japanese hero, seems to have struck a responsive chord in them. At New Year, An and the two Koreans who had been arrested as his accomplices were treated to traditional Japanese New Year’s delicacies. His bold calligraphy was so much in demand by his captors that he wrote more than fifty scrolls for them, all signed “An Chung-gun, a Korean in the Port Arthur Prison.”

  An began to write his autobiography on December 13 and continued writing it during his trial, which began on February 7, 1910. At the trial, in accordance with the agreement signed between Japan and Korea providing that Japan would henceforth protect Korean citizens abroad, An was not permitted to have a Korean defense attorney. Everyone involved in the conduct of the trial—the judge, the prosecutors, the defense council, and the interpreter—was Japanese. This created a particular hardship because An did not understand Japanese. The interpreter did his job with the utmost care,47 and An’s attorneys sincerely attempted to secure an acquittal,48 but he felt almost unbearably isolated.

  Despite Mizobuchi’s reassurances, the verdict was predictable. On February 14 An was sentenced to death.49 The decision was made not by persons in the courtroom but by the Foreign Min
istry. On December 2 Foreign Minister Komura Jutarō sent a cable saying, “As far as the government is concerned, An Chung-gun’s crime is extremely grave, and it considers that it is appropriate in his case, as a means of discouraging crime, for the extreme penalty to be applied.”50

  Although An had expected this verdict, he was greatly incensed when it was pronounced. He had hoped that he might be recognized not as an assassin but as a prisoner of war, a righteous soldier who had killed an enemy of his country. This plea was ignored. Judge Hiraishi had earlier promised An that even if he were found guilty, a stay of execution of at least a few months would surely be granted, but the order from Tōkyō called for prompt action. The date for the execution was set for March 26. An did not appeal the verdict, considering that it would be useless. All he asked was a postponement of two weeks in the execution so that he might complete his study “On Peace in East Asia.” He asked the help of the prison warden, Kurihara Sadakichi, but Kurihara, though deeply sympathetic, was powerless to change the date. As a last favor, An asked for white silk Korean clothes in which to die, and Kurihara obliged.51 Not long afterward, depressed over his failure to save An, Kurihara resigned as warden and returned to Japan.

  On March 9 and 10 Father Wilhelm heard An’s confession, said mass, and administered the sacraments.52 During the last weeks of his life, An continued writing. On the morning of his execution, he put on white clothes. A photograph taken at that time shows him looking calmly into the distance. All that is visible inside the whiteness of the clothes is his head with its intensely black hair, eyes, and mustache and his hands folded together over his knees. An was hanged later that morning, on March 26. A Japanese doctor pronounced him dead at ten that morning. An’s body was carried to a common burial grounds about two miles away.

  Emperor Meiji’s reactions to An Chung-gun’s death are not known, but probably he felt it was appropriate that the man who had killed his most valued adviser, Itō Hirobumi, should be punished by death. Despite An’s earnest request, it is unlikely the emperor was informed of his reasons for assassinating Itō. In any case, Itō’s death came as a terrible blow to the emperor. He did not reveal this openly; his activities were much the same as before Itō’s death. But Hinonishi Sukehiro, who served the emperor as chamberlain for many years, recalled that his shock on learning of the death of Itō was so great that he seemed to have suddenly become an old man. Itō’s funeral in Tōkyō attracted a crowd of 400,000 mourners.

  An Chung-gun has been treated as a patriot and hero, especially in the theater. In China, among the plays was one written by Chou En-lai and his wife, Teng Yin-chao. In Korea, An is celebrated as a national hero, and Harbin has acquired for Koreans the character of a sacred place because it is the site of the revival of their national spirit.53

  There was a speedy reaction in Japan to news of Itō’s assassination. Ishikawa Takuboku published in the Iwate nippo the following day an article that opened

  October 26. Cloudy. Shortly after three this afternoon a dispatch arrived from afar that caused unimagined consternation in a corner of Tōkyō. Cries of disbelief, words of shock and grief spread moment by moment; then, when day was at last coming to an end after a light rain, shouts of “Extra!” in voices filled with sinister overtones, filled the whole city, throwing people’s hearts into sudden commotion, as if a hundred tides had gushed forth at one time. Everyone, old or young, high born or low alike, was equally stupefied by this shocking news that has affected our entire people. Indeed, the news was so bad it truly astonished the people of Japan, and at the same time it was a major event of worldwide importance. And this news spread today from one corner of our empire to the other. It was a day when in every part of the country voices were raised in an overflow of grief. Ah, Lord Itō is dead!54

  Takuboku went on to recall Itō’s recent visit to the Tōhoku region:

  I can visualize the expression on the faces of the people of Morioka when they learn this tragic news. It is less than a hundred days since they welcomed and said goodbye to his lordship when he traveled in the north. Yes, no sooner had he returned to his country after resigning his post of governor general, before he had even time to warm his seat, he toured the Tōhoku and Hokkaidō with the Korean crown prince. He returned to Japan, only to hurry off on a journey to northern Manchuria.

