Dec. 8, 1941: the day of infamy in Korea

By Robert Neff

American President Franklin D. Roosevelt declared Dec. 7, 1941, "a date that will live in infamy" due to the Japanese surprise attack on Pearl Harbor. Many elderly Americans probably still remember where and what they were doing on that date. For the Americans and British living in Korea, the attack on Pearl Harbor (Dec. 8 due to time difference) changed their lives as well.

Contemporary books, newspapers and especially Prof. Donald Clark's book, Living Dangerously in Korea, provide us with a glimpse of the events not only in Seoul but also other parts of the peninsula.

In Korea, people learned of the attack in many ways:

Harold Barlow Quarton, the newly arrived American consul general in Seoul, was awakened early in the morning by an alarmed missionary, possibly Ethel Underwood, who wanted verification of the news that Japanese forces had attacked Pearl Harbor and that the two countries were now at war. It came as a surprise to Quarton and he immediately contacted his British counterpart, Gerald Phipps. Phipps had also received a call from Mrs. Underwood and he, too, was unable to provide any further information.

Shortly afterwards Quarton received confirmation that the rumors were true.

"I got the report on my shortwave radio and at 9 a.m. we [the consulate's staff] were handed a ‘special notice' in Japanese which stated that ‘the imperial army and navy fell into a state of war with Great Britain and the U.S.A.'"

Apparently the British consul was not given a special notice but was instead ordered to appear at the Foreign Affairs Bureau at 2:30 P.M.

Throughout Seoul the news of the attack was spread by word of mouth and messages delivered by servants. In Uiju, near the Chinese border, the American missionaries learned of the attack by their Korean houseboy. In Gwangju, the Japanese police visited the missionaries and bragged about the victorious attack upon the American port that had decimated the fleet. Westerners were assured by the Japanese authorities that they would be safe as long as they remained in their homes but it was the Japanese authorities whom they feared.

Throughout the country Americans and British – missionaries and diplomats alike – began to burn their records and documents and to stockpile supplies. Those, like Albert Taylor, an American businessman who also moonlighted as a newspaper reporter, were especially concerned about what the Japanese might find in their homes. According to Prof. Donald Clark, "By 1941, the Japanese considered all journalists to be spies." Considering that many of the missionaries tended to write short pieces not only for religious publications but also for hometown newspapers, the number of alleged spies in Korea was quite high.

It was shortly after Phipps returned from the Foreign Affairs Bureau that the American and British consulates were raided by Japanese soldiers and police.

Quarton reported that "about 350 [Japanese soldiers] swarmed over the place, scaling the walls, running everywhere, inspecting everything. Radios, reports, account books, maps, and firearms were confiscated."

They even went so far as to squeeze the toothpaste out of the tubes to verify the contents. After the search, Quarton and his staff were confined to their quarters.

At the British consulate things were apparently worse. Aline Phipps, the wife of the British consul, recalled that the plainclothesmen swarmed the consulate and had the entire staff stand in the garden shivering in the cold while they searched. It was a "harrowing afternoon" that ended shortly after 5:30 p.m. The Japanese authorities confiscated their radio leaving the consulate without any means of contacting the outside world. "We are in an impenetrable fog where we hear no one nor make ourselves heard", she complained in her diary and then noted "the militarists have had their way and will lead this country through a time of terrible misery and suffering."

Things would get much worse over the next couple of days. Western male missionaries and businessmen throughout the country were arrested. According to Clark, the alleged crimes ranged from embezzlement to espionage.

The men, regardless of age, were severely interrogated. These interrogations were often coupled with torture sessions involving beatings with rubber hoses or, the most dreaded, the water cure – which the Japanese mockingly referred to as "a drink of water."

According to Quarton, naked prisoners were tied up with their hands and knees drawn to their chests and then a large diameter rubber hose was forced into the victim's mouth. Water, poured from five-gallon tea kettles, was forced down these tubes casing water to "spurt from the prisoner's eyes, ears and nose." When the prisoner lapsed into unconsciousness he was beaten with rubber truncheons and hoses on the head, feet, shoulders and back. This was often repeated five or six times.

While most of the prisoners were men, there were a few women arrested and held including Sister Elenita Barry who was stripped down and roughly manhandled in front of a group of men. She was kept for nearly two weeks in a freezing cell before being released.

For many, release did not come until the following spring when they were transported to Japan and then later repatriated home. Several never made it home – the stress of their ordeal was too much and they died. "Terrible misery and suffering" would grip not only Korea, but the rest of the world, until Japan's surrender on Aug. 15, 1945.

Robert Neff is a columnist for The Korea Times.