Victorious Tuesday

On April 21, United States Ambassador to Korea Walter P. McConaughy paid a visit to Gyeongmudae.

The United States was deeply disappointed by the conduct Syngman Rhee and the Liberal Party had shown the day after the April 19 Uprising. All Rhee had done was accept the resignations of every member of the State Council, and all the Liberal Party had managed was to issue a statement criticizing the demonstrators. The party's statement was even more outrageous than Rhee's own address.

This exercise in shifting the blame only inflamed the anger of the students and the citizens. From April 20, with martial-law troops occupying the capital, the demonstrations in Seoul itself died away, but student protests continued in Daegu, Incheon, Jeonju, Suwon, and Iri.

It was in this climate that McConaughy, accompanied by Deputy Chief of Mission Marshall Green, met with Syngman Rhee. Rhee had Choi Kyu-hah, the acting Minister of Foreign Affairs, sit in on the meeting. When McConaughy pointed out how inadequate the measures taken to restore order had been, Rhee answered him.

"This protest situation is not an explosion of popular discontent. It is the handiwork of Vice President Chang Myon and the Catholic bishop, Noh Ki-nam. Bishop Noh means to exploit Mr. Chang's success as an opening to enlarge the influence of the Catholic Church. Washington is looking at present reality in a completely mistaken way. If you go on drafting policy atop so false a reading of the facts, you will suffer tremendous chaos."

Ambassador McConaughy could scarcely believe his ears. He tried to persuade Rhee that ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠his analysis of the protests' causes was wrong, but Rhee flew at once into a passion and shouted that he would produce evidence of Chang Myon's conspiracy.

Back from Gyeongmudae, McConaughy reported Rhee's claims to the State Department. He added that such assertions appeared dangerously ill-informed—the product, it seemed to him, of an age past the mid-eighties, a taste for flattery, and a prejudice that suspected every critic. The language of a government report had been softened; put into ordinary speech, it meant that Rhee had lost his mental balance to a degree that raised the suspicion of dementia.

Convinced he could no longer trust Rhee, McConaughy ordered the embassy staff to intensify their gathering of intelligence on the drift of public opinion inside Korea.

Gi-jo, for his part, was at the West German embassy in the Bando Hotel, receiving the thanks of Ambassador Hertz. The gratitude was for having, on the very day of April 19—when chaos had swept all of Seoul and martial law itself had been proclaimed—provided a place of refuge for the West Germans living in the city.

"I went out to the Yeongdeungpo warehouse myself. Drinking water and food were perfectly stocked. Even emergency medicines had been laid in. I was deeply moved. On behalf of the German government, allow me to thank you."

Gi-jo was glad of the ambassador's words, and worried by them at the same time. According to the manager of the special warehouse, West Germany had been the first nation to evacuate its own people. That meant, in other words, that the West Germans had felt the crisis of Korea's political instability more keenly than anyone. Having obtained a commercial loan on the guarantee of the West German government, he had to see to it that the German government could keep its faith in Korea's future.

Gi-jo drew out the papers he had prepared and spoke.

"Ambassador, I have lines into the government and into Gyeongmudae. I should like to give you a memorandum setting down the information I received from that source."

He held out a single sheet written in English. Ambassador Hertz read it and looked up.

"Tomorrow Vice President Chang Myon resigns, and President Syngman Rhee steps down as president of the Liberal Party?"

"That's right."

"How did you come by this?"

"I can't be specific. I'd be grateful if you would simply treat it as coming from an anonymous source."

"I see......"

Ambassador Hertz nodded, read ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠the memorandum through to the bottom, and spoke again.

"As successor to the foreign minister who has resigned, Mr. Heo Jeong is more likely than the present acting minister, Mr. Choi Kyu-hah?"

"Yes. I was told Mr. Heo Jeong is likely to be the new foreign minister."

"Well, well......"

