Little Boy Who Feared Dark Gets World Recognition

By Robin Rhee

OHIO ― I first met Kim Dae-jung on the day he was released from house arrest in 1987. As I walked down the lane to his residence in Donggyo-dong in Seoul, the surveillance cameras were being dismantled.

DJ was seated in the small living room at the head of a long table and greeted us warmly. He and my husband had met while he was in exile in the United States.

It was not long before people began to fill the room. These were not Korea's elite, but working class people. As the crowd swelled, an aide positioned himself between the throng and a grandfather clock that was in danger of being toppled over.

There were tears. People reached out to touch him. Emotions ran high. One man pressed some coins into DJ's palm. Another explained he worked in a towel factory and offered towels wrapped in crumpled brown paper. It was clear these people loved this man.

In 1994, when my husband and I moved to Korea to join the staff of the Kim Dae-jung Peace Foundation, I began to get a clearer picture of the man behind the political persona.

I first began to see his sense of humor after we were invited to join his small group that climbed Chongbalsan some mornings before work. After our first climb, rumor mills began to circulate that DJ had hired two new bodyguards. DJ found it quite amusing that a middle-aged Korean and his American wife could be mistaken for bodyguards.

DJ seemed to take great delight in testing my tolerance for Korean food. One morning while we were eating breakfast at his house, he slipped a fish onto my plate. It was not lost on me that no other guest was offered this fish. He explained it was a delicacy in Jeollanam-do and he was sure I would like it. It was then that the strong smell, which I can only liken to undiluted ammonia, hit me full force. Yes, I ate it. No, I hated it and DJ just grinned the whole time.

Another morning, soup was served. It had a large purplish square sitting in the middle of the bowl. I knew it was blood. I don't do blood. DJ, with a twinkle in his eyes, kept asking if I was enjoying the soup.

Prior to an afternoon of pansori, we had lunch at a traditional Korean restaurant. There were about 15 of us. Two servers brought in an enormous fish on a platter of ice. It was neatly filleted and artfully surrounded with various greens. DJ and the other guests chatted about the presentation and began to sample the fish. It was then that I saw the fish gasp for air and flip its tail. I flinched and DJ grinned.

On a more serious note, I was with DJ when he visited Panmunjeom for the first time. An American colonel who served as our guide boarded the bus, talked about the concentration of wildlife in the DMZ, the farmers who still planted crops in the restricted area and the protocol for our visit. We each had name tags and just before we left the bus the colonel asked me to cover my name tag. "Why?" DJ asked. "The North Koreans know who all of you are," he said. ``It will take them a while to figure out who she is," DJ chuckled.

I spent a lot of private time with DJ as he worked to improve his English. We met often at his home in Donggyo-dong and sometimes at his apartment in Ilsan. In Donggyo-dong, we went down to the basement, passed through his library shelving, made detours around memorabilia before we reached his small desk. A voracious reader who taught himself English while he was in prison, he was easy to work with.

Primarily he wanted to discuss the news, both foreign and domestic. Yet there were days when his thoughts turned to the changing of the seasons and other subjects. One day, he said, "The azaleas are in bloom. Have you driven out in the countryside to see them?" It crossed my mind to tell him that with the 12 to 14-hour days at the Foundation, that was impossible. Instead I simply said, "No." "You must do that," he said. I did, and sure enough, the next time we met, he asked, "Did you take my advice and go to see the azaleas?"

One day, I felt compelled to address a criticism of DJ that I had overheard. It had become apparent he did not make eye contact with foreign visitors, nor did he offer them a firm handshake. He smiled, leaned back in his chair and said, "I know. I've been trying to do better, but both are just contrary to my upbringing."

At times, it seems there is nothing that hasn't been written about this giant of a man. From humble beginnings, he rose to lead his nation.

Perhaps it was not understood that under the political facade and trappings, lay a shy, introverted man. He always seemed to be in search of private time so he could think, plan, analyze situations, read and contemplate. When the stream of people to both Donggyo-dong and the Foundation was never-ending, he rented an apartment in Ilsan, followed by an officetel in Seoul, built a house in Ilsan and briefly rented a house in a redevelopment area near the Foundation. But always, people found him and sometimes his only recourse was to drive around in his car.

The night he was elected president my husband and I waited until the results were final before going to his house. The streets were filled with people and riot police were securing the perimeter. At last, we were handed his acceptance speech, written in Hangul, to be translated into English. We drove to the Foundation via Chayuro, through the maze of barricades and military checkpoints. As we drove along, I wondered how this political titan would cope with all of the problems that Korea faced at that time.

Courage, tenacity, a thirst for knowledge and dreams of a brighter future were all components of the character of Kim Dae-jung.

Who could have imagined that the little boy who always feared the dark would grow up to lead his nation and receive world recognition?

It was an honor to know him and he will be sorely missed.

The writer was on the staff of the Kim Dae-jung Peace Foundation from 1994-2001. She is a former weekly columnist for The Korea Times, the author of "Korea Through Myths and Legends" and currently resides in Centerville, Ohio.