As a consequence Mi-Chan felt more and more guilty about working at the Rokko Garden. She tried to assuage her feelings by donating more to the orphans, but it was only ever a short term reprise.
Hana, with whom she had developed an intense relationship, manipulated Mi-Chan’s thinking. As the sole confessor to Mi-Chan’s rape she was in a unique position.
She had started by getting Mi-Chan to distribute Akahata to her family and this had since spread to other friends in the Zainichi community. Then there were donations to Akahata from her black market profits.
They often met in the afternoons, and Hana explained more about her zeal. ‘Under capitalism, man exploits man whilst under communism it was just the opposite,’ was one pithed she got Mi-Chan to reflect upon, citing Marx. Hana also persuaded Mi-Chan that, ‘the end justifies the means,’ and they should be ready to take up arms for the cause.
The only saving grace, if it could be described as such, was Jared had gone. As the daily rollcall of Rokko events rolled on there was no sign of him and no one mentioned or commented on his absence.
As the days passed Mi-Chan became to hate everything that she had once enjoyed about the Rokko Garden. She believed she had been exploited and had become a slave and even concubine of the elite. Hana counselled her mentally, to behave on the outside differently from her true inner emotions. Above all, to be patient, ‘a journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step,’ she quoted.
Events accelerated dramatically.
It started when Hana showed an American newspaper article to Mi-Chan. Although Mi-Chan’s English had improved at the Rokko Garden, it wasn’t fluent, so Hana took her through it in Japanese.
“There’s a new General appointed as the American consul in Kobe, his name is Eichelberger,” explained Hana, shock written across her face. “It looks like the Americans are going to take a tough line with Koreans living in Japan. Eichelberger is quoted as saying that all Koreans who are unable to contribute to Japan’s reconstruction, should be sent back to Korea!”
Mi-Chan listened as Hana continued. “Eichelberger says Koreans are boisterous, dissatisfied and an alien group in the city population who are an easy prey to agitators! He says there are often cases when Koreans in Japan go into shops and jump onto buses without paying.”
Mi-Chan squeezed her eyes shut. Her hands grabbed the side of the chair and exclaimed, “aliens! My parents came here over fifteen years ago!”
Hana shook her head, as she too was surprised to see these claims in a newspaper. “Eichelberger says Koreans are known to include among their leaders, communists and quasi-communists who almost certainly receive instructions from Northern Korea!”
Mi-Chan interrupted, “how does he know this?”
“Wait a second,” said Hana, pointing at a line in the article. ”Eichelberger is saying he wished he had the Queen Elizabeth here to ship the whole lot of them to Korea.”
Mi-Chan was quiet as Hana went on. “We must remember that America was one of the first countries to bless Japan’s annexation of Korea in 1910.” Hana then said with emphasis, “America has long been more sympathetic to Japan than Korea.”
Mi-Chan looked at the newspaper, trying to understand the sentences herself.
“Regarding your question about how he knows this? Well there are police informers, people who used to work for the Kenpeitai who at the end of war conveniently switched sides. This why we have to be careful distributing Akahata.” Hana looked at Mi-Chan. “You know a lot of today’s Japanese politicians served in the military government, and in the forthcoming Korean elections, which American is trying to push through, many of the candidates held senior positions in the colonial government. They are biased. They are traitors!”
Mi-Chan’s stomach dropped with deep pangs of remorse. A realisation hit her. By working at Rokko Garden was she guilty of aiding Korea’s oppressor?
A couple of days later, Mi-Chan received the latest edition of Akahata and read it from page to page. Its lead headline was, ‘Americans planning mass deportation of Korean-Japanese,’ and the article repeated what Hana had told her. Akahata explained that General MacArthur saw deportations as the only way to stop the spread of communism in Japan. MacArthur, it claimed in the article, believed communism was being taught by Korean teachers and youth leaders. Akahata went on, quoting an unnamed source, to assert whilst the Americans had at first supported the establishment of Korean schools in Japan in 1945, they now believed this was a strategic error.