"For interior minister, Mr. Lee Ho. For justice minister, Mr. Kwon Seung-ryeol is all but certain, they say."

At that, Ambassador Hertz stroked his chin, sunk for a moment in thought, and then said, "This is the sort of thing only someone in President Rhee's innermost circle could know. Your anonymous source must stand quite close to the president......"

Gi-jo nodded without a word.

The next day was April 23. When Vice President Chang Myon resigned in the morning, Rhee at once announced that he too was relinquishing the presidency of the Liberal Party and would devote himself solely to the affairs of state. Courting the nation, he declared that he would do whatever the people desired, and spoke of "my beloved compatriots." And he seated Heo Jeong as foreign minister, Lee Ho as interior minister, and Kwon Seung-ryeol as justice minister.

It matched, to the letter, the memorandum that had been handed to Ambassador Hertz. Gi-jo did not suppose Hertz had reported the note to his home government the day before, but he expected that from now on the ambassador would trust what he said. Korea's political situation would go on growing more disordered, and Bonn would press Hertz for more frequent reports on Korean developments. By passing him information that foresaw what was coming with accuracy, Gi-jo meant to ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠quiet the West German government's unease. Only if the anxiety West Germany felt toward Korea could be lowered would the disbursement of the loan for the fertilizer plant go forward without delay or suspension.

That day Gi-jo watched as the more than a thousand people the police had hauled in during the April 19 protests were set free.

The day after that, the twenty-fourth, Lee Ki-poong at last announced that he was declining his election as vice president, and withdrew from every public office. And on April 25, something happened that would decide Syngman Rhee's fate.

In the National Assembly, opposition members riding a surge of momentum joined with Liberal Party lawmakers to resolve that emergency martial law be lifted, and laid before the Assembly a recommendation that Rhee step down. One pillar of the separation of powers, the legislature, had moved first.

Next came the judiciary. Chief Justice of the Supreme Court Jo Yong-sun declared in public:

The courts, which until then had done nothing but watch Rhee's mood, had begun to say what they thought.

The army did not sit still either. Martial Law Commander Song Yo-chan said, from a public platform:

The military, too, had turned its back on Rhee. At the words of Martial Law Commander Song Yo-chan, Rhee's heart must have dropped clean through him. But the blow that finished him came from the universities.

At three that afternoon, professors from the universities of the Seoul area, gathered in the faculty club of Seoul National University's College of Medicine, issued a declaration on the national crisis. It demanded that the president and everyone beneath him—members of the National Assembly, justices of the Supreme Court, and the rest—resign and bear responsibility for the fraudulent election of March 15 and for the events of April 19, and that a fresh election be held. Then, carrying a banner that read Let Us Repay the Students' Blood, they marched through the streets of Seoul.

The professors gave voice, as slogans, to what the people had wanted to say.

"President Rhee, step down at once!"

"Hold the fraudulent election over again!"

"Punish the murderers!"

The professors' demonstration drew the fervent support of the citizens. The mood had shifted now to one in which nothing could simply be let pass unless Rhee stepped down. That mood found its expression on the morning of April 26, in the crowds that poured into the streets.

The people who began to gather from nine in the morning had, by ten o'clock, swollen into a throng of a hundred thousand and were moving on Gyeongmudae. Martial-law troops were posted around the palace, but the army was not the police. The army did not stand in the citizens' way.

Jeon Han-seung, a sixth-grader from Susong Elementary School, carried that placard up to the soldiers, and the soldiers smiled and nodded.

That morning Ambassador McConaughy telephoned Defense Minister Kim Jeong-ryeol and pressed him to go to the president and urge that a new election be held. CIA station chief Peer de Silva called Kim as well, telling him to go to the president and say that if Rhee wished to leave Korea the CIA would help him—and conveying a chilling warning with it. If they did not resign in full within two hours, every one of them would die.

