Col. Kim Young-oak, formerly of the U.S. Army, is 86. A second-generation Korean-American, he is known to Americans as a soldier who has written a new war history of the U.S. in France, where his unit helped liberate the French from Nazi forces during World War II. In Korea, he is still remembered by the hundreds of war orphans he looked after.
Col. Kim was also the first officer from an ethnic minority in U.S. history to command an Army combat battalion, played a major role in advancing the Allied forces' liberation of Rome during World War II, led the legendary Japanese-American battalion (the 100th battalion) that won two presidential citations, was commander, 1st battalion, 31st regiment, 1st Army division during the Korean War, and won over 20 medals from the U.S., French and Italian governments.
Kim fought in two wars, once to safeguard liberal democracy from fascist dictatorship and the other time from communist dictatorship. His life carries special significance at a time when the nation observes the 60th anniversary of its liberation from Japanese colonial rule and the 52nd anniversary of the Korean War armistice.
Despite being a second-generation American citizen, he has cherished Korea throughout his life. Though being much more fluent in English than in Korean, he has insisted upon his Korean name: a difficult choice in the U.S. at a time when prejudice against ethnic minorities was so strong as to keep them out of frontline service in the armed forces. His comrades called him Young.
Discharged from the service when World War II ended, he returned like a latter-day Cincinnatus to his laundry business, though there he earned five times as much as his captain's salary. But when the war broke out in Discharged from the service when World War II ended, he returned like a latter-day Cincinnatus to his laundry business, though there he earned five times as much as his captain's salary. But when the war broke out in Korea, the land of his parents, he decided to rejoin the Army and give up his comfortable life.
"As a Korean, the most direct way to help my father's country even a little, and as a U.S. citizen, the most direct way to repay even a little the debt owed to Korea by the U.S. was to go to Korea, pick up a gun and fight," he explains today. But he also believed the U.S. owed Korea for excluding the South from its defense perimeter in East Asia with the so-called Acheson Line, and that this was the cause for North Korea's invasion of the South.
Asked why he loves Korea as an American, he usually answers, "I'm 100 percent Korean and 100 percent American." This means he has two fatherlands and stresses his commitment to his identity even through the experience of discrimination as a Korean-American. "I've lived my life with the identity and pride of being Korean," he says.
Leaving Korea after the end of the Korean War, he returned as a U.S. military adviser in the 1960s and watched Korea start to emerge from the ashes. Watching Korea's economic development during the 1970s, he said, "It gave me a different feeling about the bloodshed" during the war.
He watches the news about Korea carefully from his home in the U.S., hoping for a wise resolution to the nuclear standoff with North Korea. "The North Korean nuclear dispute is fairly worrying, but there mustn't be another war," he says. "U.S. policy toward North Korea must not be premised on a worst-case scenario of war." Indeed, this war-hardened veteran is a supporter of the "sunshine policy" started by the Kim Dae-jung administration.
When he first set foot in Korea in March 1951, it was the height of the Korean War. Here, he took a particularly active interest in the war orphans. His unit was the only frontline combat unit that provided regularly financial support to a Korean orphanage, sponsoring the "Gyeong-cheon-ae-in-sa" orphanage, which used to be located in Seoul's Samgakji neighborhood. The unit's first contribution was US$145, and this grew gradually larger.
Unit members used to ask family members to buy relief supplies for the orphanage when they wrote back home. In 2003, Kim was decorated by the Korean government for his social service in Korea. Accepting the award, he expressed a desire to see some of the orphans he met during the Korean War again. The dramatic reunion was perhaps one of the most emotional moments of his career.
Since being discharged as a colonel due to his war wounds while at a military hospital in San Francisico in 1972, he has engaged in various activities to help Los Angeles' Korean community. His income is not insignificant $7,500 a month, but living along Los Angeles' Saturn Street in an apartment costing $1,200 a month, he keeps his living expenses to a minimum and uses the rest of his money for charitable activities.
Between 1978 and 1988, he was director of the Los Angeles chapter of United Way, the largest charity association in the U.S. At the time, the government was slashing its budget, but even in that vortex he was able to secure large budget outlays for the Korean community. The Korean Health, Education, Information and Research (KHEIR) -- the Korean community's largest social service group -- Koreatown Youth and Community Center (KYCC), Korean American Coalition (KAC) and other Korean-American interest protection groups were created with his support.
If his list of awards has a gap, it is that he has never been awarded an Order of Military Merit by Korea, the nation he considers his fatherland. During the Korean War, he led an undefeated front-line unit with the U.S. Seventh Infantry Division, which was responsible for the central section of the front line, and played a role in carving out the current DMZ, which projects 60 km into the North. But Korea has never recognized him for military service.
Kim is supported not just by the Korean but also by the Japanese community. When he enlisted after the outbreak of World War II, he was classified as "Japanese" and sent to a unit composed of Japanese-Americans. During the war, he frequently faced death alongside these Japanese-Americans -- a paradoxical situation for a young man whose parents fled Korea and provided donations to the Korean independence movement through their store. He had a strongly nationalist upbringing and as a child was told not to play with Japanese children or eat Japanese food.
But his Japanese-American brothers-in-arms respected a man who apparently laughed at death, calling him "Samurai Kim", and his martial exploits are still legend in Los Angeles' Little Tokyo. The Japanese-American educational Go For Broke Educational Foundation made a film depicting his life, "Forgotten Valor", which it played in several places around Los Angeles.
Col. Kim hopes the relationship between Korea and Japan will turn out like his friendship with Japanese-Americans, but he makes it clear that Japan's past mistakes cannot be overlooked. When then California state lawmaker Mike Honda pushed California State Assembly Joint Resolution No. 27 calling on the Japanese government to apologize and pay compensation to World War II comfort women, he had Kim's support. At the time, the Japanese-American community lobbied to block the resolution, but Col. Kim, who was chief of the World War II veterans' association, was able to convince them to change their stance from opposition to support for the bill.
Young-oak Kim's remarkable life is slowly being recognized in Korea. The city of Incheon, which plans to open up a museum on the history of Korean emigration by 2007, is thinking of setting up a display dedicated to Kim. To mark the 100th anniversary of Korean immigration to the United States in 2003, Kim was named a "hero of Korean immigration" along with Hawaii State Supreme Court chief justice Ronald Moon and Major League baseball pitcher Park Chan-ho. Kim has been contacted by Hollywood and Korean movie executives who'd like to make a move or drama about him.
As Kim, ever the optimist about Korea, enters the twilight of his life, the words of another famous soldier come to mind. "Old soldiers never die, they just fade away."
