Zainichi Chōsenjin and the Independence Movement in Everyday Life

International Journal of Korean History (Vol.17 No.2, Aug.2012) 29

Choi Jinseok (Ch’oe Chinsŏk)*

Introduction

“Zainichi (在日, Migrants from Korea),” “Kankokujin (韓国人),” Chōsenjin (朝鮮人 ),” “Korean,” I have long been concerned about how I should refer to myself within Japanese society. Should I introduce myself as a Zainichi, Kankokujin, Chōsenjin, or Korean? The task of introducing myself may appear to be a simple one. However, it is in fact a complex matter whose roots can be traced back some 100 years. After much hesita- tion, I have decided to introduce myself as “Chōsenjin.” This is because I have decided to be one with my history The term “Chōsenjin” is one that is very difficult to translate into Ko- rean. While Chōsenjin can be conveyed as Chosŏnin, or people of Chosŏn, the translation of the echoes associated with “Chōsenjin” is a much more complex task. The term “Chōsenjin” is still accompanied by negative vestiges in Japan. Chōsenjin is a racially discriminative word that was created by Japanese and internalized by the people of Chosŏn. Neverthe- less, the vestiges associated with “Chōsenjin” are not always negative. For me to introduce myself to others as Chōsenjin evokes a profound emotion akin to love and hatred. As such, “Chōsenjin” is a term that connotes contradictory notions.

* Associate Professor, Hiroshima University. 30 Zainichi Chōsenjin and the Independence Movement in Everyday Life

The difficulty translating “Chōsenjin” emanates from the existence of a line dividing our people. This line dividing us did not originally exist, nor was it desired. It was the result of the Japanese colonialism that prevailed prior to World War II. This line was however further strengthened by the anti-communist ideology produced by the Cold War structure that emerged in East Asia after the war. The problem lies in the fact that this colonialism and Cold War structure have yet to be brought to an effective end. The Japanese colonialism that stood as the root of all evil was not only preserved along with the empirical system after the war, but continues to this day. The main reason for this outcome has been the fact that Japan’s responsibility for the war and colonial rule were swept under the rug by the United States during the process of establishing the Cold War structure in East Asia. Furthermore, Korea’s military dictatorship signaled its support for the continuation of Japanese colonialism when it concluded the Treaty on Basic Relations between Japan and the Republic of Korea, in 1965. This colonialism born out of the collaboration of the United States, Ko- rea, and Japan continued to pervade not only within Japanese society but Korean as well. It is a well-known fact that the American Military Gov- ernment hurriedly established its ruling structure in South Korea right after liberation in 1945, and that as part of this process, they reemployed soldiers, police, and bureaucrats that had served Japan during the colonial period. Korean society has embraced the vestiges of Japanese colonialism, while failing to fundamentally clear up past history. To live as a “Chōsenjin” within a Japanese society where colonialism continues to reign supreme means regaining the “Chōsen” [Joseon] that we were deprived of and continue to be deprived of. Put differently, this term is one that should be associated with an independence movement. Chosŏn’s independence movement cannot fully belong to the past as long as colonialism continues. This independence movement encompasses a history that has been part of the everyday life of Koreans in Japan for 100 years. While the vestiges of Japanese colonialism have been identified as Choi Jinseok 31 both a negative and positive existence method within Korean society, Chosŏn’s independence movement can also be regarded by the Korean people as an incomplete project. The shadow of Japanese imperialism continues to hold sway over both sides of the dividing line. In other words, we still find ourselves prisoner of the negative echoes inherent in the term “Chosenjin.” To hear the echoes of “Chosenjin” in a manner that goes beyond the division and accept and overcome this negative echo should be viewed as the process that we Koreans must go through in order to overcome the seemingly endless and on-going colonialism.

