Diplomatic smuggling in Joseon

The American and British legations in Seoul at the end of the 19th century / Courtesy of Diane Nars Collection

By Robert Neff

• Published Sep 14, 2024 5:22 PM KST
• Updated Sep 15, 2024 3:48 PM KST

Following the establishment of the Imperial Korean Customs in 1883, international smuggling has been a problem in Korea. Chinese and Japanese junks frequently attempted to avoid inspections, passengers aboard the handful of steamships hid goods among their luggage, and perhaps even more egregious were foreign representatives who used their diplomatic immunity for their own gains.

Sometimes the smuggled items were relatively small and perceived to be inexpensive — such as stamps. However, Korea’s turbulent politics soon transformed these stamps into rare and valuable items coveted by collectors around the world.

On the evening of Dec. 4, 1884, a banquet was held at the newly established post office in Seoul to celebrate the successful inauguration of Korea’s postal system. It was as this banquet when the unsuccessful, but very bloody, Gapsin Coup began. The resulting destruction proved beneficial to Ensign George C. Foulk, an American naval officer attached to the American Legation in Seoul, and stamp collectors around the world.

After the coup, Foulk acquired several stamps and sent them to his family so that they could sell them. He explained to his parents that Korean post office “had only been in existence a few days when [the coup attempt] broke out in Seoul.” The postmaster, Hong Yong-sik, was murdered, the post office gutted and the Korean government declared the fledgling service officially abolished. “The stamps certainly ought to be very valuable to the ‘friends,’ and you must not let them go for any sacrifice.” He optimistically suggested the stamps would fetch $30 or more each. He was wrong.

In early 1885, he bought 15,000 stamps “from a wretch who could give no account of how he got them.” He paid only $3 for the entire lot. Foulk justified his act by claiming he originally intended to return them to the Korean government once it reestablished its postal service. However, he soon learned the government would commission an entirely new series of stamps and the stamps Foulk had in his possession would be voided “as the handiwork of the conspirators.”

He sent 6,000 stamps to Yokohama where a fifth of them were sold for a couple of hundred dollars. Although it isn’t clear if his possession and sale of the stamps violated any laws, Foulk prudently warned his parents not to “say anything to anybody about the matter.”

Stamps were not the only things Foulk was sending home. In early 1885, he bought the “very finest” pearl he could find in Seoul for $10 and sent it to his friend, George F. Kunz, a gem expert, for appraisal. As with the stamps, Foulk urged his parents not to talk about his purchase in order “to avoid anything which might furnish food for talk that I was speculating in pearls, while an officer of the navy. There is no harm in doing so actually, but the talk would be disastrous.”

At first, Foulk was convinced the pearl was “worth ten times” what he paid, but later adjusted the estimate to at least $400 and possibly as high as $1,000. He excitedly informed his parents that if the pearl “is valuable, I will put all my loose change into use by buying pearls, a number of which I can get hold of.”

In 1893, Horace N. Allen, secretary of the American Legation in Seoul, was also involved in a smuggling incident. He gave a package of jade to a Korean diplomat bound for the United States. The diplomat was to use his diplomatic immunity to smuggle the jade to Augustine Heard, the former American minister to Korea, so that the latter man could sell it for a “handsome profit” to help alleviate his financial troubles.

This wasn’t the first diplomatic smuggling involving Allen and Korean diplomats. In 1888, Allen served as the secretary of the Korean Legation in the United States and accompanied the Korean diplomats as they passed through customs. The Koreans had more luggage than seemed necessary, which aroused the customs agents’ suspicion. Allen assured them the trunks contained “Korean articles desired by natives when abroad” and gently reminded them the Koreans had diplomatic immunity.

About six months after their arrival, the New York Herald reported that the Korean Embassy had smuggled in three cases of Manila cigars and — through a Korean student — sold them in Philadelphia secretly for a tidy profit.

Mortified, Allen confronted Park Jeong-yang, the Korean minister, and demanded an explanation. Park, “in the most abject groveling misery” confessed and assured Allen it would never happen again. In order to avoid a diplomatic scandal, a Korean servant was ordered to take the blame and Allen, with some difficulty, managed to smooth things over with the customs agents.

