The War and Women’s Human Rights Museum (aka “Comfort Women Memorial”) in South Korea is a powerful place of remembrance. Specifically, in a small building (it’s literally the size of a large American house) located near the tourist hotspot of the Hongdae neighborhood, the museum is filled with painful stories of women who were forced into sexual slavery during the Japanese colonial period. It also details how Koreans and their global allies continue to demand justice by asking for a formal apology and reparations from the Japanese government. It is a must-visit location for those who wish to learn more about the history of “comfort women” in Korea, and how the issue continues to shape the political, social, and psychological aspects of the Korean people.
This September, I visited the Museum with 10 students from my institution’s South Korean study abroad program. This was my fourth time at the Museum. My teaching assistant, Emi Ichimura (Ph.D. candidate in Clinical Psychology), toured the place for the first time. As we processed what we had experienced at the Museum, including our observations of students’ reactions, we thought it worthwhile to jot down some of our back and forth to be shared with other Christian scholars.
Note: Emi identifies as Japanese American. I (Paul Kim) identify as Korean American. We disclose this information upfront so that what is shared in this blog piece is contextualized against the backdrop of our ethnic backgrounds.
Paul: Different emotions and thoughts rise to the top whenever I walk through the Museum.
This time around, I was struck by the notion of hope. I know; it’s a rather strange place to be thinking about hope when there is so much to grieve and to demand for justice. And superficial hope motivated by dismissal or minimization of accountability is foolish and dangerous. So, that is not the kind of hope that I am talking about.
But there was a quote on the wall from one of the victims – halmonis, or grandmothers, as they are simply called in Korea – that read: “I want to be a hope for women suffering from the same pain to mine.”
Hope for validation of other experiences that have yet to be shared. Hope for the recognition of pain held inside. Hope for a better world for young girls and women all over the world. Hope for a world where every tear will be wiped away, and that death and crying and sorrow will be gone (Revelations 21:4).
I saw some of our students openly crying. Like, tears streaming down their faces. While my heart broke seeing them in emotional distress, I also felt genuine hope. That the message from the halmonis had been delivered successfully, despite the cross-cultural context. That my students, as non-Korean people, could relate to the pain of these Korean halmonis.
Did you sense hope?
Emi: I sensed hope, but it’s a complex kind. When I typically think of hope, I envision joyful anticipation or regaining something lost. However, for the halmonis, hope means seeking acknowledgment that a loss occurred at all. The sexual trauma cannot be undone; some losses may never fully return. In fact, many of these halmonis have already passed away. It is disheartening that they still need to hope for recognition almost a century after these events first took place.
Not long after this experience, I received a response from my father to my picture in the demilitarized zone (DMZ), another sacred (and painful) place for Koreans: “Can you imagine if Japan had been divided like Korea? If so, I wouldn’t have met your mother.” This comment stirred a mix of emotions as I tried to imagine this alternate trajectory. While relieved and grateful for this insight, I simultaneously felt grief and shame as I learned about the actions—and inactions—of Japan’s governing body from the South Korean perspective. Questions flooded my mind: How many families were torn apart by the Korean divide? Who might have crossed paths if history had unfolded differently? As a woman who identifies with being ethnically Japanese, empathy came with a price of viewing my ancestors through the eyes of victims who beared lasting scars from them.
At the Comfort Women Memorial, I found myself bracing and rushing through the narrations of the halmoni’s stories. I eventually decided to restart the tapes from the beginning and slow down, yet even at a measured pace, I could not fathom the depth of their suffering. In discussion with fellow students who shared similar reactions, we agreed that despite the discomfort, we wanted to offer our utmost attention and reverence, because this act of mindful listening felt like it could be a way to honor their enduring strength and preserve their legacy. I would describe this particular moment with students as when the Christian virtues of love (e.g., setting aside our uneasiness for the sake of the halmonis) and courage (i.e., taking a real risk for something noble) showed up.
Adopting the perspective that trauma passes through generations, as Resmaa Menakem writes1 , our ancestors’ reactions may be deeply embedded within us and are manifested in ways we may never fully comprehend, thus necessitating the connection we have with our bodies and roots. I wonder if this intergenerational transmission applies to vicariously experienced trauma (i.e., 한 “han”)2 , and whether hope can similarly span generations. While some might prefer not to prolong this pain and the accompanying need for hope, the weekly protests in front of the Japanese Embassy (i.e., Wednesday Protests) testify to many people’s desires to preserve the halmonis‘ history and prevent its erasure.