“Kankoku (韓国)” and “Chōsenjin (朝鮮人)”; The politics surrounding appellation

In the summer of 2010, which marked the 100th anniversary of the Jap- anese annexation of Korea, the theme “100th anniversary of the Annexa- tion of Korea” was widely discussed in Japan; however, one thing was omitted: the existence of the Democratic People's Republic of Korea (DPRK), or North Korea. Former Prime Minister Naoto Kan’s expression of "deep remorse" and "heartfelt apology" for Japan's past colonial rule over Korea released on the occasion of the 100th anniversary of the annexation was addressed solely to Korea. It was made with only Korea- Japan relations in mind, and excluded North Korea-Japan relations. Furthermore, as made evident by Former Prime Minister Naoto Kan’s statement, during the press conference that followed the ceremony held at the Peace Memorial Park, in Hiroshima, on August 6, 2010, that “nuclear deterrence is necessary for Japan,” Japan does not regard North Korea as an other for which it should show deep remorse and a heartfelt apology. It goes without saying that North Korea represents one of those forces that should be a target of nuclear deterrence. Japan has intentionally aban- doned its responsibility for its colonial rule over North Korea in the name of the purported unity between the government and people created by the abduction issue. 32 Zainichi Chōsenjin and the Independence Movement in Everyday Life

A view of the history of colonial rule that distinguishes Korea from North Korea and is conscious only of the Korean people inevitably leads to the perception of the Korea mentioned in the ‘annexation of Korea’ as referring solely to the Republic of Korea (Taehan Minguk). However, in actuality, Korea or Han΄guk was an abbreviation of Taehan Cheguk. This was the name given to the country that replaced the Chosŏn dynasty in 1897, an event that followed the Sino-Japanese War and the assassination of Queen Min. Taehan Cheguk became a protectorate of Japan after the Russo-Japanese War, and disappeared altogether following Japanese annexation in 1910. The territory of Taehan Cheguk extended throughout the entire Korean peninsula. These historical facts are commonly accepted in Korea, but not in Japan. In keeping with Japan’s attempts to distort its responsibility for colonial rule, evident during the 100th anniversary of the Japanese Annexation of Korea, the actual annexation of Korea was distorted and decreased in meaning to refer to the annexation of Taehan Minguk rather than to the annexation of Taehan Cheguk. Thus, an even stronger dividing line was drawn between Korea and Japan on one side, and North Korea on the other. Japan has steadily played a part in the division of Chosŏn into North and South Korea since the onset of the Cold War era. This has been perceived as a post-colonial issue in Japan. Japanese colonialism has not been cleared up and continues to this day amid a (new) Cold War structure that is rooted in the complicity between Korea, the United States, and Japan. This is clearly exposed in the politics surrounding the appellation used for Chōsen. There is an arbitrary perception that “Kankoku” is good while “Chōsen” is bad. The politics surrounding the appellations “Kankoku” and “Chōsen” are related to the historical perception of the “100th anniversary of the annexation of Korea”. This may be regarded as a trivial issue. However, I have hesitated between using “Chōsengo (朝鮮語)” or “Kankokugo (韓国語)” in Japanese society to refer to the term, “Korean language.” Although it would appear to be more historically appropriate to say Chōsengo, I found myself on occasion unconsciously saying “Kankokugo.” In some cases, I used the Choi Jinseok 33 term Kankokugo freely. Furthermore, there have been times when I have been hard-pressed to introduce myself as Chōsenjin rather than Kankoku- jin. There have also been cases where although I would like to introduce myself as Chōsenjin, I have chosen to be more diplomatic and say Kanko- kujin. In other instances, I have been introduced as Kankokujin by others. I feel like I am being forced to convert when I am faced with a situation where the use of the term Chōsenjin might be awkward, but also when I find the use of Kankokujin to be much easier. However, I also feel stressed when I introduce myself as Chōsenjin. Up until the 1980s, when goods with a “Made In Korea” tag began to flow into Japanese society, the use of either Kankokujin or Chōsenjin was accompanied by an awkward echo. However, I no longer feel any stress when I introduce myself as Kankokujin or when I am referred to as such. On the other hand, I still feel the chill of history whenever I am referred to as Chōsenjin. Put differently, the term Chōsenjin is one in which the vestiges of colonial violence are clearly embedded. The presence of an echo of contempt or disdain in conjunction with the use of the terms Chōsen and Chōsenjin can be regarded as a clear indication of the conti- nuance of colonial violence.

