International Area Review Received: 18 October, 2010

Volume 13, Number 4, Winter 2010 Accepted: 14 December, 2010

Collective Memory and Commemorative Space:

Reflections on Korean Modernity and the Kyŏngbok
Palace Reconstruction 1865-2010*
1
Kim, Michael**
Yonsei University

Abstract

The Kyŏngbok Palace has been the site of continual reconstruction ever since the
Taewŏn’gun’s efforts in 1865 to the recent unveiling of the new Kwanghwamun in August
2010. No other location in Seoul has undergone so much intense reconstruction efforts at
such a prohibitive cost. This study examines the 150 year history of this reconstruction
effort and focuses on two key themes that have not been fully examined in previous works
on this topic. The first is the interplay between the palace grounds and Korea’s encounter
with modernity. Korea’s modern transformation has reconfigured this site multiple times,
and there is a need to explore the multiple ways that modernity has imparted visual
symbolic significance to this location. The second is the intensity of public debate over this
urban site, which heralds the gradual historical emergence of a public culture of
commemorations. From this perspective, the palace reconstruction can reveal far more
than an effort to display Korean nationalism and past traditions. For the site can offer
some important insights into the development of modern Korea’s civil society and public
culture.

Key words: Kyŏngbok Palace, Urban Space, Public Culture, Kwanghwamun, Modernity

Ⅰ. Introduction

As Seoul attempts to reshape its image for the future with various urban
renewal projects, the city has looked back into the past and reconstructed
Kwanghwamun on its precise original location. Unveiled in late August 2010 to
mark the one hundred years since the Japanese Annexation of Korea, the
Kwanghwamun reconstruction is part of a twenty-year effort to restore the

* This work was supported by the National Research Foundation of Korea (NRF) Grant funded by the Korean
Government(MEST)(NRF-2008-361-A00005)
** Michael Kim is Assistant Professor, Graduate School of International Studies, Yonsei University, 50 Yonsei-
ro, Seodaemun-gu, Seoul 120-749, Korea; Tel: 82-2-2123-6294; E-mail: [email protected]

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76 International Area Review 2010, Vol. 13(4)

Kyŏngbok Palace to its original appearance during the Chosŏn Dynasty and to
reconfigure the entire Kwanghwamun Square into a space that represents the
aspirations of the Korean nation. The reasons behind this historical reconstruction
of the palace are compelling. Over the course of several decades, the history of
foreign domination and authoritarian rule had inscribed the Kyŏngbok Palace with
numerous unwanted collective memories of the past. Therefore, the desire to
restore the palace grounds to its original pristine condition before the unfortunate
historical events of modern Korean history may be understood as an attempt to
preserve a past cultural heritage. However, an in-depth historical examination of
this site quickly reveals a far more complex dynamic than first meets the eye. The
palace remained in ruins for 273 years after the Hideyoshi Invasion. The palace
was finally reconstructed in 1865 as an attempt to reestablish royal authority during
a time of national crisis. Each successive regime to take power in Korea then
attempted to leave its own mark of political significance, which triggered numerous
public controversies over the appropriate use of this space. Indeed, one can quickly
discover that no other urban location in Korea has been the focus of constant
reconstruction and public controversy like Kyŏngbok Palace, because no other site
underwent so many attempts to reinterpret political and social significance. From
this perspective, the palace reconstruction can reveal far more than an effort to
display Korean nationalism and past traditions. For the site may offer some
important insights into the historical development of Korea’s modern public culture.
The historical debates over the reconstruction of the Kyŏngbok Palace can
highlight many important aspects of the relationship between public space, spatial
politics and the emergence of a public culture of commemoration. Ultimately, an
examination of this historical site may help to outline the critical issues that should
be kept in mind when considering the symbolic significance of urban landscapes.
Yet before attempting to understand the complex nature of urban spaces, we first
need to consider the fundamental nature of the city itself. Cities are sites of
imagination and representation that can reveal the creativity and values of those
behind its construction. Understanding cities as sites of representation and
imagination that often transcend their material aspects can highlight the fact that
urban spaces are highly malleable palettes that can be reconfigured for countless
symbolic purposes. The fundamental malleability of the urban canvas is a
particularly important feature to keep in mind when cities experience a rapid
modernity. As David Frisby observes, “So many of the representations of our
experience of modernity are tied up with our experience of the metropolis that the

