Teaching East Asia: Korea Teaching East Asia: Korea | Page 159

An Introduction based on excerpts from Richard Kim’s Lost Names
(from the chapter titled “Lost Names”)
“It is February, the gloomiest and the cruelest time of the interminable winter in our northern
region. The sun seldom ventures out in the dark heaven, as if it, too, finds repugnant the dreary
sky…And it snows and snows and snows – not the silvery, glittering, fluffy flakes that descend
from a clear sky….but the wet, heavy, dull things that pelt down from a soiled sky….
Most of my classmates don’t ever have white rice in their lunch boxes and some of them always
want to taste it and if I don’t let them they make fun of me, like saying just because I am a rich
boy and so on, and I’ve had my lunch box stolen, I mean someone ate my lunch while I was out
of the room, and that happened three, four times already…
Our rice farmers are forced by law to sell their rice to the government at a cut-rate price; rice is
then shipped to Japan (which the Japanese want us to call the “mainland”), leaving very little rice
in Korea.
Wearing gloves is forbidden at the school; keeping our hands in our pants pockets is forbidden,
too; we have the pants pockets and jacket pockets all sewn up – the school regulation – keeping
your hands in pockets harms your posture and weakens your constitution, resulting in your be-
coming weak men, unfit to serve the Imperial Cause…
We are required to bring two logs or a sack of pine cones for the stove in our classroom. In the
fall and before the snow starts, we often, instead of doing schoolwork, are sent up to the hills and
mountains to collect pine cones, which are then stored in our classroom for the long winter. Coal
is scarce…
“Today,” he says without looking at us, holding up the piece of paper in front of him, “I must
have your new names. I have the new names of most of you in this class, but the principal tells
me that some of you have not yet registered your names.”….My name is called.
My father takes out a piece of paper from his vest pocket. He hands it to the Inspector. “I as-
sume,” he says, “this is what you want, Inspector. I hope you will be pleased.” The inspector
looks at the paper. “Yes, yes, he says. “Iwamoto….Ah – it is a very fine name, sir…” We (my
father and I) then step into the cold. The snow is turning into a blizzard…. Afraid, bewildered,
and cold, I look up at his face and see tears in his eyes….”What does our new name mean, sir?”
I ask my father when we are down the hill and on the main street. “Foundation of Rock,”
he says, shielding my face from the bitter-cold snow with his hand.”…on this rock I will build my
church….” I do not understand him. “It is from the Bible,” he says.
As soon as each class submits to the principal a complete list of all the new names, the class is
sent out of the school to go to the Japanese shrine to pay its respects to the gods of the Empire
and make its report to the Emperor – to announce that we now have Japanese names.
Then, the teacher gestures abruptly, as if to touch my face. “I am sorry,” he says. My father gives
him a slight bow of his head. “Even the British wouldn’t have thought of doing this sort of prim-
itive thing in India,” says the Japanese (teacher) …inflicting on you this humiliation…” he is
saying. “…unthinkable for one Asian people to another Asian people, especially we Asians who
should have a greater respect for our ancestors...””
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