September 17, 2002

The complex terms Chōsen and Chōsenjin have had various echoes associated with them over time. As evidenced by the exclusion of Chōsen schools from the “Act on free tuition fee at public high schools and high school enrollment support fund,” enacted in April 2010 by the Liberal Democratic Party, the meaning of Chōsen and Chōsenjin has been politically distorted, so that Chōsenjin in Japan equals North Korean, and Chōsenseki (Chōsen nationality) equals North Korean nationality. Thus, these have become derogatory terms in a Japanese society where criticism of North Korea has spread. However, less than 1% of Koreans in Japan (Zainichi Chōsenjin) came from North Korea. Truth be told, the majority 34 Zainichi Chōsenjin and the Independence Movement in Everyday Life came to Japan from Kyŏngnam [Gyeongnam] Province or Cheju [Jeju] Island. In addition, the term Chōsenseki refers to “individuals from the Japanese colony of Chosŏn and their descendants,” and as such indicates a state of statelessness. Furthermore, there are also Korean nationals who, like me, introduce themselves as Chōsenjin. In general, the term Chōsenseki was a convenient classification bes- towed upon Chōsenjin who had been deprived of Japanese nationality under the San Francisco Peace Treaty, which came into effect on April 28, 1952, and effectively placed them under the thumb of the Foreign Resi- dent Registration Law and Immigration Control Ordinance. More precise- ly, it is just a symbol found in the Alien Registration Act. The term ‘Chōsen’ inscribed in the foreign resident registration column is one that refers solely to the place of origin. Thus, to some extent Chōsenseki does not indicate one’s nationality. In the aftermath of the 1965 Treaty on Basic Relations between Japan and the Republic of Korea, Koreans in Japan (Zaini- chi Chōsenjin) were forced to choose whether they would obtain Korean nationality; be naturalized as Japanese citizens; or remain Koreans in Japan and thus continue to be essentially stateless. Support for North Korea should not be seen as the only reason why individuals chose to remain Chōsenseki amidst such overwhelming pressure. The decision to remain Chōsenseki can rightfully be seen as a difficult one when perceived from the historical context of Koreans in Japan (Zaini- chi Chōsenjin) after liberation. The decision to remain Chōsenseki was in many cases motivated by the fact that the acquisition of Korean nationality would not only erase the historical origins of Koreans in Japan (Zaini- chi Chōsenjin), but would also bury the unresolved issues stemming from the legacy of colonial rule. In addition, the acquisition of Korean nationality also signaled the acceptance of the legitimacy of the Republic of Ko- rea as a state, and further, of the division of Chosŏn into North and South Korea. In other words, the decision to remain Chōsenseki is one that critically questions the history of colonial rule and national division. Amidst circumstances characterized by a general dearth of knowledge Choi Jinseok 35 about Koreans in Japan (Zainichi Chōsenjin), Chōsen gakko (Chosŏn schools) have been openly excluded from wider society. Furthermore, although some Korean and Japanese nationals attend Chosŏn schools, the diversity of Chosŏn schools remains unrecognized within an openly discriminative Japanese society. The worsening of the discrimination against Chōsenjin has reached a point where they have become fearful of introducing themselves as Chōsenjin. They must now agonize over whether to introduce themselves as ‘Kankokujin,’ a term that is widely accepted and does not have any tension attached to it, or as the more trendy ‘Korean.’ Sadly, many Chōsenjin have taken to introducing themselves as “Korean,” or felt compelled to do so. As such, the divide amongst Chōsenjin has become even more pro- nounced. The love of Chōsen embedded in the name Chōsenjin and the strident hope that the internecine Chosŏn war would end with the peaceful unification of North and South Chosŏn appears to have been smashed to pieces. For the past 100 years, Chosenjin have been continuously deprived of Chōsen. The same Japanese who forcefully annexed Chosŏn as their colony and tormented Chōsenjin continue to discriminate against the latter and deprive them of Chōsen. I personally set out to regain Chōsen by declaring myself to be Chōsenjin and letting myself be enraptured by this chilled echo. I established as a goal the use of the name Chōsenjin to transform the relationship between Chōsenjin and Japan. I remember that I first started to introduce myself as Chōsenjin on September 17, 2002. Until then, I could not introduce myself as Chōsenjin. Rather, I chose to introduce myself, an individual who was born in Seoul but grew up in Tokyo, as Kankokujin. The question of ‘why’ I could not do so became the source of the expres- sions I used thereafter, and of the activities I engaged in. As most people will recall, Kim Jong-il (Kim Chŏngil) officially admitted that North Korea had abducted Japanese citizens during the Chosŏn (North Korea)-Japan summit held in P΄yŏngyang [Pyeongyang] on Sep- tember 17, 2002. While Japanese society, which approached the issue 36 Zainichi Chōsenjin and the Independence Movement in Everyday Life from the standpoint of the unity of the government and people, was predominantly critical of North Chosŏn (North Korea), I felt as if I had been stabbed from behind. This was how I interpreted the atmosphere within Japanese society. This date, September 17, is clearly impressed on my consciousness, along with the fear and nervousness that grew out of it. The “Zaitokukai,” the abbreviated name of the “Citizens Group That Will Not Forgive the Special Privileges given to Koreans in Japan,” can be regarded as a salient example of Japanese society’s radical and aggres- sive discrimination against Chosŏn Ch΄ongnyŏn (General Federation of Koreans in Japan) and Chosŏn schools, groups that were singled out as agents of North Korea. However, I became particularly aware of the madness and murderous leers that seemed to indicate the sense that “All Chōsenjin are a legitimate target for violence,” during the period in which the abduction issue was front page news and the one that immediately followed North Korea’s conduct of a nuclear experiment. All Chōsenjin, regardless of whether they were Korean nationals, Chōsenseki, or naturalized Japanese citizens, must have been aware of the violence that prevailed within Japanese society and subconsciously adopted a defensive posture. What kind of atmosphere is this? What is all this violence palpable in the air? Along with a sense of embarrassment over this situation, I intui- tionally recalled the massacre of Chosŏn people that took place during the Great Kanto Earthquake of 1923. In this society, one can still get stabbed from behind. The air was filled with palpable tensions caused by concerns for one’s physical well-being and the sense of an impending massacre. This was the moment that I once again encountered Chōsen. From that moment, I stopped introducing myself as Kankokujin or Zai- nichi. I was Chōsenjin. From now on, I would be stabbed in the back for being Chōsenjin rather than Kankokujin or Zainichi. I came to this reali- zation as a result of the physical tension that accompanied my response to this violence. My use of the term Chōsenjin encompasses the fact that I will never forget the current state of affairs within Japanese society, and my physical anger at the situation. Something that I had not felt for a long Choi Jinseok 37 time came to life in my stomach when I started to refer to myself as Chōsenjin. That thing continues to fester in my stomach.

