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Discover the story of An Jung-geun's 1909 assassination of Itō Hirobumi at Harbin Station, exploring the Korean patriot's motivations, trial testimony, execution, and lasting legacy as a symbol of resistance against Japanese imperialism.
On the cold morning of October 26, 1909, at Harbin Railway Station in Manchuria, a thirty-year-old Korean man approached a railway platform where one of Japan's most powerful statesmen was greeting Russian officials. An Jung-geun, carrying a Belgian-made FN Model 1900 pistol concealed in his coat, had traveled hundreds of miles and waited days for this moment. As Itō Hirobumi—the architect of Korea's subjugation, Japan's first Prime Minister, and current Resident-General of Korea—stepped onto the platform, An fired seven shots in rapid succession. Three bullets struck Itō, mortally wounding him. As Japanese guards seized An, he shouted in Russian "Koreia! Urra!" (Korea! Hurrah!) before being subdued. Within thirty minutes, Itō Hirobumi was dead, and An Jung-geun had transformed himself from unknown patriot into eternal symbol of Korean resistance against imperialism.
The assassination sent shockwaves through East Asia and beyond. Japan lost one of its founding fathers and most influential statesmen, a figure who had guided the nation's transformation from feudal isolation to modern imperial power. Korea witnessed an act of defiant resistance that demonstrated, despite overwhelming Japanese military control, that the Korean spirit remained unbroken and willing to sacrifice everything for independence. The international community observed with mixture of horror and fascination as an occupied people's desperation drove one man to political murder as last resort against inexorable imperialism. The event marked a turning point—not in reversing Korea's tragic trajectory toward annexation, which would occur within ten months—but in crystallizing Korean national consciousness around martyrdom and resistance as responses to colonial domination.
What do you think drives someone to sacrifice their life in a act they know will change nothing immediately but hope will inspire future generations?
An Jung-geun came from a Catholic family of modest yangban (aristocratic) background in Hwanghae Province. His father, An Tae-hun, had converted to Catholicism and given his son the baptismal name Thomas, after the apostle who doubted before believing with absolute conviction. An's Catholic faith profoundly influenced his worldview, providing both moral framework condemning tyranny and theological justification for tyrannicide against those who perpetrated grave injustices. Unlike some Korean patriots who drew on Confucian traditions of loyalty and righteous resistance, An synthesized Catholic teachings about human dignity and justice with Korean nationalism, creating a unique ideological foundation for his actions. This religious dimension distinguished An from purely secular nationalists and complicated Japanese attempts to dismiss him as mere terrorist rather than principled actor.
The assassination occurred in Harbin rather than Korea or Japan because geography and politics created a brief window of opportunity. In Korea, Japanese military control was absolute—any assassination attempt would have been detected and crushed before execution. In Japan itself, security around major officials was impenetrable. But Harbin, a Russian-controlled city in Manchuria where Russian and Japanese spheres of influence intersected, provided momentary vulnerability. Itō was traveling to Russia to negotiate agreements about spheres of influence in Manchuria and Korea, requiring him to pass through territory where Japanese security apparatus couldn't function as effectively. An and his co-conspirators, operating within Korean independence movement networks in Manchuria, learned of Itō's itinerary and recognized this rare opportunity to strike at the symbol and architect of Korean subjugation.
Understanding the assassination requires examining An's background and the experiences that transformed him from provincial youth into revolutionary willing to sacrifice his life. Born in 1879, An grew up during the tumultuous period when Korea faced intensifying foreign pressure and internal crisis. His family's Catholic faith exposed him to Western ideas about human rights and social justice while simultaneously making them targets of periodic persecution in Confucian Korea. An received education combining traditional Confucian classics with Catholic teachings and some modern subjects, creating intellectual foundation that enabled him to understand Korea's predicament in both traditional and modern terms.
