Broken Voices : Postcolonial Entanglements and the Preservation of Korea's Central Folksong Traditions

Roald Maliangkay

• Publisher: University of Hawai'i Press
• Year: 2017
• ISBN:
  9780824878337
• Topic: Media & Performing Arts
• Subtopic: Ethnomusicology

Broken Voices' is the first English-language book on Korea's rich folksong heritage, and the first major study of the effects of Japanese colonialism on the intangible heritage of its former colony. In 2009, many Koreans reacted with dismay when China officially recognized the folksong 'Arirang', commonly regarded as the national folksong in North and South Korea, as part of its national intangible cultural heritage. They were vindicated when versions from both sides of the DMZ were included in UNESCO's Representative List of the Intangible Cultural Heritage of Humanity a few years later. At least on a national level, folksongs thus carry significant political importance. Maliangkay describes how an elaborate system of heritage management was first established in modern Korea and raises an important issue of cultural preservation—traditions that fail to attract practitioners and audiences are unsustainable, so compromises may be unwelcome but imperative.

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CHAPTER 1

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Colonial Foundations of Korean Cultural Policy

Until 1910, when the Japanese annexed Korea, official measures for the preservation of public or private property did not consider the notion that either could have what Bourdieu would regard as “symbolic capital.” While retaining economic and functional values, which require no audience to be valorized, such capital would serve to positively distinguish the owner (or owning body) in society.1 Because the Chosŏn dynasty (1392–1910) was fairly stable, it is unlikely to have spawned many creative applications of tradition.2 But whereas the aristocracy (or royal house) would be impervious to the mundane, banal social pressures that drive the general public to pursue particular properties, they would have been well aware that particular forms of capital, such as that represented by ancestral shrines,3 could be used to symbolize their own lasting, unique legacies of which their subordinates formed an integral part. These days, when cultural policies preserve and promote objects’ public ownership, they prioritize symbolic over other forms of capital because the suggestion of historic continuity serves to underpin nationalism and loyalty to the state. Gellner argues that preindustrial societies were too segmented to execute “cultural imperialisms, the efforts of one culture or another to dominate and expand to fill out a political unit,” but their culture (and ancestry)—as represented by property—would have helped determine the legacy of the privileged for centuries.4 While legislation in regard to property management therefore did not show concern for its potential use to define either the aristocracy or the royal house and their respective communities of subordinates, either group is likely to have recognized the notion of “symbolic capital.”5

The history of the protection of national heritage through legislation technically could be said to have begun almost five centuries earlier, in 1471, when a criminal justice system known as the Great Code of Administration (Kyŏngguk taejŏn) was put into effect. It constituted a revision of the Literal 24Explanation of the Ming Code (Tae myŏngnyul chikhae), which had been translated from Chinese in 1395. The code was in effect roughly until the end of the Chosŏn dynasty (1392–1910).6 It was ordered according to six sets of regulations, each of which corresponded to one of six government ministries. Under the sixth set, which comprised laws regarding public works, a regulation called “management of repairs” (yŏngsŏn) dealt with the restoration of palace buildings:

The palace [is managed by] the Chŏnyŏnsa, and the buildings of the [surrounding] kwana7 are divided up and guarded by each of these buildings’ own officials, and when there is a place where the rain leaks through or where it is crumbling, they report it to the main office and it is repaired. Every year, in spring and autumn, [people from] the main office conduct an inspection tour and [then] report to the king. The repairs on the buildings of local government offices are undertaken after a report has been made to the king. As for the harbor platforms where Chinese envoys come and go, the responsibility is partially taken by the nearby counties and they make sure repairs are undertaken. As for the harbor platforms where the Japanese and the Manchus come and go, they are repaired by the local counties.8

Incorporated in the code were the shibak (ship = ten, ak = crimes), the ten worst crimes one could commit. Listed among them was an offense called “conspiracy” (modaeyŏk), which constituted the destruction of the ancestral temples that held memorial tablets to generations of kings, the kings’ tumuli, and the royal palaces. The family of anyone found guilty of one of the shibak would have had little reason to celebrate their relative’s rebelliousness. In the most extreme case, the principal offender would be left unburied with his head, arms, and legs cut off, while his father and those sons older than sixteen years would be hanged. The remaining family members would all be made slaves to a meritorious official, with the exception of very ill men over eighty or incurably ill women over sixty.9 It is obvious why the code did not consider recidivism.