Acknowledging the dead

Because I refer to myself as Chōsenjin and I use the expression Chōsen, some may regard me as a person who has in fact come face to face with Chōsen. However, I had in fact avoided Chōsen for the very reason that I was Chōsenjin. I had to go through a serious self- deconstruction process before I could refer to myself as Chōsenjin. I already knew the term Chōsenjin and the cold echoes associated with it even before I started referring to myself as such. I was also aware that I had been called Chōsenjin. However, I continuously avoided the name. This reluctance originated from my fear over the very existence of Chōsenjin. I felt that Chōsenjin should never have existed and subconsciously attempted to push this term to the furthest reaches of my consciousness. This story may sound like it occurred during my childhood, but in reality it occurred just prior to me beginning to refer to myself as Chōsenjin, during my late 20s. It almost feels as if fog had shrouded my memory. I have avoided the cold echoes emanating from the name Chōsenjin. In this regard, my reflection that, “Something that I had not felt for a long time came to life in my stomach when I started to refer to myself as Chōsenjin,” should be viewed as denoting the fact that my decision to change how I referred to myself signaled the start of my acceptance of those I had avoided. What I had avoided was the history of the dead. It was the dead of Chosŏn who were massacred because they were Chōsenjin. The massacre of Chōsenjin during the Great Kanto Earthquake of 1923 was the result of groundless rumors such as “Chōsenjin started riots,” “Chōsenjin entered the country and set off bombs,” “A female Chōsenjin spreads poison in wells,” and “Chōsenjin who were caught 38 Zainichi Chōsenjin and the Independence Movement in Everyday Life were carrying gasoline and cotton.” The Japanese historian, Yamada Shoji, has argued that these baseless rumors were spread by Japanese authorities, who found themselves prisoners to the illusion of Chōsenjin riots. The pro-independence mood that began to take root in Koreans in Japan after the March First Independence Movement posed a palpable threat to the Japanese authorities, and their fear created the illusion of Chōsenjin riots during the Great Kanto Earthquake. There are three theo- ries regarding the source of these rumors. While some have maintained that they were privately fabricated, others have pointed the finger at the government. Meanwhile, others have claimed that they emanated from both the government and people. However, the origin of these rumors has proven difficult to ascertain from an empirical standpoint. What is clear however is that even if these rumors came from the people, the state should nevertheless be held accountable for spreading them without ques- tioning their validity. Moreover, the government further increased the legitimacy of such rumors by bestowing government authority upon them. Japan is responsible for spreading the rumors that Chōsenjin initiated riots and for agitating the Japanese people to participate in the massacre of Chōsenjin.1 The Japanese government did not apologize for the massacre of Chōsenjin during the Great Kanto Earthquake, and those Japanese who killed Chōsenjin were never punished. Not only has this issue not been resolved, but Japanese society has failed to come up with a way to assume responsibility for the massacre of Chōsenjin. The Japanese recognition of their massacre of the Chōsenjin should be viewed as the initial step that should be taken in order to alter the relationship between the Chōsenjin and Japanese. In this regard, this is the point from which the relationship should be reestablished. To this end, it becomes necessary to reinvent the term Chōsenjin. Being stabbed from behind—Looking back on the tensions caused by my use of the term Chōsenjin in an excessive manner, does not my use of the name Chōsenjin within Japanese society mean that I have accepted the thought of being massacred by the Japanese because I am Chōsenjin? Is Choi Jinseok 39 this the origin of the chilling coldness I feel whenever I think of the echoes of “Chō-sen” or “Chō-senjin”? Does not my use of the term Chōsenjin mean that I have established a connection with Chōsenjin who were massacred? This can be perceived from a physical standpoint as the process of ‘acknowledging the dead.’ These are the dead of Chōsen that forced me to come face to face with Chōsen and moved me to refer to myself as Chōsenjin. The dead have now been internalized in me. They have moved me from inside. Who are these dead? The dead whom I have become aware of and who wiggle around in my stomach are not corpses, because they have made me move. The dead ones are not the past but the others who are waiting in the present and future. This is very similar to the embryos who stand as un- born others. Perhaps acknowledging the dead means accepting the voice of others or the voice of future others.

Inability to refer to oneself as Chōsenjin

Maybe it’s because I was able to refer to myself as Chōsenjin. Doing so reminded me of the existence of the (invisible) Chōsenjin, who can never refer to themselves as such, and allowed me to view them from a certain distance. I was suddenly able to read Yamamura Masaaki (1945-1970) as if it were a detailed encounter with a text. Up until that point, I had continuously avoided reading Yamamura Masaaki’s posthumous book, Inochi moetsukiru tomo [Even my life is set on fire] (1971). It took a long time for me to be able to read this book in a somewhat detached manner. The profile of Yamamura Masaaki is briefly written on the front flap of the book. Born in Yamaguchi Prefecture, in June 1945, Yamamura Ma- saaki and his entire family were naturalized as Japanese citizens in June 1955. Yamamura joined the Hiroshima Toyo Kogyo Co. after graduating from high school. However, he could not abandon his dream of studying literature. After leaving his job six months later, he made his way to Tokyo to study. Plagued by economic difficulties, he eventually entered 40 Zainichi Chōsenjin and the Independence Movement in Everyday Life