The Russo-Japanese War (1904-1905) proved pivotal in An's political awakening. As Japanese and Russian forces fought across Korean and Manchurian territory, the war devastated Korean civilians who suffered depredations from both armies. An witnessed firsthand the great powers' complete disregard for Korean sovereignty and welfare—Korea existed merely as battlefield for empires pursuing their interests with no consideration for the Koreans whose land they destroyed and lives they ruined. Japan's victory, rather than liberating Asia from Western imperialism as Japanese propaganda claimed, simply replaced Russian threat with Japanese domination. This realization—that Asian imperialism could be as brutal as Western imperialism—shattered any illusions about Pan-Asianism or "civilizing missions."
After the war, as Japan tightened control through the 1905 Protectorate Treaty, An joined the Korean independence movement becoming active in organizing resistance. He participated in the Righteous Army movement—guerrilla forces fighting Japanese occupation—leading a unit of volunteer fighters in northern Korea and Manchuria. These military experiences, though ultimately unsuccessful against Japan's professional army, provided An with combat training and strategic thinking that would prove valuable. More importantly, they demonstrated the futility of conventional military resistance given the vast power disparity—a Korean patriot with rifle could harass Japanese forces but couldn't defeat them. This recognition drove An toward alternative strategies, ultimately concluding that targeted assassination of Japanese leadership might achieve what military resistance could not.
An's Catholic faith created theological and moral framework for his revolutionary actions. The Catholic prohibition against murder conflicted with An's conclusion that killing Itō was necessary and just. An resolved this tension by framing the assassination as tyrannicide—the killing of a tyrant whose crimes against humanity made him legitimate target. Catholic just war theory and historical examples of tyrannicide (from Judith killing Holofernes to various martyrs resisting Roman persecution) provided precedents. An's faith also gave him courage to face death with equanimity, viewing martyrdom as sacrifice for righteous cause that God would judge favorably. This religious dimension distinguished An from revolutionaries motivated purely by nationalism or ideology, adding moral and spiritual dimensions to political violence.
Have you experienced situations where deeply held beliefs required reconciling conflicting moral principles?
During his trial, An Jung-geun articulated fifteen specific crimes he attributed to Itō Hirobumi, providing detailed justification for the assassination and refuting characterizations of the act as random violence or terrorism. These charges, meticulously researched and cogently argued, demonstrated that An acted from principled conviction rather than blind hatred or madness. The indictment served multiple purposes: explaining his actions to the court, creating historical record of Japanese crimes against Korea, and establishing moral legitimacy for resistance against imperialism. An's eloquent testimony transformed his trial from simple criminal proceeding into political platform exposing Japanese aggression.
The fifteen crimes included:
1. Assassination of Korean Empress Myeongseong (Queen Min) in 1895
2. Forcing the King into exile at the Russian legation (though Itō didn't directly cause this, it resulted from circumstances he helped create)
3. Forcing treaties upon Korea through military intimidation
4. Massacring innocent Koreans who resisted Japanese occupation
5. Usurping Korean governmental authority through the protectorate system
6. Plundering Korean resources through unfair economic arrangements
7. Disbanding the Korean military in 1907, eliminating defense capability
8. Obstructing Korean education to keep Koreans ignorant and submissive
9. Burning Korean textbooks to erase national history and identity
10. Preventing Koreans from studying abroad to limit exposure to independence ideas
11. Confiscating Korean properties and transferring wealth to Japanese
12. Forcibly recruiting Korean laborers for Japanese projects
13. Kidnapping the Korean Emperor (forcing abdication through pressure)
14. Deceiving the Japanese Emperor about Korean conditions
15. Disturbing peace in East Asia through aggressive imperialism
This comprehensive indictment demonstrated sophisticated understanding of colonialism's multifaceted nature—not just military conquest but systematic economic exploitation, cultural destruction, and political subjugation. An recognized that imperialism operated through violence, but also through education systems, economic structures, and cultural policies that destroyed colonized peoples' capacity for self-determination. By articulating these crimes systematically, An created historical record that would influence Korean nationalist discourse for decades, providing language and framework for understanding colonial oppression's comprehensive nature.