  Takuboku concluded the essay: “He was reproached by some critics. But who can deny that today’s Meiji Japan owes most to the low-keyed progressivism that characterized his entire life?”

  Chapter 59

  The annexation of Korea by Japan, formally proclaimed in the treaty signed by both parties on August 22, 1910, was precipitated by the assassination of Itō Hirobumi ten months earlier. Undoubtedly the murder by a Korean of the most respected Japanese statesman intensified feelings in Japan that the Koreans were lawless and could not govern themselves. It is also likely that if Itō had not been assassinated, he would have served as a restraining influence on the advocates of annexation, even though the decision to unite the two countries had been made a year earlier and the Japanese government was waiting only for a suitable occasion to carry out this plan.

  Japan had fought two wars with the ostensible purpose of preserving Korean independence. But more important than the independence of Korea, a matter of limited interest to most Japanese, was Japan’s determination to prevent China and Russia from interfering with its own plans to exploit Korean resources. Some Koreans (like An Chung-gun) accepted the Japanese war aims stated by the emperor in his declarations of war on China and Russia as expressions of genuine determination to maintain Korean independence. A few Koreans, even more impressed by the Japanese than An Chung-gun, began openly to advocate a union of the two countries.

  In 1904 Song Pyong-jun, an interpreter for the Japanese during the Russo-Japanese War, formed the Ilchin-hoe, a party committed to cooperating with Japan. The new party took in such figures as Yi Yong-gu, earlier associated with the Tonghaks, and came to collaborate with Japanese right-wing nationalists, notably Tōyama Mitsuru, Sugiyama Shigemaru, and Uchida Ryōhei, the founder of the notorious Amur River Society.1 Uchida, a part-time employee of the Residency General, became an adviser of the Ilchin-hoe in October 1906 and from then on served as an intermediary between Itō Hirobumi and pro-Japanese Koreans. Itō decided late in 1906 to make use of the Ilchin-hoe and, from the following January, the Residency General provided the party with monthly grants of about 2,000 yen.2

  The first Korean cabinet to be formed after the creation of the Residency General was headed by Pak Che-sun. Although Pak, a well-educated man, favored the reforms proposed by Itō and got along well with him, he became depressed over reports that he was the prime target of anti-Japanese activity. There were also increasing outbreaks of “righteous army” resistance. Despite Itō’s request that he remain in office, Pak insisted on resigning. Itō had to organize a new cabinet in May 1907 and chose Yi Wan-yong3 as prime minister and Song Pyong-jun as minister of agriculture and industry.

  Itō delivered to the new cabinet a “pep talk” that included these words:

  Whether Korea is to progress as at present or to be destroyed depends on no other country but Korea itself…. I am doing all that lies within my power to help you and to enable Korea to stand on its own feet. How is it possible for Koreans not to have awakened to this fact? … The most appropriate and urgently needed policy for the continued existence of Korea is the resolution to cultivate sincere friendship with Japan, and to share its future with Japan.4

  These words confirmed Itō’s conviction that cooperation with Japan was essential to Korea’s future prosperity, but he stopped short of proposing an immediate union of the two countries. He was, however, implicitly warning that if the Koreans failed to appreciate all that Itō was doing on their behalf, harsher policies might be adopted.

  Anti-Japanese activity by “righteous army” soldiers in every part of the peninsula should have made it clear that the Korean people as a whole bitterly resented Japane
se rule in their country, even though some Koreans were impressed by the reforms initiated by Itō, and others hoped that collaboration with the Japanese might bring material benefits to the country.

  The members of Yi Wan-yong’s cabinet were solidly pro-Japanese, but otherwise there were divisions among them. For example, Yi himself was hostile toward the Ilchin-hoe, in part because he was an aristocrat and it was led by a man of humble origins. Itō’s chief concern, however, seems not to have been squabbles among the Koreans or anti-Japanese activity but the possibility of Russian intervention. In 1906, when a new Russian consul general was appointed to Seoul, the Russian government sent his credentials to the Japanese Foreign Office, in keeping with the convention of 1905 that provided for Japanese control of Korean foreign relations. However, the credentials were addressed to the emperor of Korea, an indication that Russia still considered Korea to be an independent nation.5 Itō feared this meant that Russia had not renounced its ambitions of intervening in Korea. Indeed, it was probably in the hopes of improving relations with Russia that he made his fatal journey to Harbin.

  Song Pyong-jun openly advocated Japan’s annexation of Korea, insisting that it would make possible a more successful administrative policy in Korea than the halfway status of a protectorate.6 He was disappointed to learn in November 1906 that Itō, cautiously waiting to see how the present situation developed, was reluctant to take immediate action to force the Korean emperor to abdicate.7 In 1908 Uchida Ryōhei, deciding that Itō had no intention of annexing Korea, joined the Ilchin-hoe’s appeal to the Japanese government to get rid of Itō. Song resigned his cabinet post in 1909 and went to Japan, where he urged Prime Minister Katsura Tarō to waste no time in annexing Korea.8 Itō, fearing that Song’s resignation might lead to the cabinet’s collapse, promoted him to minister of the interior.