per cent of officers and 25 per cent of rank-and-file police were Japanese-trained. By a supreme irony, when the development began of a constabulary force, from which the South Korean army would grow, the Americans specifically excluded any recruit who had been imprisoned by the Japanese – and thus, any member of the anti-Japanese resistance. The first chief of staff of the South Korean army in 1947 was a former colonel in the Japanese army.
Paek Sun Yup, who was to prove one of the few competent soldiers in Rhee’s army in the 1950–53 war, rising to become itsChief of Staff while still in his early thirties, was a typical product of the system. A North Korean landlord’s son, he attended Pyongyang High School, then Mukden Military Academy; he served as a young officer with the Japanese army in Manchuria. ‘We thought nothing about Japanese influence,’ he shrugged, years later. ‘Every young man takes the status quo for granted. At that time, the Japanese were Number One. They were winning. We had never seen any British or Americans.’ 20 Paek’s unit was fighting the Russians when the war ended. He walked for a month to reach his home. He quickly disliked what he saw of the new communist regime in the North. On 28 December 1945, he escaped across the 38th Parallel, leaving his wife behind in the North. She joined him later. Two months later, he joined the constabulary as a lieutenant. He rose rapidly, to become director of intelligence in the embryo South Korean army, and a divisional commander a few weeks before the 1950 invasion. No man could have attained Paek’s position without demonstrating absolute loyalty to the regime of Syngman Rhee, and all that implied. But in every Asian society, there is an overwhelming instinct in favour of serving the strongest force. The worst that can be said of Paek is that he was a tough, ambitious product of his environment.
But many young South Koreans did express their hostility to Rhee, and paid the price. Beyond those who were imprisoned, many more became ‘unpeople’. Minh Pyong Kyu was a Seoul bank clerk’s son who went to medical college in 1946, but found himself expelled in 1948 for belonging to a left-wing student organisation. ‘There was an intellectual vacuum in the country at that time,’ he said. ‘The only interesting books seemed to be those from North Korea, and the communists had a very effective distribution system. We thought the Americans were nice people who just didn’t understand anything about Korea.’ 21 Minh’s family of eight lived in genteel poverty. His father had lost his job with a mining company in 1945, for its assets lay north of the 38th Parallel. Minh threw himself into anti-government activity: pasting up political posters by night, demonstrating, distributing communist tracts.Then one morning he was arrested and imprisoned for ten days. The leaders of his group were tried and sentenced to long terms. He himself was released, but expelled from university, to his father’s deep chagrin. Like hundreds of thousands of others, Minh yearned desperately for the fall of Syngman Rhee.
Kap Chong Chi, a landowner’s son and another university student, felt far better disposed towards the Americans, and towards his own government, than Minh. But even as an unusually sophisticated and educated Korean, he shared the general ignorance and uncertainty about the politics of his own country: ‘In those days, we did not know what democracy was. For a long time after the Americans came, we did not know what the communists were, or who Syngman Rhee was. So many of the students from the countryside, farmers’ children, called themselves communists. There was so much political passion among them, but also so much ignorance.’ 22 Korean society was struggling to come to terms with a political system, when it had possessed none for almost half a century. Not surprisingly, the tensions and hostilities became simplistic: between haves and
Paek Sun Yup, who was to prove one of the few competent soldiers in Rhee’s army in the 1950–53 war, rising to become itsChief of Staff while still in his early thirties, was a typical product of the system. A North Korean landlord’s son, he attended Pyongyang High School, then Mukden Military Academy; he served as a young officer with the Japanese army in Manchuria. ‘We thought nothing about Japanese influence,’ he shrugged, years later. ‘Every young man takes the status quo for granted. At that time, the Japanese were Number One. They were winning. We had never seen any British or Americans.’ 20 Paek’s unit was fighting the Russians when the war ended. He walked for a month to reach his home. He quickly disliked what he saw of the new communist regime in the North. On 28 December 1945, he escaped across the 38th Parallel, leaving his wife behind in the North. She joined him later. Two months later, he joined the constabulary as a lieutenant. He rose rapidly, to become director of intelligence in the embryo South Korean army, and a divisional commander a few weeks before the 1950 invasion. No man could have attained Paek’s position without demonstrating absolute loyalty to the regime of Syngman Rhee, and all that implied. But in every Asian society, there is an overwhelming instinct in favour of serving the strongest force. The worst that can be said of Paek is that he was a tough, ambitious product of his environment.
But many young South Koreans did express their hostility to Rhee, and paid the price. Beyond those who were imprisoned, many more became ‘unpeople’. Minh Pyong Kyu was a Seoul bank clerk’s son who went to medical college in 1946, but found himself expelled in 1948 for belonging to a left-wing student organisation. ‘There was an intellectual vacuum in the country at that time,’ he said. ‘The only interesting books seemed to be those from North Korea, and the communists had a very effective distribution system. We thought the Americans were nice people who just didn’t understand anything about Korea.’ 21 Minh’s family of eight lived in genteel poverty. His father had lost his job with a mining company in 1945, for its assets lay north of the 38th Parallel. Minh threw himself into anti-government activity: pasting up political posters by night, demonstrating, distributing communist tracts.Then one morning he was arrested and imprisoned for ten days. The leaders of his group were tried and sentenced to long terms. He himself was released, but expelled from university, to his father’s deep chagrin. Like hundreds of thousands of others, Minh yearned desperately for the fall of Syngman Rhee.
Kap Chong Chi, a landowner’s son and another university student, felt far better disposed towards the Americans, and towards his own government, than Minh. But even as an unusually sophisticated and educated Korean, he shared the general ignorance and uncertainty about the politics of his own country: ‘In those days, we did not know what democracy was. For a long time after the Americans came, we did not know what the communists were, or who Syngman Rhee was. So many of the students from the countryside, farmers’ children, called themselves communists. There was so much political passion among them, but also so much ignorance.’ 22 Korean society was struggling to come to terms with a political system, when it had possessed none for almost half a century. Not surprisingly, the tensions and hostilities became simplistic: between haves and
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