Befriending Laborers by Sharing Their Suffering

Just as I had done in Seoul, I made it a point to go everywhere
in Tokyo. When my friends would go to places such as Nikko to
see the beautiful scenery, I would prefer to stay behind and walk
through all the neighborhoods of Tokyo. I found that it was a city that
looked fancy on the outside but was actually filled with impoverished
people. Again I gave all the money that I received from home to the
poor people.
Back then everyone in Japan was hungry too. Among the Korean
students there were many who were in financial difficulty. When I received
my allotment of meal tickets each month I would give them all
away to students who couldn’t afford them and told them, “Eat. Eat all
you want.” I didn’t worry about earning money. I could go anywhere and
work as a day laborer and be fed. I enjoyed earning money and using
the money to help pay the tuition of students who didn’t have money.
Helping others and giving them food to eat filled me with energy.
After I had given away all the money I had, I would work as a
deliveryman using a bicycle-drawn cart. I went to every district of Tokyo
with that cart. Once, in Ginza, with its dazzling lights, I was carrying a
telephone pole on my cart and it turned over in the middle of an intersection.
Everyone around ran for their lives. Because of these kinds of experiences
I still know the geography of Tokyo like the back of my hand.
I was a laborer among laborers and a friend to laborers. Just like the
laborers who smelled of sweat, I would go to the work sites and work
until the sweat was pouring down my body. They were my brothers, and
I didn’t mind the terrible smells. I shared sleeping quilts with them that
were so filthy that black lice crawled across them in a line formation.
I didn’t hesitate to grasp hands that were caked with dirt. Their sweat
mixed with grime was filled with an irresistible warmth of heart. It was
their warm hearts that I found so attractive.
Primarily I worked as a laborer at the Kawasaki steel mill and shipyard.
In the shipyard there were barges used to haul coal. We would
form teams of three laborers each and work until one o’clock in the
morning to fill a barge with 120 tons of coal. We Koreans could do in
one night what it took the Japanese three days to accomplish.
There were people at some work sites who extorted the blood and
sweat of the laborers. Often these were the foremen who directly managed
the laborers. They would take 30 percent of the money earned
by the laborers they managed and keep it for themselves. The laborers
were powerless to do anything about this. The foremen would exploit
the weak but curry favor with those who were strong. I became so angry
with one foreman that I finally went to him with two friends and
demanded that he pay the workers their full wages.
“If you make someone work, then pay him exactly what he is owed,”
I told him.
He still refused, so we went to him a second day and even a third day.
We were determined to keep up the pressure until he relented. Finally I
kicked him and made him fall down. I am normally a quiet and passive
person, but when I become angry the stubborn character of my younger
years comes back.
The Kawasaki steel mill had vats used to store sulfuric acid. Workers
would clean these by going into them and making the raw material
flow out. The fumes from the sulfuric acid were extremely toxic, and a
person could not remain inside for more than fifteen minutes. Even in
such deplorable working conditions, the workers risked their lives in
order to have food to eat. Food was that precious.
I was always hungry. I was careful, though, to never eat a meal for my
own sake. I felt there needed to be a specific reason for me to eat a particular
meal. So as I would sit down to each meal I would ask myself the
reasons for my hunger: “Did I really work hard? Did I work for myself,
or for a public purpose?” I would face a bowl of rice and tell it, “I am
eating you so that I can do tasks that are more glorious and more for the
public good than what I did yesterday.” Then the rice would smile back
at me with its approval. In those instances, the time spent eating a meal
was mystical and joyful. When I didn’t feel qualified to talk this way, I
would skip the meal no matter how hungry I might be. As a result, there
were not many days when I would have even two meals.
I didn’t limit myself to two meals a day because I had a small appetite. In
fact, once I began to eat there was no limit to the amount I could consume. I
once ate eleven large bowls of udon in one sitting. Another time I ate seven
bowls of a dish consisting of chicken and a fried egg over rice. Despite this
appetite I kept up my custom of not eating lunch and limiting myself to two
meals a day until I was more than thirty years old.
The sensation of hunger is a type of nostalgia. I knew very well about
the nostalgia of hunger, but I believed it was the least I could do to
sacrifice one meal a day for the sake of the world. I also never allowed
myself to wear new clothes. No matter how cold it might get, I would
not heat my room. When it was extremely cold I used a newspaper to
cover myself; it felt as warm as a quilt made of silk. I am very familiar
with the value of a sheet of newspaper.
At times I would simply go live for a while in an area of Shinagawa
where poor people lived. I slept with them, using rags for cover. On
warm sunny days I picked lice from their hair and ate rice with them.
There were many prostitutes on the streets of Shinagawa. I would listen
to them tell me about themselves, and I became their best friend
without ever drinking a drop of liquor. Some people claim they need to
be drunk in order to speak candidly about what is on their mind, but
that is just an excuse. When these women realized that I was sincere in
my sympathy for them, even without drinking any liquor, they opened
their hearts to me and told me their troubles.
I worked in many different jobs during my studies in Japan. I was
a janitor in an office building. I wrote letters for illiterate people. I
worked at various job sites and was a foreman. I was a fortune teller.
When I needed money quickly, I wrote calligraphy and sold it. I
never fell behind in my studies, however. I believed that all these
things were part of my training process. I did all sorts of jobs and
met all sorts of people. In the process I learned a lot about people.
Because I had this experience I can now take one look at a person and
have a good idea of what the person does for a living and whether he
is a good person. I don’t have to weigh various thoughts in my head,
because my body will tell me first.
I still believe that to develop good character a person needs to
experience many difficulties before turning thirty. People need to go
down into the crucible of despair at the bottom of human existence and
experience what that is like. People need to discover new possibilities in
the midst of hell. It is only when climbing out of the depths of despair
and making a new determination that we can be reborn as people able
to pioneer a new future.
We should not look only in one direction. We should look at both
those who are in a higher position and those lower. We should know to
look east, west, south, and north. To live a successful life depends on
how well we see with our mind’s eye. To see well with the mind’s eye
we must have many different experiences and remember them. Even
in the most difficult situations we should maintain our composure,
demonstrate warmth toward others, be self-reliant, and adapt well to
any circumstance.
A person of good character must be accustomed to rising to a high
position and then quickly falling to a low position. Most people are
afraid of falling from a high position, so they do everything they can to
preserve it. However, water that does not flow becomes stale. A person
who rises to a high position must be able to go back down and wait for
the time to come again. When the opportunity comes, he can rise to an
even higher position than before. This is the type of person who can
acquire a greatness that is admired by many people and is a great leader.
These are the experiences that a person should have before turning thirty.
Today I tell young people to experience everything they can in the
world. They need to directly or indirectly experience everything in the
world, as if they were devouring an encyclopedia. It is only then that
they can form their own identity. A person’s self-identity is his clear
subjective nature. Once a person has the confidence to say, “I can go
all around the country, and I will never come across a person who is
capable of defeating me,” then he is ready to take on any task and have
the confidence to accomplish it successfully. When a person lives life in
this way, he will be successful. Success is assured. This is the conclusion
I arrived at while living as a beggar in Tokyo.
I shared meals and slept with laborers in Tokyo, shared the grief of
hunger with beggars, learned the hard life, and earned my doctorate in
the philosophy of suffering. Only then was I able to understand God’s
will as He works to bring salvation to humanity. It is important to become
the king of suffering before age thirty. The way to gain the glory of
the Kingdom of Heaven is to become a king of suffering and earn your
doctorate in that philosophy.