The Old Garden

by Hwang Sok-Yong

  When I first started working here, Ki Hun was my team’s leader. One day, out of curiosity, I gave him one of our pamphlets called The New Road. I just wanted to see how he would react. The next day, he left me a letter. It was just a sheet from a notepad, but it was filled with what he thought of the pamphlet. He criticized it, saying there were too many difficult words for an ordinary factory worker to understand, that the reality of everyday life was not reflected in its writings and that the discussions of working hours and wages did not reflect the current situation. He also suggested that we should avoid mentioning the political issues too directly, since this might cause suspicion. I was surprised when I asked him to recommend someone for the job of distributing pamphlets and Ki Hun volunteered to do it himself. He took about thirty copies to distribute among the members of the hiking club he belonged to, then he invited us former students to join their regular outings. Up in the mountains, after hiking for a while, everyone gathered around to take a lunch break, and naturally people talked about everything. When people talked about their work and the factory, it was very easy to bring up the matter of a labor union. Most of them were young men in their twenties, the oldest in his early thirties, and they were close. I became very close to Ki Hun. And he also introduced me to a new friend, Shin Ja, who would become my confidante. A graduate of a night school run by the big companies guaranteeing education and employment at the same time, she was one of the most experienced workers at the factory and all the young girls trusted her.

  Our little group began publishing newsletters that mirrored the views and opinions of the factory workers. The previous spring, the organization had made the decision that two former students should take the lead in our activities at the factory, and I was not one of them. Since I had never been arrested, I got the job using my own IDs, but the two student leaders had used fake ones and were under the constant threat of exposure. Me and another former student who got the job legitimately had to remain undercover as long as possible and support them.

  On the day of an operation, we prepared thousands and thousands of copies of our pamphlets, placed them all around the factory, and distributed them as the workers came into the cafeteria for lunch. By 12:30, the cafeteria was at its busiest, crowded with people. The two leaders ran up to the front with a hand mike and read the pamphlet aloud while the rest of us clapped and shouted slogans with them. Soon the managers and guards came in and tried to take them away as we whistled and jeered. But most of the workers remained passive and uninvolved as the management condemned the leaders as Communists and student activists only pretending to be workers. We all hung back a little at the time, but I know that this incident left a strong impression. You want proof? When the Miss Kwon incident happened,17 we distributed copies of the written arraignment, and everyone at the factory, men and women, was talking about how disgusted and horrified they were by the government.

  Dear Yoon Hee, the world we lived in was filled with oppression and lack of freedom, but at least on the surface there was the appearance of a civilized society. But this place, it is bound by double layers of shackles. Even if the outside world were to see a ray of sunlight, the absolute darkness of this place wouldn’t change much.

  Last June was glorious, but for us, it was just one sunny day during a long rainy season. There is no denying that the power of the people’s movement became a strong foundation for our fundamental struggle. We started to prepare for the strike in July. All over the country, workers began to stir and rally to fight for their basic rights.

  There were various signs that people at the factory were changing. The first thing I noticed was the women’s club. Sometimes, the team leaders and section leaders were worse than the people in the administrative offices. They wanted to show off the little power they had by acting more authoritarian than their bosses, and it was worse when it came to their manner toward women. They didn’t care if she was younger or older; they would order her around and swear and talk down to her. I’m not saying everyone was like that, but sometimes those who used to be factory workers and had climbed up the ladder treated their colleagues worse than management did.

  Around two or three o’clock in the afternoon is the hardest time at the factory, when the body is languid after eating lunch and efficiency is at its lowest. There was one middle-aged woman, I think she had her period. She had already gone to the restroom after lunch, and the second time she left her position the team leader, who was a man, said something to her. But she still could not hold it anymore, and when she attempted to leave her position for the third time the team leader yelled at her, “You bitch! Either you don’t drink water with your lunch, or you stop coming here starting tomorrow!”

  We had all heard worse before, and the woman just froze where she was, her head down, unable to say anything back to him. But Shin Ja jumped up and ran up to him, grabbing him by his throat and yelled back at him.

  “You! Don’t you have a mother and a father? Do you think you are allowed to talk to your elders like that? If you are a human being, you shouldn’t act like that!”

  Preposterously, he slapped her face. The rest of us were just watching them, breathless, when the middle-aged woman who started the whole thing, who hadn’t moved until then, picked up a steel pipe and ran toward the team leader. She said she was going to kill him. He ran away. Every woman in the room began to scream and shout, Get him! Get him! He ran around the room and only barely escaped. We stopped the machines and began a sit-down strike. We demanded that the team leader apologize and that a new rule be implemented to prevent any manager from using abusive language and violence. A couple of vice presidents came down, apologized, and made excuses and a big fuss, but it did little to appease us.

  Then, a few days later, there was an accident in the middle of the night. We had been ordered to work an unscheduled allnighter. It was the season for air conditioners, and since spring we had had frequent all-nighters to meet the demand. While working, a man fell asleep and his hand was cut off by the conveyor belt. After he was rushed to the hospital, all the men in that section stopped working and demanded that all-nighters on weekends be abolished. It was a small compensation, but it made everyone realize the power we had.