An Jung-geun's trial before a Japanese court in Port Arthur (Lüshun) from February to March 1910 provided the condemned man with unexpected platform to articulate Korean grievances and challenge Japanese colonialism's legitimacy. An refused Japanese legal representation, instead conducting his own defense and using the proceedings to indict Japan's imperial project. His eloquent testimony, logical arguments, and dignified bearing impressed even Japanese observers, complicating their government's narrative that Koreans were backward people requiring Japanese guidance. The trial proceedings were extensively reported in Japanese and international media, giving An's message reach far beyond the courtroom.
An's defense strategy didn't deny the killing—that would have been futile given numerous witnesses—but rather argued its justification based on Itō's crimes and the principle that individuals have right and duty to resist tyranny. An positioned himself not as criminal but as prisoner of war, arguing that Korea remained independent nation under occupation and that killing enemy military and political leaders during wartime constituted legitimate military action rather than murder. This argument challenged the Japanese court's jurisdiction, suggesting that only an international tribunal or Korean court could legitimately judge his actions. The Japanese court rejected these arguments, but An's eloquent presentation created record that would inspire future Korean independence activists.
The trial revealed An's character and intelligence in ways that complicated Japanese attempts to dismiss him as fanatic or terrorist. An spoke fluent Japanese, responded thoughtfully to questions, demonstrated extensive knowledge of international law and history, and maintained composure and dignity despite facing certain death. He explained his Catholic faith's influence on his actions, his love for Korean people and culture, and his hope that his sacrifice might contribute to eventual independence. These personal revelations humanized An, making him sympathetic figure even to some Japanese who opposed his actions but recognized his courage and principles.
Has this been helpful so far in understanding how An Jung-geun's trial transformed personal act into broader statement about colonialism?
One of the most poignant symbols associated with An Jung-geun was his missing finger—the ring finger of his left hand that he severed in 1909 as pledge of commitment to Korean independence. Along with eleven other Korean patriots, An participated in a ceremony where each man cut off a finger and signed an oath in blood dedicating themselves to liberating Korea from Japanese rule. This dramatic gesture demonstrated absolute commitment—these men had literally sacrificed parts of their bodies to symbolize willingness to sacrifice their lives. The mutilated hand became An's signature, appearing in photographs and on the calligraphy he created in prison, serving as permanent reminder of his dedication and the price Korean patriots paid for resistance.
In prison, An spent his final months writing and creating calligraphy that would become treasured artifacts in Korean nationalist tradition. His most significant work was an unfinished autobiography titled "An Eung-chil Yeoksa" (History of An Eung-chil, using his childhood name), which provided firsthand account of his experiences, motivations, and philosophy. He wrote extensively about Korean history, East Asian international relations, and his vision for a free and independent Korea. His calligraphy, created with the distinctive signature of his nine-fingered hand, combined Korean patriotic messages with Chinese characters expressing universal human values—peace, justice, courage—that transcended narrow nationalism.
An's final requests demonstrated his character and priorities. He asked that his remains be returned to Korea after independence was achieved—a request tragically unfulfilled as his burial location remains unknown despite extensive searches. He requested that Korean independence supporters continue the struggle peacefully and persistently rather than giving in to despair. He expressed hope for eventual friendship between Korea and Japan after Japan renounced imperialism and treated Korea as equal. These requests reflected An's sophisticated political thinking—he understood that Korean independence required not just Japanese defeat but Japanese transformation, and that sustainable peace required reconciliation based on mutual respect rather than continued cycles of vengeance.
