Go

by Kazuki Kaneshiro

Before they knew what happened, the United States and the Soviet Union had divided the Korean peninsula into two countries. So Koreans were allowed to stay in Japan but were forced to choose between South and North Korean nationality. My old man chose North Korea because it touted Marxist ideology and was assumed to be more compassionate toward the poor. And because it showed more concern than the South Korean government for Koreans living in Japan. That’s how my father became a North Korean resident of Japan.

He wasn’t the least bit impressed with himself, though. “You can buy citizenship to any country you want,” he used to joke on occasion. “Which country will it be?”

I had grown up trapped in an environment over which I had no control, but now I had been given a choice. North Korea or South Korea? As horribly limited as my options were, the choice was mine to make. I felt as if I was being treated like a human with rights for the first time in my life.

“Nationality isn’t much more than a lease to an apartment,” I said. “If you don’t like the apartment anymore, you break the lease and get out.”

I stopped what I was doing and looked at my father. He had a serious look on his face. Our eyes met. “No soy coreano, ni japonés, soy un nómada desarraigado,” he muttered. “Huh?” “It’s Spanish. I always wanted to be a Spaniard.” I didn’t reply. “But it didn’t work out. Turns out, it wasn’t about speaking the language.”

“If you don’t have any qualms about changing your citizenship, then why are you still South Korean?” I didn’t answer. A faint smile flickering on the edges of his lips, Miyamoto said, “Please don’t tell me it’s because it doesn’t affect the way you live. What about having to report to the government office every couple of years under the pretense of switching your alien registration? Or what about having to apply for a reentry permit before going overseas? We were born and raised here, and yet we have to ask permission to be allowed back in? Doesn’t it all have a huge effect on the way someone like you lives?”

In the first place, both Koreas are nothing more than pieces of land. What was prohibiting me from going to North Korea? The deep ocean? The tall mountains? The big sky? It was humans. The sons of bitches that put themselves there and roped off the territory as their own were the ones keeping me from seeing my uncle.