Chapter 85

Killing Pigeon (7)

Shitty things always come true.

It happened in an instant—calls started pouring in through the numbers I had prepared in advance.

• Please save me! The villagers are trying to kill me!
• My family was lynched because of me.
• They’re threatening to drive me out of my hometown!

From Patton’s armored brigade and the 93rd Division, I selected some of the guys with no prospects ahead and formed a World War I Veterans’ Association.

Rather than getting too involved, I had to be satisfied with stepping back and providing financial support. If I got any more involved, I’d have no defense against being called a warlord.

And as soon as those veteran friends were discharged and returned home, the association’s activities exploded.

Already, hundreds had fled—to Detroit, San Francisco, Los Angeles, Hawaii—some carrying only valuables, others with nothing at all. If Black people moved en masse to one place, it could instead provoke anti-Black sentiment there. They had to be scattered in small groups, inconspicuously.

There was no way I could stop this massive tide of the times.

Maybe if I were an absolute monarch.
No—actually, the absolute monarchs who tried to stop this tide were being swept away one after another, so no one could stop it.

Then, the answer was obvious: control public opinion.

And as luck would have it, someone right beside me had their irritation at journalists cranked up to 120%.

“So, what exactly are you plotting with my son?”

“We’re talking about making a car for young people like me—people who don’t mind spending money to stand out from others.”

“Hoo… I suppose I’ll just have to watch, whether it succeeds or fails.”

Chairman Ford was currently in a massive legal battle with the Chicago Tribune, backed by an enormous army of lawyers.

He had sued over an article calling him an “ignorant red,” and considering he’d already been labeled everything from an anti-war agitator to a communist, he was practically the number one person who’d love to smear spit all over the press.

“I had a constructive conversation with General Kim, and from what I heard, he wasn’t wrong.”

“Oh?”

“Yes. Why do you think those reporters write such articles? Because they need something sensational to sell newspapers.”

“So?”

“Then we just create a newspaper that produces even more sensational stories—wh- why are you hitting me?!”

“You’re saying things that deserve a hit!”

The kind of media I proposed was simple.

Something far, far more intense than the current trash-infested press—a hopeless pile of sensational rags.

The ultimate firestarter that could slap yellow journalism back and forth.

Its name: the tabloid.

There wasn’t a tabloid newspaper in America yet. Not even Britain’s legendary tabloid The Sun existed yet. So what did that mean? We had to make one.

“You’re not talking about making a paper to compete with something like the Chicago Tribune—you’re saying we should make something even trashier? What kind of nonsense is that?!”

“The actual content of the articles doesn’t matter anyway.”

“What?”

“If we provide the public with better gossip and juicier material, then any trivial article they put out will be buried. Fighting them only exhausts us and hurts. But if we throw out irresistible bait that makes people not even bother reading their articles, we make money too.”

“Hmmm…”

The chairman pondered for a moment before speaking.

“This isn’t something I can decide on my own.”

“Then who else could decide something like this, if not you, Chairman Ford?”

“I understand your point. But if it’s that kind of firestarter, lawsuits will be flying in every day. There are plenty of people besides me who loathe journalists, so let’s propose doing this together.”

Oh… did that… work?

But who exactly are you planning to bring in?

At my simple question, Chairman Ford smiled faintly.

“I can’t tell you that. Traitor.”

Petty old man. Still holding a grudge.

***

And that’s where the pleasant meeting with Chairman Ford ended.

A scream-filled telegram arrived from San Francisco, and I couldn’t delay any longer.

Even having two bodies wouldn’t be enough for everything I had set in motion, but what could I do? I was the one who started all this.

And so, at last, I returned to my hometown.

San Francisco.

I felt sorry for my parents, but I couldn’t bring Dorothy and Henry. I just had to take care of business and head back.

Honestly, even coming here at all was a stretch. Without high-speed rail or passenger planes, traveling from the east coast to the west coast of the United States wasn’t exactly easy.

Fortunately, this time there was no grand welcoming crowd like before. Asking for secrecy had paid off.

“Yujin Kim?”

“Are you General Kim, by any chance?”

“Thank you, thank you. I’m in a hurry right now, so—”

“This way, please. We’ve prepared a car.”

Before a crowd could gather, I was able to join the people who had been waiting for my arrival, and we headed straight to the Korean National Association office.

The days of renting a shabby office in a rundown building were long gone. Now they occupied an entire imposing modern building—it had grown into something quite respectable.

“Oh my baby! Oh my baby! You came back in one piece. You’re not hurt anywhere, are you?”

“Ahem. He’s returned after accomplishing great things for the nation and the people—what kind of unseemly behavior is that?”

“Oh, you just stay quiet! You’re the one who’s been going to church every other day to pray—why are you acting all high and mighty?!”

One shout from my mother, and he shrank instantly. I guess the food chain can’t be helped. I should treat Dorothy well so I never end up like that.

After a brief reunion with my family, we soon gathered in a large conference room and each lit a cigarette.

“Welcome back. Have you been well?”

“Thanks to everyone’s concern. Thank you.”

Me.

Yushin and Yuin, looking noticeably worn out.

And my father.

Ahn Chang-ho and Park Yong-man.

Almost all the key figures leading the Korean community were gathered.

All except one.

“We can catch up later. Let’s handle the urgent matter first. Those Black people—you’ve been taking them in for now, but what exactly happened?”

“As you know, there aren’t even ten thousand Koreans in the United States. It’s barely a handful.”

“That may be true, but—”

Dosan hesitated slightly, but I had no choice except to push harder.