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 Collective Memory and Commemorative Space 77

presentation and representation of the city are likely to share in modernity’s

contradictions.” 1 Public spaces are sites of collective imagination, and they are
inevitably shaped by collective encounters with modernity and reveal a myriad of
contradictory impulses. Thus, a close reading of the public debates over this key
location at the heart of Seoul can reveal many of the complex issues that have
confronted the Korean nation’s engagement with modernity.

Ⅱ. The ‘Unstable Optic of Identity’ and Kyŏngbok Palace

Numerous studies have commented on how cities are texts which can be read
and experienced in ways that impart both individual and collective identities.
Urban spaces can express symbolic significance through visual elements that
reflect how nations hope to represent themselves. Beneath this effort to articulate a
collective expression of a nation’s identity resides a rich amalgamation of historical
experiences that accrue from a capital city’s modern transformation. Describing
contemporary Berlin, Karen Tills notes that the city “represents the ‘unstable optic
of identity’ of the nation—for it is the city where, more than any other city,
German nationalism and modernity have been staged and restaged, represented and
contested.” 2 The ‘unstable optic of identity often results in a contradictory
cityscape where a multitude of conflicting views of nationalism and modernity
express themselves through various visual motifs. The capital city of Seoul has also
repeated staged Korean nationalism and modernity over the years. Attempts to
represent the Korean nation through visual urban elements are inevitably
influenced by major events in modern Korean history, especially those concerning
colonial occupation and war. Erasing the memory of the Japanese colonial presence
and the devastation of the Korean War through urban reconstruction has been an
extended preoccupation among the residents of Seoul. However, any desire to
express national identity and modernity will quickly encounter the problem that the
urban landscape is fundamentally a malleable object. Buildings can be raised and
removed, and the urban landscape often has no predetermined significance. What
may represent national identity and modernity to one Korean may not to another.
For these reasons, a public consensus over the meaning of urban space can be
difficult to achieve and the process can be fraught with controversy.
The century and a half of public debate surrounding Kyŏngbok Palace can offer
an illustrative example of the fundamental malleability of urban landscapes.

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78 International Area Review 2010, Vol. 13(4)

Several academic studies have already examined the significance of the Kyŏngbok
Palace with regards to the decision to remove the Governor General Building in
1993 and the major historic events that have taken place at this location. 3 The
existing works have elucidated the role of nationalism in transforming the palace
grounds, and they have critiqued the various popular identifications associated with
this historic site. However, numerous aspects of the palace reconstruction effort
still remain to be explored in more detail, for the entire process of historic
preservation reflects deeper and more complex dynamics that undergirds modern
societies. As Rudy Koshar observes, “Turn of the century historic preservation
emerged from a chain of impulses: the formation of new social and
communications networks, the evolution of a cultural pessimism that criticized
capitalist destructiveness, the development of new aesthetic concerns in urban
planning, and the rise of a more popular ‘heritage industry’ whose main product
was the historic artifact and whose main consumers were the upper and middle
classes.” 4 Koshar’s analysis of Germany highlights the importance of the
emergence of a middle class public that invents a role for itself as the “collective
steward” of traditions in the face of a modernity viewed in a negative light. Thus
the development of a public culture of commemoration and preservation of
‘heritage’ ultimately reflects broader structural changes taking place within a
society and changes in a society’s attitude towards modernity. In a similar way, one
may highlight the emergence of a civil society in the Republic of Korea that
concerns itself with historical preservation as its anointed mission, as an antidote to
an ambiguous modernity.
The primary goal of the numerous palace reconstruction efforts has been to
recover the lost traditions that the site represents. However, even though the palace
radiates the essential elements of past Korean traditions, the site is also inextricably
entwined with various changing attitudes towards modernity. This is because the
reconstruction efforts must contend with the powerful array of forces that have
brought modernity to the capital city of Korea, all the while attempting to grapple
with a past that can never be fully recovered. In this regard, some important
distinctions must be made between historical preservation, restoration and
reconstruction.5 Construction on the Kyŏngbok Palace cannot involve preservation
or restoration because the original palace built at the start of the Chosŏn dynasty in
1395 was completely destroyed in 1592. Instead, what remains today are only
partial fragments of a subsequent reconstruction effort that began in 1865 and was
completed in 1867. The precise configuration of the original palace was long