On March 26, 1910, at Port Arthur Prison, An Jung-geun was executed by hanging at age thirty. His final hours demonstrated remarkable composure and faith. He attended Catholic mass, received communion, and prayed for Korea's independence and the souls of all involved—including, according to some accounts, Itō Hirobumi himself, demonstrating Christian teaching about forgiving enemies. An refused a blindfold, stating he wanted to face death with eyes open just as he had lived. His last words reportedly were "Dongyang Pyeonghwa! Daehan Dongnip Manse!" (Peace in East Asia! Long live Korean independence!). The execution occurred quietly with minimal publicity as Japanese authorities feared creating martyr whose death might inspire additional resistance.
The immediate Japanese response combined relief at eliminating an assassin with anxiety about his potential as martyrdom symbol. Japanese officials attempted to minimize the assassination's significance, portraying it as isolated act by deranged individual rather than symptom of broader Korean resistance. They suppressed details about An's trial testimony, especially his articulate indictment of Japanese colonialism, fearing it would inspire additional resistance. The location of An's grave was kept secret—and remains unknown—to prevent it becoming pilgrimage site. These efforts to erase An from history ironically ensured his immortality as Korean nationalists preserved his memory through underground networks and diaspora communities beyond Japanese control.
Korean reactions varied based on circumstances and perspectives. Within Korea, under strict Japanese censorship and surveillance, public mourning or celebration was impossible—any expression of support for An would have resulted in imprisonment or worse. However, in private homes, churches, and secret gatherings, Koreans honored An as hero who had struck back against their oppressors. In diaspora communities in China, Russia, and the United States, Korean independence activists openly mourned An as martyr and used his example to inspire continued resistance. His willingness to sacrifice his life for Korean independence became standard against which other patriots measured themselves, with An's example inspiring subsequent generations of independence fighters.
The assassination's political impact proved tragically counterproductive in immediate term. Rather than slowing Japanese colonization or generating international pressure on Japan, Itō's death provided justification for accelerating annexation. Japanese hardliners argued that Korea was ungovernable and required complete integration into the Japanese empire rather than continued protectorate status. Within ten months of the assassination, the August 1910 Annexation Treaty formally ended Korean independence—a result An had hoped to prevent but which his actions inadvertently facilitated. This tragic irony—that the assassination hastened the catastrophe it aimed to prevent—demonstrates the limitations of individual political violence against systemic imperial power.
International responses to the assassination ranged from expressions of sympathy for Japan to uncomfortable silence about Korean grievances. Western powers, having made their own arrangements accepting Japanese control over Korea in exchange for recognition of their imperial interests elsewhere, expressed condolences to Japan while ignoring Korean suffering that drove An to violence. The Taft-Katsura Agreement (1905) between the United States and Japan, trading American acceptance of Japanese control over Korea for Japanese recognition of American control over the Philippines, symbolized the cynical great power bargaining that sealed Korea's fate. Similar British-Japanese agreements and French acquiescence meant no Western power had interest in questioning Japanese imperialism.
China, weak and divided during its final Qing Dynasty years, could offer only impotent sympathy. Chinese intellectuals and revolutionaries recognized parallels between Korea's situation and China's own vulnerability to foreign imperialism, viewing An as hero fighting battles that China also faced. However, the Qing government, struggling to maintain its own sovereignty, lacked capacity to challenge Japan diplomatically or militarily. Chinese reactions highlighted the broader pattern of Asian weakness enabling Japanese expansion—the very weakness that Japanese Pan-Asianists claimed they were addressing through forced modernization and regional unity under Japanese leadership, a justification that Asian victims of Japanese imperialism bitterly rejected.
The Russian reaction proved particularly complex given the assassination occurred on Russian-controlled territory. Russia, having recently lost the Russo-Japanese War, had no desire for renewed conflict with Japan over a Korean assassin. Russian authorities quickly turned An over to Japanese custody despite arguments that the assassination occurred on Russian soil and should be tried under Russian law. This decision reflected geopolitical calculations—maintaining workable relations with Japan mattered more than abstract justice for Korea. The international community's collective abandonment of Korea demonstrated harsh reality that sovereignty ultimately depends on power rather than justice, morality, or international law.
