The Justification of Revolution and Vanguard Party Theory (2)

It was a spring day, the kind on which tender blossoms were only just beginning to lift their faces to the warm sun.

Thud!

Yu In-seok's palm came down on the table where the principal figures had gathered. His eyes flared wide, and he spoke.

"...This cannot go on. We need a clear course of action."

It was the day of the Dongmaenghoe's regular general assembly.

The regular general assembly of the Dongmaenghoe was, as the name suggested, a standing council convened to settle matters of real weight: which provinces would receive the newly standardized vernacular editions of the classics; which volunteer instructors would open night schools for the common people; and, whenever a report came in that Donghak bandits were operating in force, whether to dispatch the Vanguard.

That said, the assembly was hardly the grand affair the name implied. Its members were, more or less, myself — the organization's gravitational center and mascot — Choe Ik-hyeon, the greatest living elder of the Confucian literati, his formidable lieutenant Yu In-seok, Seo Gong-sun, the Magistrate of Namwon, ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠and then Kim Gae-nam and Woo Beom-seon. Of course, the old disciples of Ki Jeong-jin and the leading lights of the Yeongnam School and the Hwaseo School had begun to exchange the occasional letter with me. But we were not yet close enough, nor trusting enough, to plot anything together.

In any case — back to the matter at hand. Master Yu In-seok had summoned us today for a particular reason.

Having drawn every eye in the room, Yu In-seok spoke.

"I'll grant you this: those Vanguard Party fellows of yours handle their work magnificently. They've made an art of hunting Donghak bandits. Word is, the moment the Vanguard so much as pays a village a courtesy call in the name of 'purification,' the bandits turn themselves in of their own accord."

"Well, of course. Look who's training them."

Yu In-seok had opened with praise, and I shrugged, sneaking a sidelong glance at Woo Beom-seon, who was just barely managing to hide a smug look from Kim Gae-nam. Petty, that one.

But Yu In-seok shook his head, his face making it plain that praise alone would not suffice.

"The problem is what comes after."

"What comes after?"

"Tell me — once the Vanguard has swept the bandits out, what exactly did you order them to do?"

"Uh..."

At Yu In-seok's question, a tide of memories swept through my mind.

After we clear out the Donghak bandits, what did I tell Kim Gae-nam to do first? Right — smash every last Donghak congregation in the village, no exceptions. Parade the congregation leader through the streets, then hand him over to the local magistrate's office. Distribute the books we've printed. And every so often, thrash ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠the mouthy little brats who talk back...

Come to think of it, I had piled far too much on Kim Gae-nam and Woo Beom-seon.

Yu In-seok did not miss the blank look on my face. He sighed and pressed on.

"Did you not argue this to us with some force, not long ago? The people — even I have gotten the word 'the people' stuck to my tongue now. At any rate: you said that until the common folk learn their letters, they will keep falling for empty cults and superstition."

"I did say that... didn't I?"

"And yet reports are coming in from every branch and chapter. However hard our scholars and instructors labor to teach the vernacular script you so painstakingly refined, the people still cannot truly grasp the meaning in the classics, nor the ideals we hold."

I blinked myself back to attention and answered with a look of genuine incredulity.

"...Isn't it a bit greedy to expect that in so short a time?"

That's right. It had barely been half a year. Old man, were you seriously expecting national literacy to hit ninety percent in under twelve months?

Yu In-seok read my face, pressed his fingers to his brow, and said,

"But the country is coming apart as we speak, is it not?"

"We haven't the time."

Seo Gong-sun and Woo Beom-seon piled on at once, echoing Yu In-seok's urgency. Wait — and why were those two chiming in?

Unfortunately, Seo Gong-sun answered that question at once.

"The hundred warriors of the Vanguard are already overburdened. Some of the most zealous party members have worked themselves to the brink of collapse."

"I was going to recruit more anyway. I'll have Comrade Kim Gae-nam set a date."