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 Collective Memory and Commemorative Space 79

forgotten by 1865, and therefore an entirely different palace was constructed.6 The
preservation or restoration of the original palace remains impossible, and even
restoring the reconstruction of 1865 is a difficult challenge because most of the
buildings were lost to subsequent fires or removed to another location by the
Japanese during the colonial period. Therefore, at best, only a neo-traditional past
can be reconstructed through the various efforts to restore the palace back to its
original state. While the goal of a perfect recovery of the past may be elusive, what
can be readily interpreted from this site are the hopes and fears of different
generations of Koreans that engaged in public discourse and imparted significance
to this urban space. By unpacking the changing significance of Kyŏngbok Palace,
one may gain a better understanding of how Korea’s encounter with modernity
reconfigured Seoul’s urban landscape and how a single location at the heart of a
city can reveal much about the development of its civil society.

Ⅲ. The Significance of Kyŏngbok Palace during the Late Chosŏn

Dynasty

The construction of the original Kyŏngbok Palace began in March 1394 and
was completed in September 1395. Subsequently, the palace was expanded with
additional construction, but a fire in 1553 destroyed its major sections. The palace
was partially rebuilt after the fire, but disastrous events during the Hideyoshi
Invasion left most of the buildings in ruin in 1592. Plans to reconstruct the palace
were discussed during the reign of King Sŏnjo (1567-1608), but the site was
thought to bring ill fortune and the weak finances of a war-torn country shelved the
rebuilding efforts. 7 Instead, the materials prepared for the Kyŏngbok Palace
reconstruction were used to rebuild Ch’angdŏk Palace, which served as the primary
residence of Korean kings throughout the rest of the Chosŏn Dynasty. Subsequent
reconstruction efforts focused on other palaces in Seoul, and the Kyŏngbok Palace
remained in ruin until the 1860s. The arrival of Western imperialism and a looming
sense of crisis finally prompted the palace reconstruction in 1865. However, the
palace reconstruction took place without any accurate architectural plans of the
original palace. Thus, rather than aiming to build an exact replica of the original
palace, the true motive lay in reestablishing royal authority. The key figure behind
this reconstruction effort was the Taewŏn’gun (1820-1898), who took power on
behalf of his son, King Kojong (1852-1919), in 1863 and acted as the regent. The

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Taewŏn’gun successfully enacted major reforms, such as the abolishment of