Startled, Kim Jeong-ryeol wrote out a statement to the nation containing the sentence that if it were the will of the people, the presidency could be resigned, carried it to Rhee, and secured his approval. Rhee's statement of withdrawal was the work of Defense Minister Kim Jeong-ryeol, shaken by American pressure.

Thirty minutes after the hundred thousand had ringed Gyeongmudae, Rhee's statement was released.

"Having returned to this country after liberation......"

After spinning out excuse upon excuse, Rhee had a tepid declaration broadcast over the radio: that if the people wished it, he could resign. It was a statement that laid bare, just as it stood, the mind of a man still clinging to the office he held.

The moment that statement went out, Ambassador McConaughy pushed through the crowds encircling Gyeongmudae, sought Rhee out, flattered him as Korea's George Washington, and urged him to resign. Rhee listened in a posture of assent, but he did not come forward and say that he would step down.

Outside Gyeongmudae at that same hour, the air was entirely different. The ambiguous announcement of a possible resignation, issued at half past ten, was received by the public as a resignation statement. The demonstrators ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠cried mansei and rejoiced. Something almost too absurd to laugh at happened there as well. When Ambassador McConaughy, who had gone in to Gyeongmudae, came out again, the citizens—mistakenly convinced that he had forced Rhee to step down—shouted mansei.

"Long live America!"

"Long live McConaughy!"

The demonstrators chanting his name followed his car in procession all the way to the American embassy. And that day Lee Ki-poong's house in Seodaemun was burned to the ground by a fire the demonstrators set, yet the American flag that had hung in the house did not burn. The crowd took the flag down, folded it with care, and delivered it to an American journalist who was covering the smashing of Lee Ki-poong's house. It was a day on which America's popularity shot to the heavens.

Through every quarter of Seoul the rumor began to run that Rhee had decided to step down, and students from twenty-seven universities took to the streets once more. The students who had led April 19 resolved that this time the first task was to restore order, and that they must head off whatever confusion Rhee's resignation might bring.

With that banner at their head, the students marched the streets, picking up trash and sweeping the roads with brooms.

But there was unexpected bloodshed as well. When citizens who had massed at the Dongdaemun Police Station demonstrated, demanding that the political gangsters be handed over, the police opened fire on them and some twenty people were killed or wounded. It was the last desperate thrashing of the Dongdaemun police, who had been all but one body with the Dongdaemun gangsters. The enraged crowd smashed the station and put it to the torch. It was a grievous thing, the first casualties since April 19—and yet all of Seoul brimmed with a festival mood of joy. People climbed onto the tanks posted before the Central Government Building and shouted mansei, and the soldiers shared the citizens' gladness and cried mansei with them.

Tuesday, April 26, was Victorious Tuesday.

At that hour Gi-jo was at the West German embassy, in conversation with Ambassador Hertz. Hertz asked him about the uncertainty of Rhee's statement.

"Is the president stepping down, or isn't he? It sounds as though he's saying he'll watch which way opinion runs. Have you heard anything from that anonymous source of yours?"

The question seemed to rest on a trust born of Gi-jo's accurate forecasts, and Gi-jo answered it.

"He will step down tomorrow. The president's mind is made up. It will be resignation."

Hertz nodded in silence.

Leaving the West German embassy, Gi-jo walked toward the company headquarters on Sejong-ro. On the way he came upon demonstrators hauling a statue of Syngman Rhee, lashed with ropes. It was the statue that had stood in Pagoda Park. Seeing Rhee's likeness dragged along like a corpse, the citizens applauded and cheered; some spat on the statue, and others ground their heels into its face, heaping insult on the man. Watching the statue of Rhee scrape along the ground, Gi-jo felt at last that the man's era had ended completely. He looked at it and asked, inwardly,

Why couldn't you let go of your greed...

The era of Syngman Rhee, drawn out across twelve years, was vanishing like that down the back alleys of history. From the place where Gi-jo stood, the statue that the citizens had vented themselves upon was already being dragged by the demonstrators toward somewhere else.