Which do you think represents greater failure: An Jung-geun's inability to prevent annexation or the international community's refusal to defend Korean sovereignty?
In South Korea, An Jung-geun achieved status as national hero—one of the most revered figures in modern Korean history. His portrait appears in textbooks, memorials honor his sacrifice, and his name symbolizes patriotic resistance against injustice. The An Jung-geun Memorial Hall in Seoul and An Jung-geun Memorial Museum in Harbin preserve his memory and educate visitors about his actions and motivations. Annual commemorations mark the anniversary of his execution, with ceremonies honoring his sacrifice for Korean independence. This veneration reflects how thoroughly An's martyrdom resonates with Korean national identity shaped by colonial trauma and hard-won independence.
In North Korea, An likewise receives honor as anti-imperialist hero, though his Catholic faith is downplayed to fit better with the state's ideology. North Korean historiography emphasizes An's armed resistance and willingness to use violence against imperialism—aspects aligning with the regime's militant nationalism and revolutionary tradition. Both Korean states, despite their profound differences, unite in honoring An as patriot who sacrificed everything for national independence, demonstrating how certain historical figures transcend contemporary political divisions by embodying values that both systems claim to uphold.
Japanese perspectives on An Jung-geun remain deeply contested and controversial. Conservative Japanese nationalists view him as terrorist who murdered a statesman working to modernize Korea, refusing to acknowledge Japanese colonialism's brutality or legitimacy of Korean resistance. More liberal Japanese, while uncomfortable with political assassination, recognize An as sincere patriot whose actions reflected desperate circumstances created by Japanese imperialism. Periodic controversies erupt around An's legacy—when Chinese authorities opened a memorial hall honoring An in Harbin station in 2014, Japanese government officials protested, revealing how unresolved historical grievances continue affecting East Asian international relations.
One of the most poignant unfulfilled elements of An Jung-geun's legacy is the mystery surrounding his remains. Per his final request, An wanted his body returned to Korea after independence was achieved, to be buried in his homeland. However, Japanese authorities secretly buried An in an unknown location near Port Arthur Prison to prevent his grave becoming martyr's shrine. Despite extensive searches conducted by Korean, Chinese, and Japanese researchers over decades, his burial site remains undiscovered. This absence—the inability to properly honor his remains—symbolizes the incomplete nature of historical reconciliation and unresolved grievances between Korea and Japan.
The search for An's remains has become almost mythical quest, with periodic announcements of potential discoveries followed by disappointments when DNA testing or other evidence proves inconclusive. The North Korean government announced in 2008 that it had located what might be An's remains near the former prison site, creating brief excitement before the claim couldn't be verified. The uncertainty creates a sense of unfinished business, with An remaining physically lost even as his memory lives powerfully in Korean consciousness. This liminal state—remembered but not fully recovered—mirrors the broader historical relationship between Korea and Japan, where acknowledgment of past wrongs remains incomplete and contested.
Beyond the physical search, the quest for An's remains represents broader struggle for historical justice. If his remains were found and returned to Korea for state burial with full honors, it would symbolize a form of closure and Japanese acknowledgment of Korean suffering under colonialism. The continued mystery, conversely, symbolizes how historical wounds remain unhealed and how basic questions about colonial-era victims remain unresolved. The search thus represents not just familial desire to properly inter an ancestor but national quest for historical acknowledgment and reconciliation.
Please share your thoughts in the comments about whether political assassination can ever be morally justified or whether it always represents unacceptable violence!
An Jung-geun's actions fit within a long historical tradition of tyrannicide and political assassination as responses to oppression. From ancient examples like Brutus killing Caesar, to religious justifications like Judith slaying Holofernes, to revolutionary violence like Charlotte Corday assassinating Marat during the French Revolution, history offers numerous precedents of individuals using targeted killing against leaders they viewed as tyrants. These historical parallels don't necessarily justify such actions but provide context for understanding how people throughout history have grappled with questions about when political violence against oppressors becomes morally permissible or even obligatory.