“In a place where population equals power, we cannot make our voices heard on our own. I believe we must join hands with the majority of people of color and become their representatives—their voice—if we are to secure the rights of Koreans.”

The West is truly a melting pot of races.

Whites, Blacks, Hispanics, Chinese, Japanese, Koreans, and more.

Setting aside for now whether to exclude the Japanese, our position is that we must cooperate with as many of them as possible.

“Even if you gather them all together, you still can’t defeat the whites. You know that, don’t you?”

“If we fight the whites, we will only be defeated.”

I spoke quickly to reassure him.

“The United States is clearly a country of white people. If we confront them head-on or provoke their hostility, we won’t last long.”

“Good. That much I can accept.”

The first agenda item was business.

The barbed wire business—that was something our family handled independently.

Then there was the grease gun. It made us a fortune, but now it was basically over.

As for tanks, rather than producing them directly, we earned income through shares and royalties from the Ford Tank Company.

“The job creation effect is lower than expected.”

“You said it yourself, brother. The wartime boom should only be considered for about a year.”

“That’s right. Better not to hire at all than to hire and then fire people—they’d only end up holding a grudge.”

So my directive had been simple.

Expand the business only to a level that could be sustained in peacetime, and outsource the rest—whether through subcontracting, external contracts, or royalties.

This actually produced quite positive results. Since we didn’t aggressively expand on our own and instead passed work to other companies, we seemed to have gained quite a number of allies who were favorably disposed toward us.

“What should we do about the grease gun?”

“There’ll still be demand.”

“Even though the war is over?”

“What other weapon is this cheap, easy to use, durable, and requires no skill?”

There was no better item as a self-defense bullet sprayer for the untrained.

If I remembered correctly, postal convoy guards used to be armed with shotguns. Couldn’t that role be replaced with this compact little ‘fuel dispenser’?

That was something to push for through supply contracts. The grease gun’s strength was that it was so cheap you could just buy another instead of repairing it if it broke—if we pushed that cost-effectiveness angle, there was a chance. I’d have to consult my father-in-law.

After checking everything from real estate to the status of small Korean-run businesses like restaurants, we finally reached the main topic.

“As you know, starting March 1st, there were large-scale demonstrations demanding Korea’s independence, but the Japanese responded only with brutal suppression.”

Everyone’s expression darkened.

There was no mystery to Japanese suppression—massacres backed by guns and bayonets, and merciless beatings.

“As a result, independence activists scattered across various regions have begun organizing themselves. To unite the strength of Korea, it has been decided to establish a Provisional Government encompassing all these organizations. I already know from your letter that you are negative toward national self-determination, Yujin, but shouldn’t the Korean people at least unite and speak with one voice?”

…My head throbbed.

What would be the best way to handle this and still be seen as having done well?

Among those provisional governments, in several places our Prince Rhee would be nominated as Prime Minister, and Doctor Rhee would go even further, declaring himself the ‘President’ of the Republic of Korea—causing chaos before the government even properly opened its doors.

So here, I should probably—

“Even within our Korean National Association, there are growing voices calling for us to formally establish a provisional government or take equivalent action. And naturally, within our ranks, the strongest opinion is that you, Yujin, should be nominated.”

For a moment, I wondered if I had misheard.

Who? Me?

“You mean me?”

“Who among Koreans in America is more well-known than you?”

No one spoke up to object.

Only then did I understand the expressions on Ahn Chang-ho’s face, on Park Yong-man’s face, and even on my family’s.

Expectation.

“I don’t even hold Korean nationality to begin with—I’m an American citizen, and I’ve never even set foot on Korean soil.”

“But your blood is unmistakably Korean. Whether in Shanghai, Seoul, or the Maritime Province, they’re all watching and waiting. Yujin, you must make the decision.”

“I cannot. As a soldier of the United States, I cannot pledge loyalty to two governments.”

“I expected as much. Just know that public opinion is leaning that way.”

Ahn Chang-ho nodded in understanding, while Park Yong-man smacked his lips in disappointment.

“Then do you have any particular thoughts regarding the Provisional Government?”

“What do the two of you intend to do?”

“Of course, we must join it.”

Yes. That was only natural.

Even if the Provisional Government would later fracture and have its legitimacy questioned, that was a matter for the future. At this moment, it was the embodiment of —the mission of the times—carrying the ideals of national self-determination and Korean independence.

But from my perspective, knowing the future, I had no choice but to stop these two.

“……”

“What is it?”

“Do you have some other idea?”

At Park Yong-man’s question, I nodded.

“I think it would be better if the two of you did not go.”

“That’s unexpected. You’re not afraid of falling out with the United States, so is there something else troubling you?”

“Even if I explained now, I don’t think it would fully resonate with you… but I believe it would be better if at least one of you remained here in America.”

At that, both men clearly began to reconsider.

“And as for the Provisional Government, there’s one more person we need to discuss, isn’t there?”

“That man.”

“Yes. That man.”

“I heard you had quite a conflict with him. Will it be alright?”

I tapped the table lightly and sank into thought.

It was time to decide.

Eliminate him or not. Use him or not. Leave him alone or not.

“First, I should hear what he has to say.”

Whether it became his last words or not, I should at least listen.

That was only proper courtesy toward an elder.

Of course, I never said I’d listen right now.

I’d let him sweat for another six months or so.

Even thinking about that man still made my irritation flare up.

And who knows—

Maybe I could use that disagreeable old man to bring down an even more troublesome one.