As I was coming out of the Kremlin Palace after meeting Mr.Gorbachev, I turned to Bo Hi Pak, who had accompanied me,
and gave him a special instruction.
“I need to meet President Kim Il Sung before the end of 1991,” I told
him. “There’s no time. The Soviet Union is going to end in the next year
or two. Our country is the problem. Somehow, I need to meet President
Kim and prevent war from occurring on the Korean peninsula.”
I knew that when the Soviet Union collapsed, most other communist
regimes in the world would also fall. North Korea would find itself
forced into a corner, and there was no telling what provocation it might
commit. North Korea’s obsession with nuclear weapons made the situation
even more worrisome. To prevent a war with North Korea, we
needed a channel to talk to its leadership, but we had no such channel
at that point. Somehow, I needed to meet President Kim and receive his
commitment not to strike first against South Korea.
The Korean peninsula is a scaled-down version of the world. If blood
were shed on the Korean peninsula, it would be shed in the world. If
reconciliation occurred on the peninsula, there would be reconciliation
in the world. If the peninsula were unified, this would bring about
unification in the world. Beginning in the late 1980s, however, North
Korea had been working hard to become a country possessing nuclear
weapons. Western countries were saying that they would stage a first
strike against North Korea, if necessary. If the situation continued to
the extreme, there was no telling what desperate move North Korea
might attempt. I knew I somehow needed to open a channel of communication
with North Korea.
It was not an easy task. Bo Hi Pak communicated with North Korean
Vice Premier Kim Dal Hyun, but North Korea’s response was firmly in
the negative.
“The people of North Korea know President Moon only as the ringleader
of the international movement for victory over communism,” the
vice premier said. “Why would we welcome the leader of a conservative,
anti-communist group? A visit to North Korea by President Moon
absolutely cannot be permitted.”
Bo Hi Pak did not give up. “President Nixon of the United States
was a strong anti-communist,” he reminded the North Korean official.
“But he visited China, met Chairman Mao Zedong, and opened
diplomatic relations between the United States and China. It was
China that profited from this. Until then, China had been branded
an aggressor nation, but it is now rising as the central country on
the world stage. For North Korea to have international credibility,
it should establish a friendship with a worldwide anti-communist
such as President Moon.”
Finally, President Kim Il Sung invited my wife and me on November
30, 1991. We were in Hawaii at the time, so we quickly flew to Beijing.
While we were waiting in the VIP lounge of Beijing Capital International
Airport, which the government of China had arranged for us to use, a
representative of the North Korean government came and handed us
the official invitation. The official stamp of the Pyongyang government
was clearly visible on the document.
“The Democratic People’s Republic of Korea extends an invitation to
Mr. Moon Sun Myung of the Unification Church, his wife, and entourage
to enter the Republic. Their safety is guaranteed during the period
of their stay in the North.”
It was signed “Kim Dal Hyun, Vice Premier, Cabinet of the Democratic
People’s Republic of Korea. November 30, 1991.”
Our group boarded a special flight of Air Koryo (aircraft no. JS215)
arranged for us by President Kim. A special flight from President Kim
had never been arranged for any foreign head of state, so this was very
exceptional and special treatment.
The aircraft flew over the Yellow Sea, up to Sin-eui-ju, over my
hometown of Jeong-ju, and on to Pyongyang. The special route had
been charted to let me see my hometown. My heart began to pound
as I looked down at my hometown, dyed red by the light of the setting
sun, and I felt numb deep in my being. I wondered, “Can this
really be my hometown?” I wanted to jump out right away and start
running around the hills and valleys.
At Pyongyang’s Sunan International Airport, family members
whom I had not seen for forty-eight years were there to greet me. My
younger sisters, who used to be as beautiful as flowers, had become
grandmothers entering their senior years. They grasped my hands,
creased their eyebrows, and began to cry wildly. My older sister,
now more than seventy, grabbed me by the shoulder and cried. I,
however, did not cry.
“Please,” I said, “don’t do this. It’s important for me to meet my family,
but I came to do God’s work. Please don’t do this. Get hold of yourselves.”
Inside my heart, I was shedding tears like a waterfall. I was seeing
my sisters for the first time in more than forty years, but I could not
embrace them and cry with them. I maintained control of my heart,
and made my way to our place of lodging.
The next morning, as has been my custom throughout my life, I
awoke early in the morning and began to pray. If there were any surveillance
apparatus in the guesthouse, my tearful prayer for the unification
of the Korean peninsula would have been recorded in its entirety. That
day, we toured the city of Pyongyang. The city was well-fortified with
the red slogans of juche ideology.
On the third day of our visit, we boarded an aircraft to tour Mount
Kumgang. Though it was the winter season, the Kuryong Falls had not
frozen and still spouted a strong flow of water. After touring all the different
areas of Mount Kumgang, we boarded a helicopter on our sixth
day, to be transported to my hometown. In my dreams, I had felt such
a strong yearning for my childhood home that I felt as though I could
run to it in one bound. And now, there it was, appearing before me.
I could hardly believe my eyes. Was this real, or was I dreaming? For
what seemed like the longest time, I could only stand there, like a statue,
in front of my home. After several minutes, I stepped inside. It used to
be in the shape of a square, with the main wing, guest wing, storehouse,
and barn built around a central courtyard. Now, only the main wing
remained. I went into the main room, where I had been born, and sat
on the floor with my legs crossed. Memories of what it had been like in
my childhood came back to me as clearly as if it were only yesterday. I
opened the small door that led from the main room to the kitchen and
looked out at the backyard. The chestnut tree I used to climb had been
cut down and was gone. It seemed as though I could hear my mother
calling to me sweetly. “Is my little tiny-eyes hungry?” The cotton cloth
of her traditional dress passed quickly before my eyes.
I visited my parents’ grave site and offered a bouquet of flowers. The
last time I saw my mother was when she came to visit me in prison
in Heungnam and cried out loud. Her grave was thinly covered by
the snow that had fallen the night before. I brushed it away with the
palm of my hand and gently caressed the grass that had grown over her
grave. The rough touch of the grass reminded me of the roughness of
my mother’s skin on the back of her hand.