Like you, I am curious about how things change when others who practice empathy, such as our students with tears at the museum, play a role. What do you think sustains the resilience of the halmonis and their allies as they continue to seek a formal apology? What do you hope for our students as they learn from this?
Paul: I loved what you said about hope possibly operating similarly as trauma, such as the intergenerational transmission. This is why the stories need to be told by the young and old alike, so that the hope of restoration and justice persists. And when stories are clearly narrated and shared across generations, hope can help to buffer against the psychological harm of trauma.
I also think that hope and trauma/pain are sometimes difficult to untangle. At times, hope feels or looks more like grief. Moreover, grief is necessary for genuine hope to be cultivated.
You asked what my prayer is for students as they dive deep into this challenging theme of sexual slavery. One of my prayers is that they will see and feel how trauma, at least certain aspects of it, can also simultaneously reflect hope. Or like how my colleague Dr. David Tizzard described han3 : “Han, when understood at a certain level, gives us both sadness and beauty. It gives us loss and life. It is grief and it is art. Han is at the fundamental level, something very, very human.” Or how Resmaa Menakem in the same book that you referenced earlier writes about the soul nerve, which is comprised of parts of the body that send alarm signals (fight or flee); strikingly, Menakem argues that the same soul nerve also has the function of reassuring and calming down the person. To me, this looks a lot like trauma and hope working in tandem.
I see examples of hope and trauma intertwined most notably in Psalms of lament. I wish for students to pray similarly whenever they learn about the han of South Korea, in particular this collective trauma of sexual slavery experienced by the halmonis.
In Psalm 130: “Out of the depths I cry to you, Lord; Lord, hear my voice. Let your ears be attentive to my cry for mercy” (verses 1-2 NIV). Similarly, as allies of halmonis, I wish for my students to cry out to God for his intervention on behalf of the oppressed.
In the same chapter, the Psalmist declares, “I wait for the Lord, my whole being waits, and in his word I put my hope. I wait for the Lord more than watchmen wait for the morning, more than watchmen wait for the morning” (verses 5-7 NIV).
This “waiting” part is extremely difficult. This aspect of hope reminds me of another virtue that I recently wrote about in another CSR blog post4 – temperance, or patience. The halmonis, Koreans, and the world allies feel like the “morning” that the Psalmist references should have been here already; like, many years ago.
I talked to a former student who is currently serving in the Korean army. His description of doing the night shift in which he guards a post from night until morning captures some of the hope that the Psalmist alludes to, which is the eager anticipation for the morning that is sure to come. My prayer is that for students, that they will learn to pray for that morning – justice for and restoration of halmonis – to come soon. And to also live in the tension of knowing that reconciliation is coming, but that it might not feel like it in the moment.
- This publication was made possible through the support of a grant from The Wake Forest University and the Lilly Endowment Inc. The opinions expressed in this publication are those of the author(s) and do not necessarily reflect the views of Wake Forest University or the Lilly Endowment Inc.
- We are grateful to Dr. Brittany Tausen for her helpful feedback on an earlier version of this blog post.
Footnotes
- Resmaa Menakem, My Grandmother’s Hands: Racialized Trauma and the Pathway to Mending Our Hearts and Bodies (Central Recovery Press, 2017).
- Sandra Sohee Chi Kim. Korean” Han” and the Postcolonial Afterlives of “The Beauty of Sorrow”, Korean Studies 41: 253–79. http://www.jstor.org/stable/44508447
- Paul Youngbin Kim, “Redeeming Korean Constructs of Han, Nunchi, and Jeong: Lessons for Interpersonal and Communal Flourishing,” Weter Lecture, April 10, 2024, educational video, 29:29 to 29:43, https://youtu.be/0gfCYsjoxIs
- Paul Youngbin Kim, “Emotional Restraint is an Important Element of Self-Control: Reflections from a Study Abroad Program,” Christian Scholar’s Review: Christ Animating Learning Blog, September 27, 2024, https://christianscholars.com/emotional-restraint-is-an-important-element-of-self-control-reflections-from-a-study-abroad-program/