Yet, despite Park’s assurances, the smuggling continued. In the middle of the night, three cases of cigars were marked as clothing to be washed and sent back to Korea. Disgusted, Allen wrote:

“I have talked and written, addressed meetings and stuffed reporters, till I have worked up a favorable spirit toward the Koreans and silenced the grunts of the Chinese. This I gladly do but to have to perjure myself to cover the contemptible dishonesty of the King’s representative, who has so little regard for his country as to jeopardize her interests just when peace is obtained is too mean.”

Allen, disgusted with himself for having to lie for the Korean diplomat, described the cigar incident as “a circus.” Of course, he made no mention of his own involvement in the jade incident half a decade later — a typical example of his hypocrisy.

The American and Korean legations were not the only ones involved in smuggling — either openly or tacitly. The Chinese Legation in Seoul had its own scandals. In January 1886, a riot broke out in Jemulpo (modern-day Incheon) when Chinese merchants were discovered smuggling red ginseng aboard a Chinese warship. When confronted, a violent altercation took place, resulting in the Korean Imperial Customs office being ransacked and a couple of customs agents being severely injured.

Protests were made by the foreign diplomats in Seoul and Yuan Shih-kai, the Chinese representative, eventually the accused smugglers were tried and found guilty. They were subsequently fined and then deported. However, many were convinced that only the most expendable merchants were persecuted while the real ringleaders were protected by the Chinese Legation.

Red ginseng was one of the most popular and profitable items to be smuggled out of Korea — perhaps with the exception of gold dust — and was one of the deadliest. Korean ginseng smugglers were often summarily executed.

While most items were smuggled in secret, other items were creatively disguised. In 1909, an American manager of one of the gold mining concessions in northern Korea purchased a car and had it shipped to Korea. There was a “prohibitive import duty” on automobiles, but the mining company, by the terms of its concession, was permitted to import mining machinery free of duty.” Taking advantage of the clause, the crate in which the car was sent to Korea was wrapped so thoroughly that even the most energetic and diligent customs inspector would be reluctant to examine it. In addition, the crate was marked “Mining Machines” in English, Japanese, Chinese and Korean. The ruse worked, and soon, a beast of an automobile terrorized the streets of Seoul.

In 1892, The London and China Telegraph declared that “it would be no difficult matter to smuggle opium into Korea if a demand for the drug existed.” The paper was convinced there was no significant market for opium as it was too expensive for the average Korean, but it was wrong. By the end of the 19th century, Korea had an opium problem.

The exact methods to smuggle opium into the country are unclear, but, judging from the various newspaper accounts, the techniques were very successful. Possibly, the drug was hidden in trunks and crates, concealed by clothing or other goods. However, judging from the various letters and diaries from the expat community in Korea, the customs agents were fairly thorough with their inspections — at times, too infuriatingly thorough. Another possible method was to tie the opium package with a string and lower it overboard into the water where it remained hidden until the customs agents completed their inspection.

Perhaps the strangest smuggling method involved teeth and took place in San Francisco. In 1883, opium was frequently discovered aboard the City of Tokyo, a steamship operating between China and San Francisco. Most of the time the opium was found in passengers’ baggage, confiscated and then later sold in auctions in San Francisco.

However, according to a Chinese newspaper, “it [was] rumoured that several of the crew during the last trip had all their teeth excavated by Chinese dentists in Hongkong, and that they have been smuggling in opium by the pound in this manner.”

The editor naturally had his doubts as to how much opium could be smuggled in a sailor’s teeth. Somewhat sarcastically, he suggested that in the near future, customs agents would have to examine everyone’s eyelids and the captain’s ears and then “call all hands on deck and open their mouth” so that they could be examined for traces of opium.

Drugs continue to be smuggled into Korea. In 2021, customs agents found drugs “hidden inside paper congratulatory cards after being spread thinly and placed between the pages. Others were vacuum-packed and concealed inside canned food or hidden inside corrugated cardboard.”

Modern smugglers are somewhat ingenious but pale in comparison to the dedication of those who allegedly hollowed out their teeth to smuggle opium.

Robert Neff has authored and co-authored several books, including Letters from Joseon, Korea Through Western Eyes and Brief Encounters.