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PYONGYANG WATCH
Freedom fighter or traitor?
By Aidan Foster-Carter
Who
is Dr Song Du-yul? Hardly a household name to anyone
outside Korea - but in Seoul, whither he returned last
month after 37 years of exile in Germany, he's the
subject of fierce debate. In his youth an implacable foe
of the then military dictator Park Chung-hee (hence his
long exile), at 58 he's now a German citizen. A protege
of the renowned post-Marxist social theorist and critic
Juergen Habermas, Song teaches philosophy at the
University of Muenster. Of those radical South Korean
intellectuals who fled abroad to escape the generals,
and stayed away even after they fell, he's probably the
most famous.
Make that notorious. For according
to Hwang Jang-yop - the former secretary of North
Korea's ruling Korean Worker's Party (KWP), who in 1997
became the most senior defector ever to the South - Song
Du-yul led a double life. A frequent visitor to
Pyongyang, under the alias Kim Chul-su, he was made an
alternate (deputy) member of the KWP Politburo - meaning
he ranked 23rd in the Northern hierarchy.
From
Muenster, Song Du-yul angrily denied the charge. It's a
mark of how drastically South Korea has changed that
plenty there were and are prepared to believe him.
Conversely, while at any time in the past half century,
Hwang Jang-yop would have had a hero's welcome in Seoul,
ironically under the Sunshine Policy his hostility
toward Kim Jong-il made him an embarrassment. The Kim
Dae-jung government refused to let him accept
invitations to Washington from conservative groups. Only
now has that ban been eased, but the elderly Hwang has
yet to make the trip. One wonders if they're still
leaning on him.
But back to Song Du-yul. Just
what possessed him to come home and face the music at
this point isn't clear. Like about 30 other longtime
exiles, he was invited by a civic group whose avowed aim
is to right past wrongs and heal the wounds of national
division. If others had ever flirted with Pyongyang,
this was small beer and in the past. As you'd imagine,
there must have been some sort of tacit official
clearance. The other returnees even got a reception in
the Blue House; meaning President Roh Moo-hyun endorsed
the view that these were basically good guys: fighters
for democracy, victims of history.
Song's
liberal supporters defend him in these terms too - which
makes conservatives go ballistic. Far from healing
history's wounds, his homecoming has only reopened and
highlighted old fault lines in the new South Korea. To
the right, Song is a traitor pure and simple: a top
agent of the power that the South Korean Defense
Ministry is now once again allowed to define as the
"main enemy". (Under Kim Dae-jung this term was banned,
so as not to upset the foe, and the ministry's annual
white paper failed to appear.) They are apoplectic that
he hasn't even been jailed, though his days since his
return have been filled with intense "voluntary"
questioning by the National Intelligence Service (NIS)
and prosecutors.
What to make of all this?
First, it helps to know some background. Today Park
Chung-hee is respected, if grudgingly by some, as South
Korea's Otto von Bismarck for laying the foundations of
economic success. But at the time he ruthlessly crushed
all dissent. The dreaded Korean Central Intelligence
Agency, whose legacy still haunts today's NIS, tortured
and killed with impunity. Adding insult to injury, their
victims were routinely smeared as pro-North communists -
even though most were in truth liberals, fighting only
for democracy.
Distant Germany was one
battleground in this struggle. In 1967, the Park regime
provoked outrage by kidnapping several dissidents and
smuggling them home to face sedition charges. (They had
contacted North Koreans in East Berlin, seeking news of
relatives - or perhaps in a naive hope of contributing
to unification). Several were executed; most received
lengthy sentences in jails where torture was routine.
Another individual's trajectory - make that
tragic story - may help cast light on what all this was
like. Yun Isang was one of the luckier ones. As the only
modern Korean composer of international fame, he had
distinguished musicians around the world campaigning for
his release. Freed after a year, his health broken by
ill-treatment, he returned to exile in Germany. Now an
implacable foe of the regime that had so abused him, he
did become, as he had not been before, pro-North. Kim
Il-sung wooed him: invited him to Pyongyang, named a
music academy for him, had his works performed. (An
intriguing blend of Western modernist and oriental
styles, this must be a breath of fresh air amid all the
Kimist kitsch.)
I met Yun Isang, and talked to him
at some length. He was no communist; but he was bitter,
and proud. One thing he was proud of was that his son or
daughter (I forget which) had married a North Korean:
"So you see," he quipped, "at least in my family I have
reunified my country." That was in the 1980s. Later,
with democracy restored, he hoped to go home; but the
Southern government demanded more by way of apology than
he was prepared to yield. He died in 1995, still an
exile. Only recently was the ban on his music in South
Korea lifted - though I don't think it ever extended to
the official anthem of Dong-A University, the leading
school in Busan and Yun's alma mater. Isn't all this
mad, bad, and sad?
Indubitably, to my mind, Yun
Isang was a victim of history: far more sinned against
than sinning. And Song Du-yul? His case is still sub
judice, but for me it all hinges on whether he
really is Kim Chul-su. His interrogators say he
confessed this; his lawyer denies it. He admits
receiving US$150,000 from North Korea, but says he spent
it promoting Korean studies in Europe. Photos published
in the Seoul press of him blubbing at Kim Il-sung's
funeral, and being consoled by Kim Jong-il, have done
him no favors.
In the same milieu of harsh
struggle and long exile as Yun Isang, no doubt Song was
subject to similar pressure and emotions. The temptation
to back your enemy's enemy is understandable. But to get
in as deep as becoming Kim Chul-su is something else:
serious business. Not only under South Korea's
much-criticized National Security Law, but by any
standards, if Dr Song did do that then he was a traitor,
no?
Don't get me wrong. I'm all for forgiveness
and healing, personal and national. But for this, the
facts have to be clear - and the person must make a
clean breast. By contrast, Song Du-yul seems to want it
all ways: refusing to be clear about either what he was
or where he stands now. That his case has so far
elicited no comment from Pyongyang suggests that, as
rumored, he has burnt his bridges in that quarter - but
again, why not come clean? And why come home, stirring
as much discord as if he were indeed a Northern agent,
without first clearing his position thoroughly with the
government in advance?
Speaking of which:
Whatever Dr Song is or was up to, the ineptness of the
Roh administration is, as usual, staggering. Another
fine mess, and a wholly avoidable one. Why on earth did
they let him in in the first place, with the truth so
murky it was bound to stir up a hornet's nest?
Other pro-North exiles, like the redoubtable
Chung Kyung-mo in Japan - whom I also met, and like: he
has a quirky recent piece in People's Korea - remain
firmly barred. If in doubt, keep 'em out. Simple.
Besides, since Song Du-yul has German citizenship,
putting him on trial would not only prolong the
ideological slugfest in Seoul, but risk diplomatic
complications. Any day now, I reckon, they'll deport him
back to Germany. If he truly wants to come home for
good, next time y'all try planning ahead, okay?
Aidan Foster-Carter is honorary senior
research fellow in sociology and modern Korea, Leeds
University, England.
(Copyright 2003 Asia
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