Remembering two October 26 assassinations
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By Kyung Moon Hwang
One of the most remarkable coincidences in Korean history involved a pair of momentous assassinations: of Ito Hirobumi on Oct. 26, 1909, and of Park Chung-hee exactly 70 years later. As we approach the 105th and 35th anniversaries, respectively, of these two occasions, it seems fruitful to revisit them in order to draw some possible connections.
One could make a convincing argument that Ito was the most influential person, for good or bad, in Japan’s rise as a major power in the early 20th century. From a rather modest background as a low-ranked samurai in western Japan, he played an instrumental role in modernizing his homeland after the overthrow of the shogun’s rule in 1868.
He visited Western countries on multiple occasions and helped incorporate the ideas and models of the outside world into Japan’s political system during the Meiji era, including its constitution.
In 1885 he became Japan’s first prime minister, a title he would hold on several other occasions, and thereafter remained at the center of his country’s emergence as Asia’s most economically and militarily advanced country.
Ito’s association with Korea resulted from Meiji Japan’s growth into an imperialist power with designs on neighboring countries, especially Korea.
It was for the purpose of dominating Korea that Japan successfully waged war, in and around the peninsula, against China and Russia at the turn of the 20th century. It was also for this purpose that, following Japan’s defeat of Russia in 1905, Korea was forced to become a protectorate, with the Japanese taking control of the Korean government’s financial and foreign affairs.
This was how Ito came to Korea, as the first commander, or resident general, of the Japanese protectorate government. Through this position Ito pushed through many changes and led the gradual strengthening of his country’s grip over the peninsula, even forcing a change in the Korean monarchy in 1907.
Though he was assassinated a few months after he resigned from this position in the summer of 1909, many Koreans still regarded him as the prime instigator of the Japanese takeover. His assassin, An Jung-geun, gunned him down at a train platform in Manchuria, and this likely accelerated Japan’s annexation of Korea, which occurred in 1910.
That such a central figure in modern Japanese history ended up dying at the hands of a Korean assassin was a shameful irony, of course, since it was Ito who had led the development of Japan into an imperialist power in the first place.
From the Korean perspective, it was not Ito the man as much as Ito the symbol that counted. Hence An Jung-geun has been hailed as a great national hero, an emblem of Koreans’ patriotic passions, righteous resistance, and fighting spirit.
This stands in stark contrast to the popular perspective on Kim Jae-gyu, the man who pulled the trigger on President Park Chung-hee on the same date 70 years later.
If Ito’s killing was a great irony, Park’s assassination in 1979 was even more so. It took place amid widespread anti-government protests in Busan and Masan in the fall of 1979. They were the culmination, in many ways, of a rising tide of resistance against the Yushin dictatorship that Park had implemented in 1972.
As people wondered how Park would respond to the demonstrations and who would be punished, it turned out that Park himself would be the most prominent victim, not only of the protests, but of the dictatorship as a whole.
This is because Kim Jae-gyu, his assassin, was the head of the Korean Central Intelligence Agency, or KCIA, which like other secret police agencies kidnapped and tortured people who were suspected of opposing the dictatorship. His shooting of Park would be akin, then, to a long-time Japanese political lieutenant of Ito’s having shot Ito
Like An Jung-geun, Kim was soon executed for his crime. Upon interrogation, Kim insisted that he wanted to prevent social chaos and to promote democracy. But as a chief enforcer of the authoritarian state, his words and motives justifiably were viewed with great suspicion.
The manner in which he carried out his offense has bothered people as well: He did so at a small, private gathering, and his intent originally was not to kill Park but rather his chief bodyguard, whom Kim personally despised. Finally, Kim’s actions did not bring about social stability or democracy (at least not immediately), but rather another military dictatorship and a great deal of bloodshed the following year.
That An Jung-geun, unlike Kim Jae-gyu, is held in such high esteem is understandable, given the painful, complicated, and often terrible role played by Japan in Korea’s modern history. Still, it is a little disturbing that a man best known as an assassin enjoys such a lofty standing.
The Korean postal service has even issued commemorative postage stamps in An’s honor, on multiple occasions! A further twist is that the date itself, “10-26,” is better known for Kim’s deed than An’s. This is likely because the center of attention for the earlier event is the perpetrator, whereas for the latter event, it is the victim.
Political assassinations are not unique to Korea, but the curious way by which they are viewed is indeed very much a product of Korea’s particular historical circumstances.
Kyung Moon Hwang is an associate professor in the Department of History, University of Southern California. He is the author of, “A History of Korea ― An Episodic Narrative” (Palgrave Macmillan, 2010). The Korean translation was published as 황경문, “맥락으로 읽는 새로운 한국사” (21세기 북스, 2011).