By Hannah Kim
``Loveliest of trees, the cherry now/ Is hung with bloom along the bough...'' Just as depicted in A. E. Housman's esteemed poem, the cherry blossom trees bedecked in pink and white are truly lovely.
Korea in springtime, as I remember it, is festooned with beautiful spring flowers such as azaleas, forsythias, and most notably, the ``beotggot" (Korean king cherry) trees. Incidentally, today is the inaugural day of the annual Yeouido Spring Flower Festival famous for the rows of beotggot trees that will adorn the roads around the National Assembly Building. For the next two weeks, there will be plenty of festivities alongside the Han River sure to delight and entertain its four million visitors.
Here, too, in Washington, the start of April sees the town bottlenecked with tourists pilgrimaging to the nation's capital in time for the National Cherry Blossom Festival. The tidal basin is awash with swathes of cherry trees in full bloom, making it camera-ready for the blossom-gazers. The sight of the blanket of blooms fluttering like snowflakes is so beautiful that it can compel a 74-year-old Californian to trek around Washington for three days because it does not tire her to look at them.
But behind the beauty and grace of the falling cherry blossoms is a heart-wrenching story that calls for solemn reflection. The story begins with Eliza Scidmore, a Washington travel writer who fell in love with the cherry trees on her trip to Tokyo around 1885. Ardently wishing to beautify the marshy and rancid swamp of the Potomac lowlands, Eliza began to lobby for the planting of what she deemed as the ``most beautiful thing in the world ― the Japanese cherry tree.'' Her tenacious efforts successfully culminated in 1912 in a significant ceremony, when First Lady Helen Taft and Viscountess Chinda, wife of the Japanese ambassador, planted the first two trees from Japan on the north bank of the tidal basin in Washington. The mayor of Tokyo had gifted 3,000 cherry trees to honor the enduring friendship between the two countries.
The story, however, takes a wild turn after Japan attacked Pearl Harbor on December 7, 1941, when the cherry blossoms in Washington were said to have ``blushed" in shame. The flowers became closely associated with the kamikaze pilots (Japanese pilots who embarked on a suicide mission): several kamikaze attacks were named after cherry blossoms; each ``ohka" (a piloted bomb that denotes ``cherry blossom" in Japanese) and a plane bore a painted cherry blossom on its sides; and many kamikaze pilots referenced the falling cherry blossoms in their final letters to signal death. Ironically, the same trees that were once so cherished ― that clubwomen chained themselves to the trees in protest of a Congressional vote to remove some trees to build the Jefferson Memorial in 1938 ― were now so despised that they were demanded to be cut or burnt down.
Soon enough, President Franklin Roosevelt signed an executive order that resulted in the internment of 120,000 Japanese (two-thirds were American-born) into 10 relocation camps dispersed across the deserted areas of the western states. Yet to prove their loyalty thousands of Nisei voluntarily joined the U.S. armed services to fight the war. They made up the 100th Infantry Battalion and the 442nd Regimental Combat Team that would become the most highly decorated regiment in the history of the U.S. Army.
Today the National Japanese American Memorial stands at the nation's capital ``to honor the patriotism of Japanese Americans during World War II." In 1988, Congress passed the historic Civil Liberties Act to formally apologize for the ill-fated decision admitted on ``race, prejudice, war hysteria, and failure of political leadership.'' President Ronald Reagan signed it ``to right a grave wrong.'' And it is at this site where the 12th annual Cherry Blossom Freedom Walk kicked off on April 3, in part, to simply tell the story.
As a Korean-American, the story could not bring me more tears, as I know this year marks the 100th anniversary of Japan's annexation of Korea which will evoke agonizing memories for many Koreans. Already on the 50th anniversary of the Japanese surrender in World War II, some of the cherry blossoms that were planted by the Japanese were chopped down at Gyeongbok Palace in Seoul because they were identified as painful remnants of the colonial past.
But thankfully, the story of the cherry blossoms and the meaning behind the Freedom Walk give me hope that even the deepest wounds can be healed for the better. Among the speakers at the Freedom Walk was Terry Shima, a 442nd Regiment soldier who was courageous enough to say: ``This country made a huge constitutional mistake, apologized at the highest level, moved forward and made a better America.'' Coincidentally, he is the older brother of Hiroshi Shima, a Korean War veteran whom I met in Seoul.
``Life is short, like the three-day glory of the cherry blossom,'' says a Japanese proverb. Certainly, we live a transient life in a very inter-connected world that just seems prettier when we sympathize with one another.
Hannah Kim is a 2009 master's graduate at the George Washington University Graduate School of Political Management, specializing in legislative affairs. She spearheaded the passage of the ``Korean War Veterans Recognition Act, U.S. Public Law 111-41." which was signed by President Obama on July 27, 2009. She can be reached at hkim@remember727.org.