Waseda University’s First Literature Department. He was subsequently baptized after becoming a Christian. After joining the Second Literature Department (night school) for economic reasons, he actively participated in student movements, even serving as the chairman of the student coun- cil on several occasions. He also published a number of his works under a penname. However, increasingly agonized by the issue of his nationality and suffering from a broken heart brought on this issue, he decided to commit suicide. His decision was also motivated by an internal struggle within the student movement, his economic bankruptcy, and growing skepticism toward Christianity. Early in the morning on October 6, 1970, he committed suicide through immolation at the age of 25 in front of the Ana Hachiman Shrine at Waseda, Tokyo. He left behind his will and a petition. The following quotes are taken from “Short Story = R’s Autobiography (1)” written in the summer of 1969. Yamamura’s schizophrenia over his status as a “naturalized Chōsenjin,” “half-Japanese,” and “person who lost his fatherland” will never be the issues of others to those who adopted Japanese names, those (invisible) Chōsenjin who were naturalized as Japanese citizens, and those who refer to themselves as Chōsenjin. Ya- mamura’s schizophrenia is in fact the origin of Chōsenjin’s agony.

I did not ask to be born in this country. I wanted to live in my fatherland Chosŏn regardless of how poor I was.2

The white eyes of the Japanese that surrounded me since I was young and started to mature helped to transform my personality into one governed by hostility and hatred.3

If I had not been a 9-year old boy, I would have refused to be naturalized as a Japanese citizen. My parents tried to tell me that such a move would help ensure that their children were not disadvantaged in the future in terms of their academic careers or getting a job. How could they desert their fatherland for such reasons?4 Youth, there are no regrets in one’s youth! Literature, religion, politics, Choi Jinseok 41

national issues, student movement, I have thrown myself into such issues within the possible ranges. Although it was in vain, I had a pure, romantic relationship. I have no regrets! I must try to persuade myself that this is true… I feel so tired. I feel so fatigued that I cannot walk anymore.5

Chosŏn, the fatherland that I have never seen and will never go back to. No, there is no such thing as the fatherland for me. A naturalized Chōsenjin”, “half-Japanese,” and “person who has lost his fatherland”….6

Can a person who refers to himself as Chōsenjin recall the (invisible) Chōsenjin who could not bring themselves to do so? Can he endure such gazes? Can he embrace the death of Yamamura Masaaki? The outlook of how one refers to oneself as Chōsenjin will differ greatly depending on whether they can bring themselves to do such things. On the other hand, those who identify themselves as Chōsenjin could very well perceive the (invisible) Chōsenjin who could not bring themselves to do so as others that they cannot see or want to avoid. This is because these deniers cause them to question their own identity as Chōsenjin. However, in fact, the other that causes the greatest strain on one’s identity as Chōsenjin exists inside the very minds of those who refer to themselves as Chōsenjin. The other dismantles the identity of those who refer to themselves as Chōsenjin. Regardless of whether a person who identifies himself as Chōsenjin can embrace the self (as the other) who cannot do so, there will always be another dead one evoked by the name Chōsenjin that exists inside of oneself.