Confucian academies, and strengthened the fiscal stability of the monarchy. The
palace reconstruction was part of his desire to reestablish the authority and prestige
of the Chosŏn Dynasty to further his plans to reform the monarchical system, but
the prohibitive costs would ultimately endanger the finances of the court at a
critical period of increasing Western incursions.
Initially, the plan to rebuild the palace was welcomed by the residents of Seoul
after Queen Dowager Cho (1808-1890) ordered her ministers to discuss the
reconstruction of Kyŏngbok Palace on April 2, 1865. However, considerable
opposition soon emerged due to the extraordinary large number of mobilized
people and the enormous cost of reconstructing the palace. The debates over the
palace remained largely within the confines of the Chosŏn court, but fierce
criticism emerged over the lavish expenditures involved. The currency was
debased and numerous ways of raising new revenues had to be devised to fund the
palace project. While the Taewŏn’gun had no official position in the court other
than the father of the king, he took the lead in the palace reconstruction project by
appointing individuals who were loyal to him to the office in charge of the
construction. Therefore, the Kyŏngbok Palace reconstruction effort served not only
to raise the prestige of the monarchy at great expense; it also served to consolidate
the Taewŏn’gun’s personal power at court.8 Numerous memorials were submitted
to the court to halt the massive and costly mobilization effort,9 yet the controversial
palace reconstruction was completed in 1867 despite major opposition. However, a
fire in 1873 and in 1876 destroyed much of the new palace. The palace was again
reconstructed after the 1873 fire, but when the palace again burned down in 1876,
the site could not effectively serve as the primary royal residence. King Kojong did
not occupy the palace until 1884, and it is said that he believed the place to be
haunted. When he escaped to the Russian Legation in February 1896 after the
assassination of Queen Min, the palace remained empty and abandoned except for
a few ceremonial occasions.10 Reflecting on the significance of Kyŏngbok Palace
at the end of the Chosŏn Dynasty, Koen de Ceuster observes:

The fact that the palace lay in ruins for over 270 years and was even
considered to be haunted by many of its royal residents is conveniently glossed
over in an attempt to give the palace a national stature befitting Korea’s
contemporary status. This is even more striking as at the time of the
reconstruction people did not exactly revere the building but rather castigated

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 Collective Memory and Commemorative Space 81

it for the hardship it brought upon them, both materially and physically. But
then again, Kyŏngbok was not meant to be a national icon. Intended to give the
royal family back its former status and power it was a dynastic icon belonging
altogether to the pre-modern period.11

The significance of the Kyŏngbok Palace during the Chosŏn dynasty lay mostly
in the way that the monarchy attempted to use this site as a means to perpetuate its
influence and power. Yet due to the misfortune that befell this location, the palace
was not able to serve as the embodiment of royal power throughout much of the
Chosŏn era. Instead, the site suffered the ignoble fate of being re-abandoned in
1896 after 270 years of neglect. Without question, this was an important palace in
the history of the Chosŏn Dynasty, but its significance may lay more in the
monarchy’s inability to utilize this space to achieve the intended effect of
projecting its royal power. This symbol of royal authority ultimately represented
the monarchical way of governance that equated sovereignty within the king rather
than the people of a nation. While the Kyŏngbok Palace may have had the potential
to make the transition from a pre-modern icon of power to a modern iteration, the
misfortunes that befell the Korean nation excluded this site from a modern rebirth
during the latter days of the Chosŏn Dynasty.
Leaving behind the Kyŏngbok Palace, the newly inaugurated Emperor Kojong
reconfigured Seoul along a different axis that surrounded the smaller Kyŏngun
Palace, which is today known as Tŏksu Palace.12 Emperor Kojong built a large
Western-style residence in the Kyŏngun Palace grounds and inaugurated the
Taehan Empire in 1897. Todd Henry describes this urban revival effort, which
included the building of parks, roads, and monuments around the new imperial
center at Kyŏngun Palace as transforming Seoul from the royal city of Hanyang to
the imperial capital of Hwangsŏng.13 The construction of new, modern Western-
style buildings during this period took place alongside major infrastructure
concessions granted to American businessmen by King Kojong in the hopes of
gaining support from the government of the United States against imperialist
encroachment. Consequently, Seoul became the first East Asian city to have
electricity, trolley cars, a water system, telephones, and telegraphs all at the same
time.14 However, the Kyŏngbok Palace was completely excluded from this urban
development designed to express the modernity of the Taehan Empire, and it
would be many decades before this urban space would gain renewed symbolic
significance under Japanese rule.