Mi-Chan was particularly aggrieved to read this last sentence. If true it would remove one of her only justifications for remaining at the Rokko Garden.
Two days later, on Saturday night, Hana pulled Mi-Chan to a side after the end of a Charleston dance night.
“What is it?” Mi-Chan asked.
“A few minutes ago I heard Colonel James talking with another senior officer, all events at the Rokko Garden are postponed from tomorrow. All military and police leave is cancelled.” Hana’s face was harsh. “The reason is the government is going to close all Korean schools in Kansai area from Monday morning. Students are to be transferred to Japanese schools!”
“Hana, are you sure?” asked Mi-Chan.
Hana led Mi-Chan to the Rokko Garden reception where daily notices and orders were posted. A new directive had been added. It read:
“Operation Spider Spring
As part of the operation in support of Prefectural Governors to enforce compliance with the new education policy and the closure of ethnic schools in Japan, all leave is cancelled until further notice. The entertainment schedule at the Rokko Garden is also on hold.
Signed Eighth Army Commander, March 1948”
Mi-Chan could understand enough English to know that Hana was correct.
“What should I do?” asked Mi-Chan her mind buzzing.
“Now is the time to act,” said Hana with passion. “Our struggle has begun.” She grabbed Mi-Chan’s arm and led her to a quiet corner, out of sight in the kitchen garden. “After the curfew, you must leave. Be discrete. Make your way back to Kobe. Find your sister and ask her to take you to Pak at Kongo Gakuen, you know he reads Akahata, he will know what to do.” Hana looked at Mi-Chan, “time is of the utmost importance, they are going to shut the schools on Monday morning, so you must reach Pak tomorrow.”
Mi-Chan nodded, her face set with determination as Hana continued, “you will not come back here, ever.”
Hana passed Mi-Chan a folded hand fan which was sealed, “give this to Pak, he will know that your message comes from me. Now he doesn’t know you so will ask a question and you must reply ‘Chamsae’, do you understand?.” Hana made her repeat the password a couple of times and then went on. “I will take care of your things and explain to Oka-san that you have been called away on an urgent family issue.”
Hana and Mi-Chan hugged. “There are two more things,” said Hana. “Keep this between us and Pak. For security it’s better not to tell your family.” She paused, “and second forget about Rokko Garden, forget about the Jared case in case there are problems later.”
Mi-Chan arrived home the following morning having spent an anxious night waiting in Suma station for the first train. Whilst improvements had steadily been made on their home, the family were still living in the cellar. The rubble where the house once stood had been cleared and Mi-Chan noticed since her last visit some neighbours had erected simple wooden huts.
Umma was happy, although surprised to see her daughter on a Sunday morning. Together they ate a simple breakfast of miso, rice and an egg. Mi-Chan explained she was home as there was a last minute change in work rosters.
She kept the conversation light. Afterwards she took her sister outside.
“Eun Ae I know you share Akahata with a number of people at Kongo Gakuen like Pak Sensei, am I correct?” she asked.
“Yes,” said Eun Ae, wondering why Mi-Chan had returned without prior notice.
“I need to see him today, it’s very urgent, can y
ou help?” asked Mi-Chan quietly, although the earnest look on her face indicated the matter was urgent.
“Is there a problem?” asked Eun Ae, wondering about Mi-Chan’s unannounced return.
“Well I need to give him a message myself concerning Akahata, that’s all I can say,” replied Mi-Chan.
Eun Ae pondered whether this was an opportune moment to tell Mi-Chan about Atsugi’s earlier discovery of Akahata. Yet seeing Mi-Chan was in a rush and sensing she was hiding the real reason for her unscheduled visit, decided now was not the appropriate time.
“Let me come with you,” insisted Eun Ae.
“No,” replied Mi-Chan, “it doesn’t concern you. Now how do I find him?” she said.
“He leads the Pungmul dance and they are practising around lunch time today,” Eun Ae replied, “and remember he’s from the North,” she added.
Although it was a Sunday, extra curricula activities were often held over the weekends by Japanese and Korean schools.
