80th Liberation Day 80 years on, Korea’s independence legacy lives through its descendants

Yoon In-suk, right, nephew of poet Yoon Dong-ju, and Song Si-yeon, a descendant of both Yoon and fellow independence activist Song Mong-gyu, pose at the Yoon Dong-ju Memorial Hall at Yonsei University's Seoul campus, Aug. 4. Korea Times photo by Choi Won-suk

By Park Ung

• Published Aug 13, 2025 6:50 AM KST

For many descendants of freedom fighters, pride and burden go hand in hand

In 1992, Han Kang, then a college senior majoring in Korean literature, won the Yoon Dong-ju Literature Award for a poem she wrote. The prize honors the iconic poet whose work stirred Korean national identity during Japan’s 1910-45 colonial rule.

More than 30 years later, when Han became the first Korean to win the Nobel Prize in literature, the news held special meaning for Yoon’s relatives — Yoon In-suk, his nephew, and Song Si-yeon, another descendant of both Yoon Dong-ju and his cousin, independence activist Song Mong-gyu.

“When I heard the news, I felt admiration,” Song Si-yeon told The Korea Times. “If my uncle were still alive, I think he would have been very proud.”

Their stories show how the legacy of Korea’s independence fighters still shapes the identity of their descendants and the nation. Nearly 35 years of Japanese colonial rule brought harsh oppression, sparking a resistance movement whose ideals and sacrifices continue to influence Korea to this day.

As of this year, 18,258 people have been officially recognized as independence patriots, and collectively they have 91,691 descendants, according to the Ministry of Patriots and Veterans Affairs. To mark the 80th anniversary of liberation, The Korea Times spoke with four of them about carrying forward that legacy.

Poet Yoon and writer-activist Song, both honored as independence patriots, were close cousins who resisted Japan’s colonial rule through literature. Their stories, passed down since childhood, were a source of pride but also a heavy burden for their descendants.

“At first, I was proud without fully understanding. Seeing his poems in textbooks and having teachers mention our connection felt boast-worthy. But over time, I felt people were seeing him in me, and that weighed on me growing up,” Yoon, 69, said.

Unlike Yoon Dong-ju's poems, which are widely known across Korea, few of Song Mong-gyu’s writings have survived. After liberation, his family remained in North Korea and preserved his work for a time, but during the 1960s, they burned everything for their safety.

“I heard that there were constant home searches back then,” said Song Si-yeon, 56, who fled North Korea with her daughter in 2007. “My uncle [Song Mong-gyu] didn’t write anything overtly dangerous, but even a single line seen as critical of the regime could have caused trouble. So my family burned it all.”

Deeply aware of such tragedies, Yoon stressed that while artists who sought to preserve Korean culture under Japanese colonial rule deserve recognition, equal credit should go to those who safeguarded their work.

“My uncle wrote a poem in Korean and showed it to his teacher,” Yoon said. “The teacher warned him not to publish it, saying it could bring serious trouble. He was devastated. He hand-copied his poems onto manuscript paper, made three sets and gave one to his friend Jeong Byeong-wook, who later became family by marriage. Jeong kept it safe and passed it down. Without people like him, my uncle might have been forgotten.”

The story of Yoon and Song became more widely known after the 2016 film “Dongju: The Portrait of a Poet.” But not all descendants of independence fighters receive the recognition they deserve in public memory.

For Shin Guk-mi, granddaughter of independence fighters Shin Pal-gyun and Lim Soo-myung, and her son Kwon Hyug-ho, their ancestors’ legacy is a source of pride — but also frustration.

“Of course we take pride in our ancestors,” Kwon, 59, said. “But the state has done far too little to properly honor their descendants.”

Born in 1882 on the site of what is now the British Embassy in Seoul, Shin Pal-gyun came from an elite family, with a grandfather who served as defense minister and a father who was an administrator of Seoul equivalent to a mayor. After Japan annexed Korea in 1910, he fled to Manchuria and used his wealth to lead an armed independence movement. Lim supported the cause by delivering funds and smuggling documents.

Shin and Lim were posthumously awarded the Order of Merit for National Foundation for their roles in Korea’s independence movement, but their granddaughter now lives on basic welfare.

Korean law allows third-generation descendants to receive state benefits if the ancestor was officially recognized for merit and died before 1945. Shin Guk-mi's younger brother received such a pension. However, after the brother died in 2014, she was unable to receive a pension due to a clause banning recipient transfer.

“A nation should instill pride by honoring those who gave their lives for the country and their descendants,” said Kwon, who cares for his mother. “But in reality, there is little of that here.”

Shin Pal-gyun’s activism led to the downfall of his once-prestigious family. He was killed by bandits in 1924, and later that year, Lim took her own life and that of their infant daughter. Fearing Japanese persecution, Shin had placed his two sons in the care of other households. They didn’t learn their true surname — or that they had brothers — until adulthood.

The granddaughter said she couldn’t afford to receive her middle school diploma during the Korean War.

“Life was so hard back then. I couldn’t help but feel bitter,” she said. “Our family once had wealth, but as my great-grandfather chose to fight for independence, we ended up in poverty.”

At 85, Shin has carried a lifetime of pride, but is also burdened by memories and circumstance as the granddaughter of independence fighters. Now, that legacy is being shouldered by a younger generation, like Kim Ji-won, 35.

Kim is the great-granddaughter of Kim Sang-ok, who in 1923 bombed the Jongno Police Station — the heart of Japan’s colonial police force and a symbol of its oppression — before taking his own life in a standoff with hundreds of Japanese officers.

“The responsibility to carry on the will of independence fighters is now falling to younger descendants like me,” Kim said, adding that more ways are needed to share their stories with Korea's youth.

“Their stories are moving and inspiring, but if told too seriously, they can feel heavy,” she said. “Given how young people consume media today, we need more approachable, relatable ways to tell them.”

The recent trend of using artificial intelligence to recreate the appearance of independence fighters as they looked in life is a good example, she said, as such videos can remind people of their legacy in everyday life.

She also highlighted the power of cultural content, saying public attitudes toward her family's accomplishments have shifted over the past decade. “People didn’t think much of my great-grandfather’s story before,” she said. “But when films like ‘The Age of Shadows’ (2016) and ‘Assassination’ (2015), featuring characters inspired by him, became hits, people around me grew fascinated and excited.”

In recent months, after attending several memorials for independence fighters, Kim said one lesson stood out: No one can build an independence movement alone.

“People often remember just one leader of a major struggle,” she said. “But it was possible only because their families sacrificed and countless comrades helped. I’ve come to realize that more deeply lately.”