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Ⅳ. The Colonial Metamorphosis of Kyŏngbok Palace

The control of Kyŏngbok Palace was transferred to the Japanese in 1911, where
it would soon undergo a stunning metamorphosis into a showcase for the Japanese
Empire. The Japanese opened up the palace grounds to the public, which served to
demystify and desacralize a space that had long been off limits to the public during
the Chosŏn Dynasty. 15 Beginning with the Korea Products Exhibition or
Kongjinhoe in 1915, and again during the colonial expositions in 1929 and in 1940,
the Kyŏngbok Palace grounds became transformed into a site that revealed the
might of the Japanese Empire and elicited fantasies of unlimited capitalist
consumption.16 Goods from throughout Japan, Taiwan and Korea were on display
before the thousands of spectators who were tempted with material pleasures in an
urban space that had essentially been transformed from a royal space to a public
theme park. The palace grounds now represented a colonial modernity that not only
reminded Koreans of their conquered fate but also initiated them to the world of
commodity consumption. The old palace grounds came to represent a traditional
backdrop to the colonial modernity on display at the exhibit grounds, which
highlighted the sharp contrast between past and present.
Once the Korean Products Exhibition ended, the decision to build the new
Governor General Building at the front of the palace grounds was announced. The
official ceremony to inaugurate the construction of the Governor General Building
was held in June 1916, and the grounds were prepared by 1918.17 However, rather
than the requirements of the new construction plans, the critical event that led to
the removal of many important buildings within the palace grounds was the fire at
the Ch’angdŏk Palace on November 10, 1917.18 The colonial government offered
to relocate several of the buildings to the Ch’angdŏk Palace at considerable
expense, which the Korean royal family accepted. The removal of the buildings left
the palace grounds largely empty except for the main halls. By early 1926 the
Governor General Building was complete, and the colonial administrators began to
move into the palace grounds. The imposing Governor General Building was the
largest building in the entire Japanese empire at the time of its construction.19 A
larger building would not appear in the Japanese empire until the Imperial Diet
Building was completed several years later. Inside, the Governor General building
had a stained glass dome, which was larger than any in Japan. A special edition of
the journal Chōsen to kenchiku, published in May 1926, was dedicated to the new
building and exclaimed that the Governor General Building would add a new

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 Collective Memory and Commemorative Space 83

chapter to modern Japanese architectural history that their descendants could take
pride in:

In addition, the fact that such a magnificent building has been built in a
peninsula in Asia that lags far behind the culture of the world cannot help
but be an accomplishment to boast about even in comparison to the so
called advanced nations of the West... The new building is a blend of
modern science and art and reveals the highest level that such a union can
attain. This building is Japan and Asia’s pride and it is also the symbol of a
Korea entering the dawn of a new age.20

The new administrative center of the Korean colony was to become a symbol
of Japan’s dominance of Asia and an emblem of Japan’s modern accomplishments
vis-à-vis the West. The modern edifice built upon the Kyŏngbok Palace grounds
was intended to symbolize the scientific and artistic prowess of the Japanese
empire and establish the legitimacy of their rule as a newly emerging modern
power upon the world stage.
The completion of the Governor General Building proved to be a major event
that had an immense psychological impact on the Korean residents of the city, for
the former seat of power of the Chosŏn Dynasty had become re-inscribed as a
space of colonial domination. Koreans encountered a persistent reminder of
colonial authority whenever they encountered the imposing construction. The
Governor General Building at the northern end of the city was eventually
connected to the expansive Chōsen Shinto Shrine built in 1925 on the Namsan
Mountain at the southern end, and the colonial government sliced a north-south
axis through the center of the city to reinforce their colonial domination over the
Korean residents. The demise of the previous symbols of the Chosŏn Dynasty and
the emergence of the new colonial city led one Korean resident to describe the
situation of Koreans in the following way:

The haet’ae (mytical beasts) covered over with straw mats at Kyŏngbok Palace
is crying. The tiger barred behind steel windows in Ch’angdŏk Palace is crying.
It is as if the days when the people of Seoul stared at the two palaces have
suddenly become a dream. Needless to say, today the center of politics is the
Governor General. A line radiating from the base of Namsan Mountain at
Honmachi is the center of their power.21

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84 International Area Review 2010, Vol. 13(4)

The Japanese had removed the main Kwanghwamun Gate that stood in front of
the Kyŏngbok Palace and placed the stone statues of the haet’ae that guarded the
gate into storage. The colonial authorities also transformed the royal palaces into
museums, parks and zoos and redefined the monarchical spaces into public spaces.
By the mid-1920s, the colonial urban redevelopment had achieved its full effect,
and the displacement of the monarchical authority with the symbolic projections of
colonial power was complete.
The public controversy over the relocation of the Kwanghwamun during this
period offers some further insights into the symbolic reconfiguration of Seoul. A
public outcry erupted when the Governor General announced its plans to remove
the gate, and Korean nationalists abroad denounced the decision as a deliberate
humiliation of the Korean people.22 In an article published in the Tonga ilbo in
May 24, 1921, the head of the Governor General’s Construction Department
denied the rumors that the colonial authorities intended to destroy the gate, but he
noted that it had to be moved to a new location, which would require a
considerable amount of money. 23 The relocation of the gate triggered negative
reactions from not only Koreans but Japanese observers as well. The Japanese folk
customs expert, Yanagi Muneyoshi (1889-1961) criticized the Governor General’s
plans in an article entitled, “On Behalf of a Chosŏn Construction about to Vanish,”
which was published in the Japanese journal Kaizo in 1922.24 Yanagi blasted the
colonial authorities for their reckless plans to destroy an important piece of Chosŏn
era architecture. The article was also published in Korean in five parts in the Tonga
ilbo in August 1922.25 The Tonga ilbo reported in October 1923 that the impending
completion of the Governor General Building necessitated the removal of the
Kwanghwamun, because the traditional gate could not harmonize with the
imposing modern building.26 The article further explains that numerous colonial
officials opposed the complete destruction of the gate, but that the decision was at
an impasse, because there was not enough in the budget for the projected cost of
120,000 yen to move it to another location. This amount, the article claimed, would
be enough to build a new elementary school, and the prohibitive cost made it a
difficult quandary.
Ultimately, the colonial officials decided to move the Kwanghwamun and
construct a new Western-style gate to replace it at a cost of 70,000 yen.27 Within a
political context where the colonial government had supreme authority, public
debate could have little impact on the decision to move the gate. Colonial
authorities were clearly aware of the public criticism, but the debate centered more