Modern parallels to An Jung-geun's situation abound. The various attempts to assassinate Hitler by German resistance figures, Nathuram Godse's assassination of Gandhi, Yigal Amir's assassination of Yitzhak Rabin—all involved individuals believing that killing a political leader was necessary to prevent greater evil or achieve important goals. These cases differ dramatically in circumstances and moral weight—most would view killing Hitler as justifiable tyrannicide while condemning Gandhi's assassination as senseless violence—but they share the pattern of individuals taking law into their own hands based on political convictions. An's case occupies complex middle ground: victim of an imperial system yet using methods that liberal democracies condemn as terrorism.
The ethical questions An's actions raise remain unresolved. Can political assassination ever be justified, or does the rule of law require absolute prohibition regardless of circumstances? Does context matter—the difference between killing democratic leaders versus colonial oppressors? If peaceful resistance proves futile and international community refuses to intervene, do occupied peoples have right to use violence against occupiers? Does assassination's practical futility (An's action didn't prevent annexation) affect its moral status? These questions lack clear answers but highlight the moral complexities that arise when principles like non-violence conflict with imperatives like resistance to oppression.
An Jung-geun's story provides profound insights into colonialism's psychological and moral dimensions. His transformation from educated provincial Catholic to revolutionary assassin demonstrates how imperial oppression radicalizes even moderate individuals when all peaceful avenues for change are closed. The choice An faced—acquiesce to foreign domination or resist knowing resistance would fail militarily—reflects the impossible dilemmas colonized peoples confronted globally. His decision to act despite knowing he couldn't prevent annexation highlights how resistance sometimes matters not for immediate results but for preserving dignity and inspiring future generations.
The international dimension of An's story reveals the complicity of great powers in imperialism's injustices. The silence of Western nations, the cynical bargains trading Korea's sovereignty for other imperial interests, and the failure of international law to protect weak nations exposed the hypocrisy of Western claims about civilization and progress. This historical memory influences contemporary Korean attitudes toward international relations, creating skepticism about relying on foreign support and determination to maintain strength preventing any repetition of the vulnerability that enabled colonization. An's sacrifice reminds Koreans that sovereignty cannot be taken for granted and must be actively defended.
An's religious faith adds dimension often absent from secular nationalist narratives. His ability to synthesize Catholic theology with Korean nationalism, to find in Christianity both prohibition against murder and justification for tyrannicide, demonstrates how religious traditions can inspire both peace and resistance depending on circumstances and interpretation. His pre-execution mass and prayers for enemies illustrate how deeply held religious beliefs can coexist with political violence—a pattern visible across religious traditions and historical periods but which secular analysis often overlooks or misunderstands.
If this article was helpful in understanding An Jung-geun's complex legacy and significance, please share it with others interested in Korean history and anti-colonial resistance!
An Jung-geun's legacy remains intensely relevant to contemporary Korean identity and Korean-Japanese relations. Every anniversary of the assassination and An's execution generates renewed discussion about historical justice, the adequacy of Japanese acknowledgment of colonial crimes, and the ongoing impact of colonialism on East Asian international relations. When Japanese officials visit the controversial Yasukuni Shrine honoring war dead including convicted war criminals, or when Japanese politicians make statements minimizing colonial atrocities, Koreans reference An Jung-geun as symbol of why historical issues cannot simply be forgotten or dismissed. His memory serves as powerful reminder that past injustices continue shaping present relationships.
The 2014 opening of the An Jung-geun Memorial Hall at Harbin Station, built by Chinese authorities, demonstrated how An's legacy extends beyond Korean-Japanese relations to broader regional politics. The memorial's opening triggered Japanese diplomatic protests, revealing how sensitive these historical issues remain over a century later. China's decision to honor An reflected its own tensions with Japan over historical issues and territorial disputes, using a Korean historical figure to make points about Japanese imperialism and its contemporary implications. This internationalization of An's memory shows how colonial-era grievances continue affecting regional dynamics in Northeast Asia.