Mi-Chan found Pak outside leading a group of thirty students, explaining dance moves using a blackboard. Mi-Chan stood at the side and waited until they had finished.
Pak was in his mid-40s, dressed in a dark suit that hung off his thin frame. He had a long narrow face with short cropped hair.
“Pak Sensei?” she enquired, “I’m Mi-Chan Taegi.”
“Yes,” he replied, showing no expression. “Can I help?”
Mi-Chan looked around to check no one was in ear shot, “I’m Eun Ae’s sister, help distribute Akahata and work with Hana. I have an urgent message.” She passed him the folded paper fan. He looked at Mi-Chan, his face wore a grimace, “I understand, we need to talk in private,” and led her inside the school to a small room.
Taking the fan, he broke its seal and flicked it open, and written in Kanji strokes, was the message:-
“Toward those short trees, We saw a Hawk descending, On a day in Spring.”
“Before we begin,” he looked at the fan, “what is the name of the Hawk?”
Mi-Chan paused, then remembered, “Chamsae, the sparrowhawk,” she replied. Pak smiled and ordered her to explain. Succinctly Mi-Chan went over what had happened at the Rokko garden. Pak listened carefully.
“At the moment, there is no sign of any change, so if this is going to happen, it will be tonight.” He paused for thought. “We need to get to school early tomorrow morning, about an hour before it opens, to see what the authorities do. I need time now to forewarn several comrades. If this happens, we will need to respond en masse and fast. Where do you live?” he asked her. Mi-Chan explained it was Kobe. “That’s too far away, you can stay tonight with the school caretaker, he has a shelter around the corner. I’ll take you there now. I’ll stop by this evening and update you.”
Mi-Chan woke at four thirty, about an hour before dawn. She had slept fitfully. The previous evening Pak had briefed her with a report of unusual military movements; she was surprised to learn he had a network of informers.
She joined Pak and a group of about fifteen other Zainichi outside the school gates at six-thirty. As they were gathering, a small convoy of two American Army trucks and a jeep drove up. A squad of soldiers, armed with rifles and under the command of a forthright sergeant, shouting orders, jumped out. They pushed through Pak’s small crowd, and formed a protective cordon around the gates. Two Japanese officials then disembarked from one of the jeeps accompanied by an officer. The first official produced a thick iron chain and proceeded to padlock the gates, whilst the second official attached an official notice to the bars.
“What’s going on?” asked the Zainichi in Japanese, pushing forward against the cordon.
“Back! back!” shouted the sergeant in English, and then, “Quiet! Listen!”
The Japanese official who had nailed the notice stepped forward and announced.
“By order of the Prefectural Governor, this school is closed with immediate effect.” He refused to take questions and under the watchful eye of the soldiers, returned to the jeep. It promptly drove off.
Mi-Chan, Pak and the other members of their crowd, were permitted by the soldiers to read the notice. It said:
“Closure of Kongo Gakuen
Kongo Gakuen is closed with immediate effect. Pursuant to the 1947 Fundamental Law of Education, schools in Japan are for nationals only and attendance is compulsory. All schools are required to teach in Japanese.
It is the order of the Governor that Kongo Gakuen will reopen in April 1948 as a fully functioning Japanese school.
Osaka Prefectural Governor,
March 1948.”
Several Zainichi started to shout and threaten the soldiers, but Pak reasoned with them to be calm. Gathering everyone around in a circle, he spoke to them in Korean.
“Brothers, sisters, comrades. Hear me please! This is a very grave situation and threatens our future and status in Japan. If we fight this minute against armed soldiers we will lose. The soldiers are only following orders from their higher-ups. What we must do instead is gather today in very large numbers to protest at the Governor’s offices. We will insist on meeting him, face to face to force him to change this decision. Only by demonstrating together and in a massive crowd, will our voice be heard.”
Pak paused and looked around.