  Yes. You set yourself aflame and melted away at the crossroads in front of your factory, but your last letter remains. Mi Kyung, I took the long road back here and I am finally ready to write a belated reply to your last letter.

  What is a life? At first, it is just eating enough to survive, something so easy and simple. I bet we all used to wear grass skirts and spend most of the day, from dawn to dusk, doing not much else, just enjoying each other and making love. Around dusk on an early summer’s evening, you’d find your mate and go to bed. You would wake up when the sun rose and collect clams by the water or berries in the forest. Only the minimum amount of time would be wasted on supplying food. And then you’d play. I am also sure that there was no strong sense of possession among men and women, and all children were raised by everyone, together. But the evil shadows appeared from outside of the forest. They came from below the horizon, from a place where life is not so easy and plentiful. And they wanted to trade. Every evil in the world begins with a merchant. They are so clever and powerful, like a snake with wings.

  Dear Mi Kyung, let us consider what art and revolution are all about. It is our maddening effort to return life back to what it once was. In order to do that, to resume our lives at dawn, we try to destroy what has been built during the day.

  Let’s return to the matter of food. Even beautiful young Jesus chose the only way to return to where he began, to restore the most humble and selfless meal on earth, offering himself as wine and bread. The Last Supper before his death was in fact the new beginning, as death is the rebirth of all living things. He said his farewells and promised to see his friends again. So many painters have tried to capture the scene of his Last Supper. A meal that consisted of stale bread and sour wine.

  Mi Kyung, I can never see
you again. You stupid little girl. Love shouldn’t be like lipstick you apply on your lips, something that hovers on your tongue like a witty saying. Nor should it be something too abstract and grand. Well, they say they will be together until death drives them apart. Nothing really shocks anyone anymore, and the words are becoming more violent. Love is what? About one half of it is a body, like food, about one quarter of it is daily life, like breathing in and out continuously, and the rest is completed by the people around you. It is only there if we can grow old together. We all fail before half of our life is over and spend our last days in lonely isolation. Maybe we should think ourselves lucky if we make it to the midpoint, maybe we can finish everything else in the afterlife.

  One more story about food. Someone told me about his father. Right after the war was over, there were hailstorms and droughts during summer, and the food had run out by the beginning of winter. All people could do was stay at home and try to keep themselves warm. He said the evenings were somehow bearable, but the daytime was really intolerable. One day, his father got up and went out to the empty field, staggering and stumbling, and began digging the soil with a hoe, just like a hungry horse or dog would if it was hungry. He continued sweating up a storm, even though he was burning the little energy that was left in his body. How do you overcome hunger? With work, which created everything in the world.

  Dear Yoon Hee,

  Five days before the strike, we reviewed our pamphlets one last time, and made the decision about how to carry out the strike.

  Two days before the strike, we went to the union office, which was really a union in name only, and demanded that they fight for ordinary workers. We thought this would justify our action and reassure the rest of the workers. And we were going to start a campaign seeking signatures from those who wanted to form a new union. We were going to ask those who were fired from the factory before to come back and distribute pamphlets, which would help them to understand our goals and the meaning of this strike. So that was our plan, to ask other workers to join us and let them be the center of this strike. But we were too circumspect and did not realize that they were at a breaking point, that they were ready to burst into flames with the slightest touch.

  There were seven of us and also four laid-off workers, and we visited every section of the factory to distribute pamphlets. During the morning break at around 10 a.m., Shin Ja took a portable hand mike and read the pamphlet out loud, emphasizing the necessity of this strike. We did not expect the response we got. People wanted to start the strike right away. So we got together hastily and made the decision that we should rise together at lunch hour. After we ate, around 12:30, about fifty people gathered in a courtyard in front of the cafeteria. Ki Hun took the mike and began chanting.

  “Let us come together! Let us unite and show them how strong we are!”

  Management came out. They were caught off-guard and unable to stop us. As we marched around the factory, they trailed behind us, begging, “Don’t you think that’s enough? You can disband now, and we’ll talk.”

  By the time we reached the sports field, the marchers numbered over a hundred. As the crowd swelled, those who were hesitant at first seemed to be encouraged to join the group, which soon rose to one hundred and fifty. By the time we had marched through the factory and visited each section, there were at least one thousand workers gathered at the front entrance. Naturally, Ki Hun, who was holding the mike, took charge. He suggested that we form a committee for the strike and that each section select a member to represent it. This had not been planned, so people called out a name or two at random, and Ki Hun asked them to join him up front and lined them up. We all thought a lively debate would begin concerning how to carry out the strike and whether they had confirmed their own representatives, but everyone just stood there, looking at each other and not saying a word. Finally, Ki Hun took the mike again.

  “Everyone! If you agree with what you’ve just read in the pamphlet you’re holding in your hands, put your hands together and show us your support!”