Conclusion

When I was growing up, many names were used to refer to Chōsenjin. Until I took my stand against the world, I could not decide what my real name was and floated from appellation to appellation. I usually referred to myself as Kankokujin because my nationality was Korean. However, Kankokujin was also a term that made me feel humiliated and that I be- 42 Zainichi Chōsenjin and the Independence Movement in Everyday Life lieved should be hidden. When I think back, there were also names like the “Zainichi Kankoku · Chōsenjin” popular in the 1990s. Although I knew this name was motivated by a desire for political correctness, this sign “·” always looked to me like a symbol of the DMZ, which lies between North and South Korea and allows the national division to be subconsciously accepted. As such, this name did not provide any hope for the future of Chōsen. Such a name is not necessary. A name should contain a sense of hope and destiny, not reflect political negotiations. I have recently seen the use of the name “Kankoku Chōsenjin” and “Kankoku Chōsengo” in a manner that does not include the “·”. However, the presence or absence of “·” changes very little. The division of the two Koreas is a tragedy. I am overcome by a sense of disharmony every time I see these names that seem to highlight the reality of the national division. Although these names are politically laden ones designed to be ‘correct,’ they are actually the cruelest appellations possible. The smattering of names used to refer to Chōsenjin was like a shadow from which I could not escape until I started to refer to myself as Chōsenjin. They were not the shade that I had wanted. They were nothing more than a blind that covered my eyes until I could reach the point where I could identify myself as Chōsenjin. Furthermore, the shade I sought to most evade was that of the vestiges of the colonial violence embedded in the cold echoes of “Chō-sen” and “Chō-senjin.” I want to be in the shade rather than in the light. When one is in the light, he cannot see the existence in the shade. To paraphrase Yi Sang (1910-1937), the author of Ogamdo, the gaze from the shade can sense the world. However, the shade attached to Chōsenjin, “Chō-sen,” and “Chō-senjin” was not the one I desired. I want to decouple the shade affixed to Chōsenjin. Once this is done, I want to go to the deeper side of this shade, by moving from Chōsenjin to Chosŏn saram (person). I would like to suggest this name as a starting point from which to give my condolences to the Chōsenjin who died in a foreign land. Choi Jinseok 43

It is easy to imagine that the majority of the dead Chōsenjin could not speak Japanese as fluently as their mother tongue, the language of Chosŏn. Regardless of whether the Japanese people called them “Chō-sen” or “Chō-senjin,” they must nevertheless have thought of themselves as “Chosŏn saram.” They crossed the sea as Chosŏn saram and died in a foreign land. In this regard, the dead Chōsenjin that I felt in my stomach were Chosŏn saram before they became Chō-senjin. Chosŏn saram . . . the Japanese who do not speak the language of Chosŏn as well as the young generation of Zainichi Chōsenjin who adopted the Japanese language as their mother tongue will not know this name. However, I started to be attracted to it from the moment I began to refer to myself as Chōsenjin. While I knew about this word beforehand, it was one that was not frequently heard because it had not been internalized. However, the name Chosŏn saram naturally existed well before that of Chōsenjin. This is not an issue of whether one can speak the language of Chosŏn. This is related to the politics of translation. Chosŏn saram can be trans- lated as Chōsenjin. However, although I can speak both Japanese and Korean, I could not translate Chosŏn saram as Chōsenjin. I never heard grandmothers refer to themselves as Chosŏn saram. This is because I continuously avoided Chōsenjin, a term to which the shadows associated with “Chō-sen” and “Chō-senjin” were affixed. Avoiding Chōsenjin meant that I could not translate the term as Chosŏn saram. Furthermore, I could not perceive myself as Chosŏn saram as long as I was unable to translate it as Chosŏn saram. By avoiding Chōsenjin I in effect lost the name Chosŏn saram. The term Chōsenjin is currently under siege amidst the deeply embedded vestiges of the colonial violence inherent in the terms “Chō-sen” and “Chō-senjin” and the virulent criticism heaped on North Chosŏn (Puk Chosŏn). Our dignity as humans has been critically injured. As a result, the gap between Chōsenjin and Chosŏn saram became wider and I forgot that Chōsenjin indicated Chosŏn saram. I missed the fact that Chōsenjin simply meant Chosŏn saram before we were regarded as “Chō-senjin”. In essence, the Chōsenjin eventually gave up being Chōsenjin. 44 Zainichi Chōsenjin and the Independence Movement in Everyday Life