The regulations show no sign of having been set up in order to protect the cultural, historical value of the properties. They were primarily preventative, concerned with the protection of property on the basis of it belonging to the royal house (no doubt intended for public admiration) and a matter of religious concern. Even the sizeable restorations performed on the royal palace from 1865 to 1867, which were aimed at restoring the prestige of the dynasty, failed to appeal to a sense of pride over the site’s cultural, historic importance.10 In December 1894, following the initiation of a series of changes to government policy under the name Kabo Reform (Kabo kyŏngjang, 1894–1896) in July that year, the Korean government was reorganized and a Japanese-style cabinet formed with 25seven ministries. One of these, the Ministry of the Royal Household (Kungnaebu), oversaw the Ceremonial Court (Changniwŏn), which was responsible for the management of mausoleums, cemeteries, and tombs.11 By separating the Council of State Affairs (Ŭijŏngbu) from the Ministry, the latter was stripped of its governing powers and turned into a ceremonial institute.12 The new administrative structure thus effectively eroded the power of King Kojong, who had tried to resist the measures for years.

When they set out to colonize Korea, the Japanese anticipated that in light of their loss of autonomy and the significant social change that modernity was ushering in, the effects of which they had only recently experienced firsthand,13 Koreans would come to long for markers of their heritage. Recognizing in addition that as they transitioned into the full annexation of Korea they could make use of the royal institution as a channel for the proclamation of sociopolitical measures at least for some years,14 the Japanese government refrained from removing all symbols of the Korean traditional hierarchy and prepared their maintenance as hollow, ceremonial institutes and monuments. Their eventual exhibition on museum grounds was to serve as a reminder of a foregone past. Rather than portraying them as “living” treasures, they deprived them of their religious significance and turned them into objects of nostalgia and wonder. To rid royal palaces of their mystic status and meet the growing demand for Japanese tourist attractions, the Japanese not only rearranged them but also opened them to the public—they had long been hidden from view, like similar palaces elsewhere in East Asia. The first of a series of museums was the Prince Yi Museum (Riōke hakubutsukan). Construction for this museum, which focused on the possessions of the former royal household, began on the premises of Ch’anggyŏng-wŏn royal garden in November 1908. It was part of a large public entertainment park modeled after Tokyo’s Ueno Park and carried a name that revealed the colonial government’s intention to market Korea’s royal house as a curiosity, the ornate shell of a former kingdom.15 Another major museum in the center of Seoul was established on December 1, 1915, on the grounds of Kyŏngbok Palace. Named after the Japanese colonial headquarters, the Museum of the Government-General of Korea (Chōsen sōtokufu hakubutsukan) was a colossal building constructed right behind the main gate to the palace grounds between 1916 and 1926. This museum was the first to focus on archaeological finds.16

On November 27, 1907, the Royal Household Minister declared that an office would be established for the purpose of managing and maintaining “movable [tongsan] and unmovable [pudongsan] property in the possession of the [Korean] royal family.”17 This so-called Office for the Management of the Royal Family’s Property (Cheshil chaesan chŏngniguk) would be small in size, with six positions to be filled by nine people in total. Although the edict suggests recognition of the royal household’s cultural as opposed to mere exchange value, a 26Japanese reprint of this edict shows that the measure was little more than a justification for drawing a full inventory of the royal family’s property, with the intention to eventually transfer its management to the colonial government.18 In 1911, the office was renamed Yi [Chosŏn] Royal Household Office (Yiwangjik) and considerably expanded. From February 1 onward, it would be staffed by no less than ninety-seven people, with the number of Korean aristocracy eligible for employment limited to eleven.19 One important reason ...

Table of contents

• Half-title Page
• Title Page
• Copyright
• Dedication
• Contents
• Acknowledgments
• Romanization and Other Conventions
• Introduction: Promoting Tradition in Korea
• CHAPTER 1: Colonial Foundations of Korean Cultural Policy
• CHAPTER 2: Defining Korean Folksongs
• CHAPTER 3: Masculinity in Demise
• CHAPTER 4: Embodying Nostalgia
• Conclusion
• Appendix
• Glossary
• Bibliography
• Index
• About the Author