Korea in 10 words: (8) Gwangbeokjeol

A view of Namsan Tower / Courtesy of Robson Hatsukami Morgan

There’s a week left until Gwangbeokjeol (Liberation Day), but countless South Korean flags already line the streets of our town. They wave in the wind. Soak up the sun, and bow to the rain. We will put one up in our apartment in a few days to demonstrate our own patriotism and avoid running the risk of local side-eye. Online, my feed is slowly becoming filled with images and AI generated videos of patriotic martyrs such as Ahn Jung-guen and Yu Gwan-sun. The people’s voice is rising. You can hear it. Feel it. The day is coming.

Literally, Gwangbeok means the restoration of the light, and thus it symbolizes the day upon which the hopes and fortunes of the Korean people returned. The terms independence and liberation are both also used here but some scholars here argue that rather than being the independence of a newborn nation, such as when the United States first achieved its independence from Britain, Gwangbeok instead refers to a formerly independent nation that was temporarily deprived of its sovereignty and then regained it. Liberation (hae-bang) is also the term generally favoured by North Korea.

Lyuh Woon-hyung’s speech to the Korean people on Aug. 15, 1945 set the tone for all that has come since: “Let's dedicate the strength of our people, raised at the foot of Mt. Baekdu, to building a world culture.” In another timeline, this man, revered in both South and North Korea, would have been the leader of a truly liberated land. But alas, he was assassinated in 1947 before the two Koreas could be born into existence by their foreign foster parents.

Beyond time and space

Korean liberation refers to two dates. The release from Japanese colonial rule on Aug. 15, 1945 and also the establishment of The Republic of Korea on Aug. 15, 1948 after three years of governance by the American military. However, in public conscious it also refers to much longer period of time, stretching far beyond the current physical borders. The story of liberation includes Shanghai and the establishment there of the provisional government in 1919. It finds a home in the "Ice City" of Harbin, a contested area at the start of the 20th century in Northeastern China surrounded by the forested highlands of Heilongjiang and the Manchurian plain. It invokes the bombs dropped on Hiroshima and Nagasaki in Japan during which approximately 40,000 Koreans lost their lives and many more suffered the consequences of radiation and forced labor.

In all of these places could be heard the shout of "manse." This is a cry that has long resided in the hearts of the Korean people. Yes it’s an exclamation of celebration but it’s also a revolutionary force. A chant that has carried dreams across generations. Pregnant with the passion of those who resisted and those who suffered. To utter it under colonial rule risked imprisonment, or worse. To shout it on 1945 was the song of freedom. Today, it brings forth both pride and remembrance. It is a word that makes one proud to be Korean. It unites. It connects people past and present.

Importantly, this feeling that reverberates around the country is not theoretical. Nor is it something that can be understood through the intellect. You cannot rationalize yourself to sympathy with the Korean cause for liberation. Intellectualizing the past too much, asking why old scars still sting, or why Korea can’t simply "move on" like Germany and France, risks sounding detached, hostile even to those who carry these memories in their blood.

At the ground level, liberation is almost like a test of one’s Korean-ness. If you want to live and work here, if you want to enjoy all the modern conveniences and safety that the nation provides, you should side with Korea. You should not stand in the way of this feeling when it surges through the blood of the people every August. Join the singing or get out the way. Logic will not drown out the voices of those who seek freedom.

Jeong In-bo’s “Gwangbeokjeol Song” captures the essence of all of this: "This day is the trace of forty years of hot blood. Let's protect it for a long time. Will I forget the past even in my dreams? Will we forget?” A similar sentiment was echoed by the once-touted leader of a future Korea, Cho Man-sik. Often regarded as the "Ghandi of Joseon" for his leadership and non-violence until his death in North Korea, he is rumored to have said, “If I die, draw eyes on my tombstone. Even in death, I will see Japan’s downfall and the restoration of our independence."

Liberation left

Of course, there are those who argue that true liberation has yet to be achieved here. There are, they say, three liberations left. First, some decry the dependence on Washington and the capitalist model, the approximately 28,000 U.S. troops stationed here, and the seeming need to consult a foreign country when dealing with either Pyongyang or Beijing. This, for what it’s worth, is the same message we have heard from the three generations of the Kim family in the North.

Second, some point to the issue of resolving pro-Japanese collaboration. One of the darkest legacies of Japanese colonial rule was its system of thought control, a form of ideological repression designed to eliminate dissent and enforce loyalty. Scholars argue that this system didn’t disappear with liberation. Instead, it was reabsorbed and intensified in postwar Korea under the banner of anti-communism. The state began to adopt the familiar tactics of surveillance, censorship and forced ideological conversions not as foreign impositions, but as domestic tools to secure power and suppress alternative voices. Thus what began as colonial control of the mind evolved into a national project. Liberation was never truly a clean break, just a shift in the hands that held the reins. Something like Frantz Fanon would argue.

Finally there is the issue of North-South unification. That vision rejects the notion of partial or fragmented sovereignty, insisting that only through peaceful reunification can the Korean people fully realize the promise of self-determination. Until that day comes, the struggle for true liberation continues, and the meaning of independence remains unfinished. This was the first, second, and third wish of Kim Ku. Vehemently opposed to the creation of a separate South Korean state, he traveled to Pyongyang in the spring of 1948 to attempt to form a unified Korean government. He failed and, like Lyuh Woon-hyung, was also assassinated.

The light returns

Today, the people of South Korea experience freedom and demonstrate a great passion for their country. While certain elements will look to the past and lament Japanese, American, and North Korean aspects of the country’s history, most will sing the national anthem with pride, they will celebrate cultural achievements, and they will believe their country, the Republic of Korea (Daehan Minguk), to be best among equals. They will cry at the end of “Harbin” as they watch Hyun Bin successfully assassinate Ito Hirobumi. They will weep wistfully as they watch Son Ye-jin play Deok-hye in “The Last Princess.” And their minds will run away to imagined pastures as they conceive of a time before division and modernity in “Welcome to Dongmokgol.”

The light has returned to the people here. They are liberated. They wave their flags. They stand together singing the songs of their nation. They feel themselves connected to generations of people who have lived, fought, and died for freedom Perhaps there are future liberations still to come, of thought, of unity, of full sovereignty. But for now, the light shines proudly in the eyes of a free people. South Koreans can speak their own language and choose their own leaders. They can criticize their superiors and have whatever haircut they please. Their algorithm is their own. Their desires free. The light has returned. And let us hope it continues to shine as brightly as it has done thus far.