Educational debates in South Korea about how to teach An Jung-geun's story reflect broader questions about nationalism, violence, and historical memory. Should students learn about An primarily as patriotic hero who sacrificed for independence, or should his story include more nuanced examination of political violence's ethics and effectiveness? How should education balance inspiring patriotism with promoting critical thinking about historical figures and events? These pedagogical questions mirror similar debates worldwide about how to teach contested historical figures—revolutionaries, resistance fighters, and others who used violence for causes they viewed as just.
An Jung-geun's story raises fundamental questions about historical reconciliation between formerly colonized and colonizing nations. What would reconciliation require? Full Japanese acknowledgment of colonial crimes, including specific apologies for individuals like Itō Hirobumi's role? Compensation for victims and their descendants? Changes in Japanese education to ensure accurate teaching of colonial history? Or does reconciliation require Korea to accept that historical grievances cannot be fully resolved and to focus on contemporary cooperation despite unhealed wounds? Different perspectives yield different answers, preventing consensus about the path forward.
An himself, in his final testament, expressed hope for eventual friendship between Korea and Japan based on mutual respect and equality. This forward-looking vision, remarkable from a man Japan was about to execute, suggests An viewed Japanese imperialism as political system to be opposed rather than Japanese people as permanent enemies. Whether this vision can be realized depends on both nations—Japan acknowledging colonial crimes fully and sincerely, and Korea accepting reconciliation's possibility if such acknowledgment occurs. The unfinished nature of this reconciliation means An Jung-geun remains as much symbol of unresolved grievances as of resistance itself.
What would you choose: demanding full historical accountability before reconciliation or prioritizing future cooperation despite imperfect acknowledgment of past?
In conclusion, An Jung-geun's October 26, 1909 assassination of Itō Hirobumi at Harbin Station stands as one of the most significant acts of individual resistance in modern Asian history, transforming a thirty-year-old Korean patriot into eternal symbol of opposition to imperialism and colonialism. An's actions emerged from sophisticated understanding of Korean colonization's systematic nature, articulated through his fifteen-point indictment of Itō that detailed not just military conquest but comprehensive economic, cultural, and political subjugation. His trial testimony, dignified bearing, and eloquent defense of his actions as necessary resistance to tyranny rather than criminal violence challenged Japanese narratives about Korean backwardness and Japanese benevolence, creating historical record that would inspire Korean independence movements throughout the colonial period and beyond. Though the assassination tragically failed to prevent Korea's annexation—indeed, arguably accelerated it by providing Japanese hardliners with justification for complete colonial absorption—An's martyrdom achieved a different kind of success by preserving Korean dignity, demonstrating that some Koreans preferred death to acquiescence, and inspiring future generations of independence fighters who drew courage from his example. His Catholic faith, sophisticated political thinking, and final messages emphasizing peace and reconciliation complicated simple narratives about revolutionary violence, presenting An as complex figure motivated by principles rather than blind hatred, willing to sacrifice himself but hoping ultimately for friendship between equals rather than permanent enmity. The continued disputes over An's legacy—his status as hero in both Koreas, controversial figure in Japan, and symbol of unresolved historical grievances throughout East Asia—demonstrate how colonial-era injustices continue shaping contemporary international relations over a century later. The ongoing search for An's remains, his unfulfilled final wish to be buried in independent Korea, symbolizes the incomplete nature of historical reconciliation and the lasting psychological and political impacts of colonialism. An Jung-geun's story offers universal lessons about resistance to oppression, the moral complexities of political violence, the complicity of international systems in enabling strong nations to subjugate weak ones, and the enduring power of individual sacrifice to inspire collective memory and national identity across generations, making his sacrifice and legacy essential for understanding not just Korean history but the broader human struggles against tyranny and for dignity, sovereignty, and justice that transcend particular nations or historical moments.
