KOREA
Former
pop singer, vagrant and failed suicide case Yi Seok says he has overcome his
problems and found peace as South Korea moves towards democracy by becoming
a monk. AFP
The royal prince cuts a handsome dash as he glides through the streets of
Jeonju, South Korea's ancient city, his traditional robes flapping in the
breeze.
He is down-to-earth and friendly, and shakes hands and poses for group
photographs if asked.
Occasionally, a passerby will embarrass him by bowing to the ground in
the traditional Korean kowtow - a homage reserved for royalty.
```Your highness,' they say. I say `Stop. No! No!''' Yi Seok says with a
quick smile and the slightly puzzled look of someone surprised by the hand
that fate has dealt him.
From anointed prince to Buddhist monk, from pop singer to homeless
vagrant, the last royal son of the Chosun dynasty still living in South
Korea has led a varied life whose ups and downs mirror Korea's own turbulent
recent history of war and poverty, wealth and industrialization.
Around Asia, many countries, such as Japan, Thailand and Cambodia, have
held fast to their royal families, seen by their people as anchors of
stability in a changing world.
For the Japanese, the royal household is the most important symbol of
Japan to have survived defeat in World War II. In Cambodia, the royal family
is widely credited with holding the country together through the horrors of
rule by the Khmer Rouge. And in Thailand, the king is revered as a force for
stability and progress.
But other parts of Asia, countries such as Laos, South Korea and its
great neighbor, China, have seen royal families overthrown or cast aside by
colonial powers or revolutionary regimes and rarely look back to what they
have lost.
Yi, 63, sees himself as perhaps Korea's last link through the events of
the last century to a past that many Koreans have turned their backs on.
``The dynasty probably ends with me,'' he says of the royal house that
ruled for more than 500 years from 1392 until it was overthrown by Japanese
colonial occupiers in 1910.
An uncle, who is recognized as the crown prince of the Chosun household,
is 75, childless, lives in Japan and cannot speak Korean. Yi has two younger
brothers and a son and two daughters who live in the United States.
None has shown any interest in the royal succession.
``The children don't care.`Come and join us in America,' they keep
telling me,'' Yi says in an interview in Jeonju, where the royal house
traces its origins.
Today, he lives alone and largely unnoticed in a traditional house in an
old quarter of the city.
``Some of the old folks know who I am,'' he says. ``The young ones
don't.''
Ten minutes by foot from his home is a shrine to the founder of the
Chosun dynasty and an ancient pavilion where royal records were placed for
safe keeping during a 16th century invasion by the Japanese.
Proud of a history they trace back thousands of years, most Koreans are
uneasy about the Chosun dynasty's heritage.
Though period dramas about court intrigue are TV staples, the dying agony
of the dynasty under the heel of the Japanese, who ruled the country from
1910-1945, still rankles with Koreans who blame the Chosun elite for failing
to modernize the country in time to prevent its being overrun.
``I am very proud, though I understand the criticism'' Yi says.
He notes that one of the great Chosun rulers, the 15th century King
Sejong, created Hangul, the Korean alphabet. Until then, Koreans used
Chinese characters to write their own language.
And he says that, for centuries, Korea lived in peace under benign rulers
who valued scholarship above warfare and promoted artistic and literary
endeavor.
But he admits the country's rulers turned their backs on the outside
world, leading Korea to be known as the ``Hermit Kingdom'' until, by the end
of the 19th century, Western and Asian powers were competing for influence
in the region and Korea became a strategic prize.
``At that time, Korea had no power and we were small,'' Yi says. ``We
could not stand up to the big powers.''
Yi's grandfather, King Kojong, Korea's last reigning monarch, presided
over the country before its collapse under Japanese rule.
Yi, who remembers a royal palace childhood living in splendor surrounded
by servants and ladies-in-waiting, was born when Korea was occupied by the
Japanese who stripped the ruling house of all power.
After liberation in 1945, the dynasty's wealth and property, including
five palaces, were confiscated by the new republic established under Syngman
Rhee, South Korea's first president. The dynasty was effectively destroyed
and Yi reckons his family lost land and property worth US$1.5 billion
(HK$11.7 billion) at the time and considerably more now.
Rhee, a blood relative belonging to a junior branch of the ruling house,
could have chosen at that point to restore the royal family and establish a
constitutional monarchy.
``A restoration could have worked then,'' Yi says wistfully. ``The Chosun
dynasty could have survived,'' he says.
``But that is no longer true. A restoration is out of the question now.
The young really couldn't care less.''
Times grew harder when Rhee was ousted in a military coup in 1960 and
Park Chung Hee took power, tightening the screws on the royal family.
Worse followed with Park's 1979 assassination and the rise to power of
another military coup leader, Chun Doo Hwan.
Before Chun's takeover, Yi had studied foreign languages at a top Seoul
university and hoped to become a diplomat but after the first coup in 1960,
the flow of money to the royals was stopped and his hopes were not met.
To pay his way, from his freshman year in 1960, Yi took up singing at
bars and nightclubs, and was popular on US military bases. His popularity
soared with the late 1960s hit ballad, House of Doves. Members of the
royal family were upset. Under the Chosun dynasty, entertainers belonged to
the lower rungs of society.
From 1966 to 1969, Yi fought in the Vietnam War with the South Korean
Tiger Division, sent there by then-president Park in an effort to solidify
relations with the United States. He was wounded in the shoulder by
shrapnel.
Years of entertaining, drinking and womanizing followed. Then life took a
turn for the worse again when then-president Park was assassinated and the
new president Chun kicked the royal family out of its palace in Seoul.
Yi, homeless and penniless, emigrated to the United States where he
worked for 10 years as a day laborer, handyman and security guard.
He returned home for the funeral in Seoul of Korea's last queen, his
aunt, in 1989, and embarked on a spell of homeless wandering, trying to
revive his singing career and living out of a minivan. The collapse of his
third marriage in 1999 coincided with the recognition that nightclubs no
longer wanted an ageing crooner.
``I was nothing. I had nothing. Life was nothing,'' he says.
Suffering at various times from depression, he has made a total of eight
suicide attempts in his life and, at one point, lost several years to
whiskey-induced amnesia.
But then, he stopped drinking, stubbed out his last cigarette and decided
to change.
``I shaved my head and prayed for two years on the top of a mountain,''
he says. He became a Buddhist monk.
With peace of mind restored, he returned to mainstream life and to Jeonju,
the home of his ancestors 240 kilometers south of Seoul.
With his sharp features and trim figure, Yi today looks the part of the
royal prince and has overcome his problems as his country has moved to
democracy, found peace and developed as a wealthy Asian nation. He has
stopped blaming himself for the sins of his fathers and the failure of the
dynasty and found a purpose in his own life.
``No more tears, no more sorrow. I am happy,'' he says. His ambition is
to establish a museum to one of the world's longest-ruling royal houses.
On a tour to promote his idea last year, he went to Jeonju where local
officials were ready to listen.
They built a traditional Korean house for him in a picturesque corner of
the city where old-style homes with wooden frames and tiled roofs were being
renovated.
And he himself has become a ``living museum'', with a unique story to
tell, he says. ``I am the only one left who can tell it,'' Yi says.
- AGENCE
FRANCE-PRESSE
24 January 2005 HONG
KONG STANDARD
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