Chosŏn saram, the image of the Chōsenjin who have decoupled the shade and the secrets of the internal voice evoked by referring to themselves as Chōsenjin. I would like to share this secret in the hopes that this name will provide us with an opportunity to encounter Chōsen again in a manner that moves beyond generations, nationality, and nation. All of this is possible as long as we share the secret of being Chosŏn saram. The word Chosŏn saram may be a very natural one for Koreans who use the Korean language as their mother tongue. However, it is my fer- vent hope that they will try to fully sense the connotations inherent in the term Chōsenjin and its historical echoes. The hearing of the echoes of Chōsenjin will create an opportunity for Koreans to move beyond the division of Chosŏn saram and reencounter the other known as Zaini- chi Chōsenjin. This kind of encounter is not limited to Korean people. North Koreans and Korean-Chinese (Chosŏnjok) can also only encounter the other known as Zainichi Chōsenjin through the image of the Chosŏn saram that echoes from the Chōsenjin. Thus, Chōsenjin can be viewed as an othering name for Zainichi Chōsenjin.

Notes :

1 Yamada Shoji, “Zainichi Chōsenjin undō no hatten to kore ni tai sure Nihon chian dōkyoku no ninshiki to taiō,” and “Nihon kokka to Chōsenjin gyaku ji- ken,” in idem, Kanto daisinsai shi no Chōsenjin gyaku satsu: sono kokka sekinin to minshū sekinin (Tokyo: Sōshi sha, 2003). 2 Yamamura Masaaki, Inochi moetsukiru tomo [Even my life is set on fire] (Tokyo:.Yamato Shuppan, 1971), 23. 3 Ibid. 4 Ibid. 5 Ibid., 34. 6 Ibid., 36.†

Submission Date: 2012. 5. 30. Completion Date of Review: 2012. 6. 28 Accepted: 2012. 8. 13. Choi Jinseok 45

Zainichi Chōsenjin and the Independence Movement in Everyday Life

Choi Jinseok

“Zainichi (在日, Migrants from Korea),” “Kankokujin (韓国人),” “Chosenjin (朝鮮人),” “Korean,” I have long been concerned about how I should refer to myself within Japanese society. Should I introduce myself as Zainichi, Kankoku- jin, Chōsenjin, or Korean? The task of introducing myself may appear to be a simple one. However, it is in fact a complex matter whose roots can be traced back some 100 years. This issue became even more complex after Kim Jong-il (Kim Chŏngil) officially admitted that North Korea had abducted Japanese citizens during the Chosŏn (North Korea)-Japan summit held in P΄yŏngyang on September 17, 2002. Japanese society, which approached the issue from the standpoint of the unity of the government and people, was predominantly critical of North Chosŏn (North Korea). This essay searches for the identity of the Zaini- chi Chōsenjin that is embedded in the past and present.

Keywords : Zainichi Chōsenjin, Chōsenjin, Chosŏn saram 46 Zainichi Chōsenjin and the Independence Movement in Everyday Life

<국문초록>

재일조선인, 생활 속의 독립운동

최진석(히로시마 대학교 조교수)

“자이니찌”, “간코쿠진”, “조센진”, “코리안”―. 일본 사회에서 살면서 재일조선인 인 나는 어떤 이름을 댈 것인가. “자이니찌”, 즉 재일인가. “간코쿠진”, 즉 한국인인가. “조센진”, 즉 조선인인가. “코리안”, 즉 KOREAN인가. 이름에 대한 이 물음은 어쩌 면 단순한 일인 것처럼 여겨질지 모르지만 실은 이 100년의 역사와 깊이 관련된 복잡 한 문제이다. 특히 2002년9월17일, 즉 조일 평양 회담에서 김정일 총서기가 일본인 납치를 공식으로 인정한 날 이후 일본 사회에서 관민일체(官民一體)가 된 북조선 비 난이 만연되는 가운데 문제는 더욱더 복잡해지고 있다. 이 글은 과거와 현재 역사 아 래서 재일조선인이란 누구인가를 모색한다.

주제어: 재일조선인, 조센진, 조선사람