"Listen here, Unam. Does party-dues money grow out of the ground?"

At Seo Gong-sun's jab, I suddenly grasped something I had utterly forgotten, and shot to my feet. So that was the source of the unease!

"Ah!"

"I shall choose to believe you did not simply forget because it wasn't your own money you were throwing around. Ahem. In any case — the members' contributions and patronage matter, yes, but the Vanguard spends nearly as much as the work it takes on. And the books we print? And all that charity you so freely dispensed in the name of relief?"

Setting aside his official title as Magistrate of Namwon, Seo Gong-sun was the single largest donor among everyone at this table. His counsel made me wince, and I dropped my gaze.

The truth was, besides A Discourse Against the Donghak Bandits — a title any aristocrat in the land who still wore a horsehair hat was bound to love — My Struggle had been popular enough among them as well. But the books I had been publishing of my own will for the common people, things like the Vernacular Reading Primer, had depended most of all on the support and labor of Seo Gong-sun and Choe Ik-hyeon.

Mortified, I apologized in a voice small enough for an ant to crawl into.

"...I'm sorry."

"I'm glad you appreciate our efforts, at any rate."

Seo Gong-sun glanced sideways at Choe Ik-hyeon in the middle of speaking, then went on.

"What Yeoseong is trying to say is simply this. We need something that lays out, more cleanly and more clearly, exactly what we mean to preach to the people."

"Cleanly and clearly, you say?"

"And above all, it has to lodge in the ear. It has to stick in the memory. Hard!"

"Enough with the vagueness. You're only confusing Unam."

"Ahem. In other words — even when we render those tedious classics we all have by heart into easy vernacular, the people have no intention of memorizing them. The classics were hard to memorize to begin with. Which is why what stays in the memory is what matters!"

"Tsk."

Seo Gong-sun had practically snarled the words make it memorable, eyes blazing — until Choe Ik-hyeon nudged him aside and at last opened his mouth.

I, for my part, had been rather dreading a conversation with Choe Ik-hyeon. Ever since he had remarked, last time, "You're a sixteenth-generation descendant of Grand Prince Yangnyeong, are you not?" his manner toward me had grown markedly more careful. Or rather — I had been the one acting awkwardly under the weight of it.

Choe Ik-hyeon read the look on my face and blinked at me with a gentle expression, as if to say I need not worry about that.

"Unam. What kind of Joseon do you wish to build?"

"I beg your pardon?"

"A boy your age, sitting with old men old enough to be your grandfathers, grinding through these musty debates, walking the line between life and death — you do it because there is something you truly want. Am I wrong?"

At Choe Ik-hyeon's question, four pairs of eyes turned on me at once. But I had no room to feel the weight of those stares. His question had already plunged me behind the great dark bolt I had drawn across my own heart.

What had I been running so hard for?

Why had I manufactured the most absurd pretexts and connections, just to walk beside the great men who had died in the history I remembered?

Wouldn't it have been enough to flee to America and live well on my own?

What was it, again?

The truth was, I could have crossed to America — a country that ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠would be safe until the day I died — without a thought for national independence or the well-being of the fatherland, and spent a lifetime making more money than I could ever spend, on stocks or in business, and blown it all in style. I had been a foreign minister in my last life; four languages were a given, and though I say so myself, I was not a stupid man. I had rolled through politics; I had instincts. And even in this era there would be beauties enough to catch my eye. Marrying one of them would have been no hardship.

So why had I stayed in this country, in Joseon? Why?

Well. Because.

The hesitation did not last long. The reason was so simple I had only failed to recall it under the sudden ambush of the question.

"It's simple."

I smiled at the people staring so hard at my lips they might have bored a hole through them, and answered with a serious face.

That was enough.

When I answered with conviction written on my face, Choe Ik-hyeon began to clap, thoroughly satisfied.

Clap. Clap. Clap!

"That is the correct answer, Unam."

In a mood that was solemn without being heavy, he congratulated me on finding the right path, then reached beneath the table, drew something out, and said,

"Take these."

