I think the situation was more or less similar all throughout the North at that point, but resistance was especially severe in our area because we had so many Christians — not to mention the fact that we practically bordered Kyŏnggi Province, making us about as close to the South as you can get. I still remember a bunch of those incidents, from the time they threw grenades in that hall in Pyongyang during the March First anniversary celebrations, to all the bombs they started planting in the homes of prominent politicians. Before we knew it the whole thing had become a kind of holy war, and everyone was ready to become a martyr — the Christians for their sacred temples and the Communists for the People and their class struggle. The entire student body at the middle school in Ŭnnyul went on strike, and in Changyŏn, with the female students taking the lead, the Christian Youth made leaflets and distributed them all over town. They literally covered entire buildings with their posters — buildings like the Party Hall and the office of the People’s Committee. Countless Christians were arrested and taken away. Again in Ŭnnyul, the students formed an association called the Green Circle and led a demonstration. Their leaders were dragged off to Haeju, and nobody could find out what had happened to them. Then, in Hwangju, a couple of Christian students got hold of a mimeograph machine and ran off all those leaflets. They distributed them in all the villages they could, going to different marketplaces, but they were rounded up too, by the police — caught in some church, printing more leaflets in the middle of the night. That was when all the mimeograph machines in all the churches were confiscated. We couldn’t even print our weekly bulletins after that.
The biggest incident of all was probably that thing with the Unification Corps. The Christian Youth throughout Hwanghae Province were linked through the different churches, and Yohan and some of his friends were members, too. Later I found out that the Unification Corps had been planning to obtain arms through its link with the Anticommunist Youth Corps in the South. They were planning to take over the major Party offices in Hwanghae Province, including the one in Haeju. While all this was going on a group of young men who’d rioted in Sinŭiju were arrested and executed. That’s when the boys in our village took to the Kuwŏl mountains. They ended up hiding out there until the war actually broke out. Even then, though, the people in our village still helped each other out, lending a hand during the busy harvest season or sharing a meal together in the fields, regardless of whether you were a Christian or a Party member — I myself had no quarrel with anyone.
Wait, actually, there was that one time. When the harvest season came to an end, there was always a kind of mobilization of joint effort by all the villagers — we took it for granted, really, never thinking to complain, since it was something we’d done all the time under the Japanese. The People’s Committee of the Province passed a proclamation saying that any able-bodied man between eighteen and forty had to do twenty days’ compulsory labor. Some people were sent to factories, some to mines, and others went to build dams.
I was sent to a steel mill in Hwangju. Together with the men who’d come from nearby counties, I was admitted to an old shanty on the factory grounds that had been built during the Japanese occupation. The place had an aisle right down the middle with wooden bunks lined up on either side. Our job at the site basically consisted of assisting the skilled workers. We would pick out the iron ore from the freight wagons, grind it in the mill, then carry it to the conveyor belt. At the end of a day of constant loading and carrying iron, your shoulders feel as if they’re about to fall off and your hands get all torn up and scabbed. There was this man we reported to, one who wasn’t part of the regular factory personnel. He was sent to supervise us by the municipal authority. Along with two other young foremen, this guy was in charge of controlling our living quarters, too. I waited until Saturday, and then I went to the work site across from our quarters to speak to him.
I’ve come to ask you a favor, sir.
The supervisor — he was probably four, maybe five years older than me — had a fairly mild expression.
What can I do for you?
Tomorrow is Sunday. I’m afraid I can’t work on Sunday, sir.
Why not? Are you sick?
No, it’s not that. it’s just that it’s Sunday, so I’ve got to go to church.
What? Church? Out here for compulsory labor, and you’re telling me that you can’t work because you’ve got to go to church, is that it?
Yes, sir. You see, Christians must observe the holy nature of Sundays.
The kind face of the supervisor began to twitch, ever so slightly. Looking completely dumbfounded, he turned to the young foreman sitting at the desk beside him and blurted out a strange laugh. The young fellow lifted his eyes to mine and, pointing his finger right at me, shouted, You there! If you disobey the compulsory labor order, you’ll be reported and punished! You got that?
Calmly but with determination, I replied, It is my understanding that freedom of religion is guaranteed in Articles 3 and 5 of the twenty articles in the Party platform of our Republic. I work on the farm, and I pay my taxes without fail, and I’ve never done anything to harm another human being.
The supervisor heard me out with his mouth hanging open as if he just couldn’t get over what was going on. Then, obviously doing his best to be patient, he fell back on his habitual smile.
You really can’t expect such special treatment simply because you are Christian — to be excused from work when everybody else has to! You can always go to church after you go back home, when you’re done with your term here.
I said no more. After dinner that night, back at our quarters, everyone climbed into bed for the night. Afraid I might fall asleep, I didn’t even take off my clothes. I just lay in bed all decked out in my work gear, complete with smelly socks, and covered myself with the blanket, pretending to be asleep. Peeking out through half-lidded eyes, I waited for dawn to arrive. I’d been working all day, and my body felt like a thousand tons of soaked cotton, teetering on the verge of sinking down into a bottomless pit of slumber. All around me people kept snoring and talking in their sleep. Even the dim indoor lights were all turned off. I thought I’d go crazy trying to stay awake.
Finally, I could begin to make out the shape of the mountain ridge outside the window — daybreak was near. I got up quietly, just barely sticking my toes into my work boots, and crept out of the shed. I ran all fifteen ri to the church. It was an early morning service so there were less than ten people in the congregation, but the minister was there. I told them that I was a new employee at the steel mine. After the service I had lunch at the minister’s house, and then we all went back to church, where I prayed some more and attended the evening service. It was ten at night by the time I returned to the mine, and the country folks who shared the same quarters with me were worried about what would happen. It’s just lip service when they say they don’t care about your religion! Now what are these people going to think of you? We live in a world where being Christian is the same thing as being a reactionary! If you keep behaving this way they’ll send you to the mines at Aoji! What good is heaven if you’re already dead? They went on and on, but I pretended not to hear them, and for the first time in many days, I fell into a deep, peaceful sleep.