  People were clapping and screaming, so much louder than we expected. Encouraged, Ki Hun pushed on.

  “Then I want to hear now if you accept these men and women in front of you as your representatives!”

  There was more thunderous applause from the crowd. Right there and then, we formed various groups in charge of negotiations, security, food, and public relations, and we declared a full strike throughout the factory. Banners and headbands were made and distributed, lyrics were copied and handed about, and as the top representatives decided, a few people went to the management office and kicked out the office workers. Forklifts were parked in front of the gate as barricades and guarded by people from the newly formed security department. That was at around half past three in the afternoon, and we quickly proceeded to a public debate on our demands during the strike. We also made up our slogans and practiced screaming them, one group leading the chorus while others followed.

  We deserve compensation for our sweat and labor!

  Let’s build a democratic labor union, we want labor to

  be liberated!

  Victory for the united fight of 10 million workers!

  Time passed quickly and I felt almost spiteful. I truly understood what it meant to have no time. Our demands were soon organized and listed, and we rushed into forming the Committee to Propel the Democratic Labor Union. The resolution was adopted unanimously, with very little resistance. A chair and two vice chairs were selected, as well as an auditor, and the representatives for each department were retained as before. It seemed like heaven was helping us.

  We also decided that we needed to set up rules and regulations to prepare for a prolonged strike. First, there was to be no drinking and no leaving the factory grounds. Everything was scheduled, from the wake-up call to bedtime, and daily activities were organized systematically, from three meals a day to debates and assemblies, protests and even breaks. If there was no interference, everyone should follow the schedule, but we also had to be prepared for an emergency if the situation changed suddenly. Each department came up with a guideline for its members. When negotiations began, there were to be two representatives from those who began the strike, joined by the chair. We were using the cafeteria as a conference room, and when it was time for dinner, some women got up to cook without being asked to. It was half past eight by the time everyone was able to eat something. We had collected a little money to buy food. It was not a fancy meal, and no one was able to go home for the night. But we all sat down together, and some men even admitted that they had to hold back tears as they took their first bite.

  The next day, the first negotiations began. A vice president showed up at the front gate with a few managers. The security department prohibited them from entering the grounds, and they hastily made up a conference table right in front of the gate, bringing over a table and a few chairs. As they took their seats, all of us gathered around the gate, surrounding it with rows of people, and we shouted our slogans and sang songs to raise our spirits. They appeared to be less confident than the last time they had shown up. Our representatives began the meeting, but their offer was so far off from our demands that we broke off the meeting and left the table. That day, we also came up with a new policy. It was not easy to assemble four or five hundred people in the cafeteria every morning, and there were other workers who agreed with the strike but did not stay in the factory. Although the machines were stopped, they were still coming to work every morning as usual. So we decided to carry out the strike at each of our work stations, each of us going back to the department we belonged to. This was the best decision we had made. We were able to greet other workers at the bus station and bring them in and encourage them to join the strike. As we walked back and forth and talked to others, it was a perfect chance to carry out our “agitation propaganda,” not only among the workers, but also with ordinary citizens who lived near the factory.

  On the third night a commotion broke out. There w
ere over a hundred workers gathered in the cafeteria, plus over two hundred divided into groups and getting ready for bed all around the factory building. All of sudden, we heard people screaming, glass breaking, and loud footsteps approaching, and then women screaming.

  “The kusadae is here! Line up!”

  Men were screaming with hoarse voices. We ran out of our workstations and picked up whatever could serve as a weapon, a wooden stick or a steel pipe, and we ran to the cafeteria. The lights in there were switched off, and it was pitch dark. The barricade by the front gate had been penetrated, and we saw dark shadows running out of the cafeteria. There were about seventy or eighty of them. They must have thought that all the strikers were gathered in the cafeteria. There were more of us than they expected and we fought back fiercely. They ran through the front gate and disappeared into the darkness. We found almost twenty injured in the darkened cafeteria. Many were able to escape, but those who were caught were beaten. After administering first aid, we called ambulances and sent them to hospitals.

  The next morning all of us gathered by the front gate, those who were on the factory ground the night before and those who had just arrived, and we held a rally denouncing violence. The company union, the bogus organization controlled by factory management, also gathered on the other side and used a mike to disrupt our rally. They claimed we were a vile and improper organization and urged people not to be fooled into joining the strike. But there were more people than ever gathered on our side, over fifteen hundred. Ki Hun, who did not belong to the committee but who had begun the strike, stood in front of everyone again and made a speech. I am writing down whatever I can remember.

  “Maybe they think they can stamp us out with violence. Maybe they think they can break our solidarity and halt our efforts by killing hundreds and locking hundreds in a cold, dark prison. But that is their biggest illusion. A tiny spark can burn down the whole prairie. In the hearts of 10 million workers, the hope for a democratic labor union will never die. No, it will burn and erupt like a volcano as long as we continue our struggle. My dear brothers and sisters, it’s not over yet. No, it cannot end yet. We’ll continue to fight until we form a democratic labor union and regain our rights!”