"What are they?"

"And open them."

As if conferring some invisible medal of initiation — the way twenty-first-century rappers hand out chains at a rite of passage — Choe Ik-hyeon dabbed at the red rims of his eyes and held out three paper envelopes.

I took them, tilting my head at a strange familiarity.

What is this? Zhuge Liang? The Fox Sister folktale?

"I hope the answer I found will show you the way."

I looked up at him with eyes full of questions as I tore the envelopes open and spread their contents. Choe Ik-hyeon spoke evenly.

On each envelope, only two characters.

I lost my words before the answer sheet Choe Ik-hyeon had laid out.

The Three Principles of the People.

Good God.

It was not simply that he had proclaimed Sun Yat-sen's Three Principles of the People ahead of their time that stunned me. It was that it hurt. Perhaps a man like Choe Ik-hyeon had died so wretchedly because there had been no vessel large enough to hold him. Or perhaps we moderns had simply looked too lightly upon the Confucian scholars of a fallen nation.

"Ahem."

In the silence, Seo Gong-sun, Magistrate of Namwon, cleared his throat several times and was the first to speak.

"A path too perfect for words."

"I agree."

I turned my gaze. Even Kim Gae-nam, the least lettered among us, and Woo Beom-seon, a former military officer, were staring through the table, visibly gathering themselves, moved by the answer Choe Ik-hyeon had set before them.

To those still caught in the afterglow, Choe Ik-hyeon spoke calmly.

"The People's Foundation. The People's Rights. The ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠People's Livelihood. We must unify the will of Joseon's Confucian literati under these three slogans. And the common people, likewise. We must actively show them what path this country, Joseon, must take from this day forward, if we are to reach the ideal we ultimately seek."

"You are entirely right."

I nodded, shook off the emotion, and started turning the problem over in my head at once. Would this Three Principles of the People, as Choe Ik-hyeon had formulated it, take hold among the people as it stood?

The calculation did not take long.

It could become a substitute for Donghak.

The reason Donghak exerted such a powerful, almost demonic hold across every class was the doctrine of equality they had raised themselves. And the reason our Vanguard, for all its suppression of the Donghak bandits, could never quite tear the movement out by the root was that we had never won the hearts of all the people.

If you just beat people and ban something without offering a proper replacement, all you breed is resentment.

But if we, too, raised an innovative doctrine flexible enough for a changing age, Donghak need not remain an unstable thing lurking underground. It could be absorbed into society — a gentle solution.

And that is not all.

A shift toward a more flexible political system, as well. If — just if — this Three Principles of the People could gather every opinion among Joseon's Confucian literati at the critical fork where this country might turn toward constitutional government, or toward a republic... then it was truly possible.

Our Dongmaenghoe, which had begun quietly establishing branches across the country and spreading its influence, now had a platform, a set of party regulations, a constitution.

Once the platform was set, morale in the Vanguard, our subordinate organization, soared.

"It finally feels like an organization."

"Because we now have a single, unifying goal that can bring every Confucian scholar in Joseon together."

"Yes. Yes, indeed."

I smiled at Woo Beom-seon, who was nodding with the look of a man whose nameless anxiety had at last been put to rest.

As a former military officer, he had spent some time distinctly uncomfortable with the way our Dongmaenghoe, lacking any clear standard or objective, had simply raised its voice around me.

Woo Beom-seon rubbed the back of his neck and said,

"I kept wondering if those old fossils were just using you again."

"Come now. Do I really wander around that blindly?"

"There's still a difference between when I'm there and when I'm not. This time too, huh? Do you have any idea how much of the country I rolled through, trying to find the people you asked me to look up?"

He put on every air he had and pulled two sheets of paper from his coat, each covered in someone's personal particulars, and held them out with a flourish.

"Here. These."

And on the documents he so proudly presented, I found two familiar names without any trouble.

One was a patriot. The other, a traitor to the nation.