An Jung-geun (1879-1910) was a Korean independence activist and Catholic who assassinated Itō Hirobumi, Japan's first Prime Minister and then-Resident-General of Korea, on October 26, 1909, at Harbin Railway Station in Manchuria. An acted to protest Japan's colonization of Korea and held Itō personally responsible for fifteen specific crimes including the 1895 assassination of Korean Empress Myeongseong, forcing protectorate treaties, disbanding the Korean military, suppressing Korean education and culture, and systematically destroying Korean sovereignty. An viewed the assassination as tyrannicide—the justified killing of a tyrant—rather than murder, positioning himself as patriot and prisoner of war rather than criminal. Despite knowing his action wouldn't prevent Korea's annexation, An hoped his sacrifice would inspire continued resistance and draw international attention to Korean suffering under Japanese imperialism.
During his trial, An Jung-geun meticulously detailed fifteen crimes he charged against Itō Hirobumi, including assassinating Korean Empress Myeongseong (1895), forcing Korea into protectorate status through military intimidation, massacring Koreans who resisted occupation, usurping Korean governmental authority, plundering Korean economic resources, disbanding the Korean military (1907), obstructing Korean education, destroying Korean textbooks to erase national history, preventing Koreans from studying abroad, confiscating Korean properties, forcibly recruiting Korean laborers, compelling Emperor Gojong's abdication, deceiving the Japanese Emperor about Korean conditions, and disturbing peace in East Asia through aggressive imperialism. This comprehensive indictment demonstrated sophisticated understanding of colonialism's multifaceted nature encompassing military conquest, economic exploitation, cultural destruction, and political subjugation, creating historical record that influenced Korean nationalist discourse for decades.
An Jung-geun was tried before a Japanese court in Port Arthur (Lüshun) from February to March 1910. He refused Japanese legal representation and conducted his own defense, using the trial as platform to indict Japanese colonialism and articulate Korean grievances. An didn't deny the killing but argued it was justified based on Itō's crimes and positioned himself as prisoner of war rather than criminal, arguing that Korea remained independent nation under occupation. His eloquent testimony, dignified bearing, and comprehensive knowledge of international law impressed even Japanese observers despite the court rejecting his arguments. The trial proceedings were extensively reported, giving An's message reach far beyond the courtroom and complicating Japanese narratives about Korean backwardness. An was sentenced to death and executed by hanging on March 26, 1910.
South and North Korea both honor An Jung-geun as national hero who sacrificed his life for Korean independence, with memorials, museums, and annual commemorations marking his legacy. His portrait appears in textbooks and his name symbolizes patriotic resistance against colonial oppression. In Japan, views remain deeply contested: conservative nationalists view him as terrorist who murdered a statesman working to modernize Korea, while more liberal Japanese recognize him as sincere patriot driven to desperate action by Japanese imperialism's brutality. The 2014 opening of an An Jung-geun Memorial Hall at Harbin Station by Chinese authorities triggered Japanese diplomatic protests, revealing ongoing sensitivity. These divergent perspectives reflect unresolved historical grievances and different narratives about Japanese colonialism, with An's legacy serving as flashpoint in contemporary Korean-Japanese relations.
An Jung-geun's legacy as symbol of Korean resistance against Japanese imperialism profoundly shaped Korean national identity and continues influencing Korean-Japanese relations over a century later. His willingness to sacrifice his life demonstrated that Korean spirit remained unbroken despite overwhelming Japanese military power, inspiring subsequent generations of independence fighters throughout the colonial period (1910-1945). His trial testimony created historical record documenting Japanese colonial crimes and articulating Korean grievances. His Catholic faith and sophisticated political thinking complicated simple narratives about revolutionary violence, presenting resistance to oppression as principled moral choice. The continued mystery surrounding his burial location symbolizes unfinished business in historical reconciliation. Contemporary debates about An's legacy reflect ongoing tensions about acknowledging colonial atrocities, with his memory serving as powerful reminder that past injustices continue shaping present relationships in East Asia.
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