“Friends, I have been reliably informed that other Korean-Japanese schools are being shut today too. So this afternoon, starting from two o’clock we will gather. Please go home. Tell your friends, go to your work places and bring your colleagues. We must act!” he paused again, “are you with me?” They clapped and nodded in agreement and started to disperse. “Just one more thing, do not bring your children, be warned, the authorities may respond with violence!”
Mi-Chan estimated the crowd that gathered in front of the Governor’s office that afternoon numbered several thousand. There were young men dressed in workers’ canvas uniforms, in shades of dull green and dark blue. Young mothers dressed in skirts and jackets, merchants in overalls. A small band of farm labourers, office workers in dark suits, and Zainichi teachers dressed for class. Besides Japanese Koreans, there were also some Formosans who feared they too would face similar discriminatory tactics. Interspersed in the multitude were also several jobless, disaffected old soldiers. As well as others who saw an opportunity to create strife and discord, to settle frustrations with figures of authority.
A few brought signs and placards with slogans like, ‘Open Korean schools!’ and ‘Korean education is our democratic right!’ And the crowd was noisy. Some had brought drums. Others banged sticks on saucepans. There were cries of, “Korean culture, Korean schools!” along with claps and applause.
Pak stood at the front, and through a makeshift loud hailer directed the crowd towards the Governor’s Office. It was a recently constructed building several storeys high. As they came to the entrance, Pak started chanting, “Talk to us Governor!” a rally cry Mi-Chan and the crowd repeated over and over.
There were a small number of policeman standing guard, blocking the entrance. They stood still but up close there was nervousness in their eyes as the noise became louder. They were vastly outnumbered by the crowd.
The stand-off lasted around half an hour. Passers-by scattered, as the energy from the crowd rose, with louder shouts, drum beats and frantic waving of placards. There was still no sign of the Governor or any other official who would dialogue or placate the crowd, increasing frustrations.
The tension snapped.
With momentum from the back, those in the front shoved forward. The crowd immediately broke through the police barrier and a group of twenty or thirty, including Pak and Mi-Chan rushed into the building.
The group’s frustration exploded.
They ran through the building, looking left and right, shouting, “where’s the Governor?” to anyone they saw. The staff, most of whom were young women doing secretarial jobs fled. Some hid under tables, others escaped out of the back.
The mob ascended the central stairwe
ll systematically going through each floor of the building, hunting for their target. It wasn't long before they found the Governor who was with the Mayor, huddled in a meeting room, unguarded, their faces pale with shock.
The group was aggressive, shouting and demanding that the Governor rescind his order, closing the schools. He hesitated, claiming it was a central government directive. Pak, who until entering the building had been restrained, grabbed the Governor. Thrusting his fingers into his chest, he yelled. “Rescind the order! Now!”
The Governor and Mayor hesitated again. So the horde, including Mi-Chan, started throwing furniture, lunged for the telephone lines and cut their cables. The Governor was dragged to his desk, thrust into this chair and made to write and sign an affidavit rescinding his order. When he had done this a cheer went up.
Outside the melee swirled around, someone threw a brick and soon there was a hail of stones and other projectiles hurled at the building, smashing glass and denting doors. A small group wrestled the prefectural sign to the ground. Papers started blowing out of the windows into the street.
Pak, Mi-Chan and a few others made their way outside, clutching the Governor’s rescinded order. Several of the mob stayed with the officials, confining them to their room. As Pak exited the building, the hail of stones ceased and he stood waving on the entrance, yelling through his loud speaker. “He’s agreed to the demands!”
A few minutes later, police and American military reinforcements appeared. First blocking the roads, to stop the rioters escaping, then with a large loudspeaker, ordering the crowd to stop. Not everyone heeded the command and a pocket of men, started to throw bricks and rocks at the officers. At this point a few rifle shots rang out, fired over the protestors’ heads to quell the fracas.
Orders were repeated over the booming loudspeaker for calm. The protestors were commanded to raise their hands as more military units arrived. Straight away soldiers entered the throng, focusing first on arresting the trouble makers and young men. Pak was one of the first detained and was last seen being dragged frog marched off towards a military truck.
The Naked Blood of the Cherry Blossoms Page 12
