Bonus Audio: I’ve created a conversational audio version using NotebookLM, featuring extra insights and stories that didn’t make it into this post.
This is Part 3 of the series The People’s Mandate: Korea’s Democratic Edge, a miniseries within Growing Up in Korea.
Last week, we watched something remarkable: the people of South Korea—armed with flashlights, blankets, and determination—peacefully brought down a president and voted in a new one.
It was a bold, democratic reckoning.
But if you think this fierce civic spirit appeared out of nowhere, think again.
Korea’s collective will wasn’t born in the candlelit protests of Seoul. It was forged in loss. To understand the country’s deep, almost instinctive commitment to democracy, we need to go back—not just decades, but more than a century. Back to the moment Korea was erased from the map.
This week, we explore the trauma of Korea’s forced annexation by Japan: how a proud kingdom was stolen, how that loss felt like being orphaned, and how it planted the seeds of resistance that still shape Korea today.
From Kingdom to Colony: The Shock of a Stolen Country
Picture a kingdom. Not just any kingdom, but one that lasted over 500 years. From 1392 to 1910, the land we now call Korea was known as Joseon.
When I lived in Chicago, my elderly neighbor once told me:
She wasn’t wrong. Same land. Different name. A whole lot of history in between.
So—was Joseon a crumbling relic destined to fall?
Not quite.
Yes, it had problems. A rigid class system. Life was hard for many. But it wasn’t collapsing.
Joseon’s longevity—over five centuries, 518 years to be exact—speaks volumes. Joseon had functioning institutions, grievance mechanisms—like the Sinmungo (a drum citizens could beat to request justice from the king)—and agrarian policies aimed at supporting the people.
In fact, there’s a Korean saying:
“Even a restless spirit—a gwishin—can find peace if its grievance is heard.”
(I’ll share more soon about how, in Joseon Korea, even a ghost’s petition had to be heard. Yes—really.)
Joseon was more than a dynasty. It was a place people belonged to.
And when it was taken, the wound went far deeper than politics.
It struck the heart.
Not Just Hunger—But Heartbreak
When Japan colonized Korea, the pain wasn’t just material. It was existential. It felt like being orphaned.
In Korean tradition, the king wasn’t just a ruler—he was a father figure. That belief is woven into a phrase deeply rooted in Korean culture:
군사부일체 (Gunsa-builche) — King, Teacher, and Father are One.
In other words, all three—king, teacher, and father—were seen as life-giving figures, each shaping a person’s fate in profound ways.
Now imagine this:
Your parents aren’t perfect. Maybe they’re strict, outdated, or flawed. But they’re yours. Then one day, someone barges in, drags them away, locks them up, and says:
Would you ever truly accept that?
That’s how Koreans felt.
Joseon hadn’t died of natural causes. It had been kidnapped.
And when a nation is stolen—rather than collapsed from within—the desire to reclaim it burns even hotter.
That distinction between collapse and theft became the foundation of Korea’s long resistance.
The Takeover: A Playbook of Injustice
Japan didn’t seize Korea in a single blow. It happened piece by piece.
- 1875 – The Ganghwa Treaty (강화도조약): Using gunboats, Japan forced Korea into unequal diplomatic relations. A move eerily similar to what Western powers did to China after the Opium Wars.
- 1905 – The Eulsa Treaty (을사늑약) stripped Korea of its diplomatic rights.
- 1907 – Emperor Gojong was forced to abdicate. Korea’s military was disbanded.
- 1910 – The Annexation Treaty (한일병합조약): Japan declared full control over Korea. It wasn’t a negotiation—it was a takeover. Korea disappeared from the map overnight.
Protests erupted—from palace officials to farmers.
But Japan had already planted pro-Japanese collaborators and inserted clauses threatening swift punishment for any resistance.
This wasn’t diplomacy. It was an imperial mugging.
And the sheer injustice of it all gave future resistance movements moral clarity.
If the annexation had seemed legal or inevitable, rebellion might’ve felt like treason.
But this? This was righteous defiance.
Life Under the Empire: A Nation Erased
Japan didn’t just conquer land. It remade everyday life.
Economic Exploitation
- Land survey projects in the 1910s stripped Korean farmers of ownership, turning many into tenant laborers.
- Springtime hunger became the norm. Over 60% of households starved every year, surviving on bark and roots.
- Even household goods—spoons, hairpins, jewelry—were confiscated through forced crop collection (공출).
Social Discrimination
- Koreans were granted Japanese citizenship—but as second-class citizens.
- Students were forcibly drafted and sent to war as bullet shields.
- Girls were kidnapped and forced into sexual slaves, euphemistically labeled “comfort women.”
Cultural Suppression
- By 1930, 77% of Koreans were illiterate due to restricted education.
- Koreans were forced to adopt Japanese names (창씨개명).
- Korean language, religion, and identity were systematically suppressed.
Sure, you could find coffee and bicycles in some neighborhoods.
But those luxuries were mostly for the elite and collaborators.
For everyone else? Just surviving the winter was hard enough.
A Fire That Wouldn’t Go Out
And yet—Koreans didn’t give in.
Out of immense pain came immense purpose.
The loss of their country sparked something deeper than defiance.
It ignited a sense of collective duty to fight back—for dignity, for sovereignty, and for the belief that a stolen nation could be restored.
Coming Up Next
Starting next week, we’ll begin unpacking how Koreans rose up—again and again—to save their country.
From grassroots campaigns like the National Debt Repayment Movement, where ordinary people tried to pay off the nation’s debt with their own belongings,
to mass protests, underground schools, cultural preservation efforts, and armed resistance—Koreans didn’t just endure colonial rule.
They resisted it in every way imaginable.
Because for them, it was never just about independence.
It was about dignity.
It was about identity.
It was about the belief that:
