Joon Suh
The world today is increasingly divided by ethnic bigotry and inter-religious strife. In some parts of the world, coexistence and reconciliation between or among religions is an extravagance, if not, an impossibility. Too often, religious fervor is expressed in atrocities – in forms of war, terrorism, genocide, and other ways beyond brute force. It’s a shame that lives must be claimed in the names of mythical figures, while those mythical figures have never preached for violence and hatred (except for their occasional threats of damnation upon disobedience to their teachings) but for peace and prosperity.
Compared to the rest of the world, South Korea has been lucky in this respect. South Korea is a land where the cross, the crescent and the swastika dwell together as neighbors in a society without violence having to erupt over faith. As long as you are not male and Jehovah’s Witness, your freedom to religion has been and is still well preserved.
Koreans owe this kind of freedom to men like the late Cardinal Sou-hwan Stephan Kim, who have surmounted walls that, in some dark corners of the world, would have provided fuel and ignition for bloody conflicts. He was the personification of love and humanity that is silently fading away at a quick pace in the contemporary society. This devoted model citizen was a hero which makes his recent death especially tragic for South Korea. He may no longer live but the legacy of this hero must continue to do so to better the Korean society that is suffering from malnutrition of simple human values. The values Koreans must uphold to continue his legacy is twofold: love and justice, both of which come in short supply in this society.
While this society honors the greatness of the winners, it must also be able to embrace the losers – it’s living up to the old saying “Win with humility and lose with grace.” Cardinal Kim’s distinguished spirit of service is a perfect substantiation of that. In spite of being a Catholic clergyman, his love for mankind had no religious or social boundaries. Any good human, regardless of his or her size of wealth, level of education, and faith, deserved his blessings. Yet still, he applied the principle of equal but differentiated love. Always on top of his agenda were the underprivileged of our society. His priorities entailed helping those who cannot help themselves help themselves, so they can lose with grace and not with despair and find new opportunities for a better life. His contributions to various poverty alleviation efforts and donation of his two corneas are just some of the examples of his love. An increasing number of people are following suit as they choose organ donations as aftermath of their deaths. In this sense, his greatest work, I would say, was using the name of God in good will, broadcasting the message of love itself and making an impact that would draw others to join causes of love.
Contrary to his benign face, the cardinal knew his moment to be stern and bitter. During Jeon Doo-hwan’s dictatorship, the cardinal spoke against government oppression on pro-democracy movement demanding Jeon’s abdication, analogously comparing the then South Korea as a “western film” in which “the person who draws his gun first wins.” However, on June of 1987, when civilian protestors sought asylum at the Myung-dong Cathedral on the run from armed riot controllers, he demonstrated that “the person who draws his gun first” does not win after all. He unequivocally told the riot controllers that only over his dead body – followed by priests and nuns – will they be able to infringe upon the protestors. That day, South Korean democracy was reborn because he exemplified the superiority of conscience and justice over violence and tyranny.
Today, over his dead body is a country with a flourishing economy and a relatively stable democracy, at the same time, one that is incomplete in many ways. The fact of the matter is South Korea today is hit by the worst economic hardship since the birth of the republic and suffers from political stalemate derived from irrationally excessive partisan division. We mourn Cardinal Kim’s death because he had what this country needed the most: a sense of solidarity. Yet, at the same time, we cherish his legacy as a prophet of love and justice. Rest in peace, Cardinal Kim. I’ve never been much of a church goer but I will miss you and so will the rest of South Korea.
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