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on the high cost of removing the gate rather than a consideration of leaving it in
place. A flurry of colonial newspaper articles lamented the fate of the
Kwanghwamun. While most of the articles eulogized the gate as a historic witness
to hundreds of years of Korean history, one of the recurring themes was a lost
Korean past that was powerless to resist the arrival of the modern era. The fact that
the gate would be replaced by a Western-style construction that was in harmony
with the modern colonial architecture highlighted the sharp contrast between the
modernity expressed by the Governor General Building and the lost Korean
traditions expressed by the Kwanghwamun. In an article entitled “I am Leaving!
The Last Farewell of Kwanghwamun” published in the Chosŏn ilbo, a fictitious
account that imagines what the gate would say upon its departure states: “I will say
my last farewell to you all…rather than feeling uncomfortable in front of the glare
of the Governor General’s new house, I would be more comfortable spending my
remaining years by moving into a shaded corner.” 28 The relocation of the
Kwanghwamun would serve as a clear reminder that Koreans were constantly
within the gaze of the colonizers. The fictitious Kwanghwamun declared that rather
than resist the decisions of the colonial masters and stand in the way of colonial
modernity, it was best to move quietly into the shadows. An editorial published in
the Tonga ilbo in April 1927 observes that the Kwanghwamun was the last
commemorative structure built by the hands of the Korean people, and that each
brick and each wooden piece represents their sweat and labor. 29 The editorial
further noted: “Disturbing a single stone (of Kwanghwamun) is like skewering the
deep depths of our hearts, but we are probably the only ones who are aware of this
fact… we can only watch as our precious traditions are uprooted.” Comparing the
Kwanghwamun to a pair of eye glasses that allows one to see both the past and
future, the editorial observes that the glasses serve to reveal a world of 10,000
flowers that only the Koreans can see. However, the writer of the editorial laments
that a ruthless hand had now shattered the lenses of the precious glasses that had
given Koreans access to this precious past.
The themes of a lost tradition that could not be recovered and a stark present
that could not be resisted were captured in the public discourse over the
Kwanghwamun Gate. The transformation of the palace grounds at the hands of the
Japanese served as a powerful metaphor for the paradoxical nature of colonial
modernity. The Korean traditions represented by the few remaining palace
constructions were displaced by the flood of commodities on display during the
colonial exhibitions, and the monarchial authority that once radiated from the site

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was replaced by the irresistible colonial authority of the Governor General

Building. While protest did take place over the Japanese plans to reshape the palace
grounds, the lack of any civil society to speak of and public interest groups that
viewed historic preservation as the fundamental duty of urban residents during the
colonial era would not allow Koreans a voice in how their urban centers would be
reshaped. The palace became a symbolic amalgam of a conquered past and a
capitalist modernity that coexisted in an uneasy tension at the heart of Seoul. This
juxtaposition of the past and present inscribed on the palace grounds would become
one of the most visible legacies of the colonial period and the focus of considerable
public debate after liberation in 1945.

Ⅴ. Reconstructing Kyŏngbok Palace for the Postliberation Era

When the US Military took over the southern half of the Korean peninsula in
September 1945, the Americans initially administrated from the Governor General
Building. This site would later host the inaugural session of the Republic of
Korea’s National Assembly and become symbolically linked with the South
Korean government. When the palace grounds became damaged during the Korean
War, the Governor General Building also suffered considerable destruction, and it
would be largely neglected until reopened as the central administrative building
under President Park in 1962. The wooden upper portion of the Kwanghwamun
Gate was entirely destroyed by fire during the Korean War, yet the limited finances
did not allow for its immediate reconstruction. Therefore, the entire palace grounds
underwent over a decade of neglect. Various uses were found for the largely empty
venue up to the 1960s, including an American cowboy show sponsored by the
Chosŏn ilbo, an ice skating rink, and even an international pro wrestling event.30
Echoing the shadows of the colonial exhibitions on the palace grounds, the military
government of General Park Chung Hee opened the Industrial Exposition in May
1962 to commemorate the one year anniversary of the military coup of May 16,
1961.31 According to an article published in the Chosŏn ilbo in April 14, 1962, the
exposition grounds featured 30 exhibits that displayed 10,000 products produced in
South Korea and an entertainment section for both children and adults.32 The article
title boasted that one could spend an entire day at the exhibit grounds and still not
see every attraction. The Taehan News also reported that the largest exhibition
since Korea’s liberation was held to commemorate the one year anniversary of the

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military coup that aimed to achieve the economic development of Korea. 33 The
displays showcased the products available from a newly industrializing Korea, and
the entire event served to legitimize the military rule of General Park. The closing
remarks of the Taehan News segment notes that various entertainment facilities
were provided, and the residents of the city were particularly attracted to the
aquarium, where female divers from Cheju Islands could be found. Under the
military junta, the palace grounds were once again transformed into an urban stage
that represented both past traditions and a modernizing present. Just as the colonial
authorities hoped to showcase the modernity that its rule represented, the military
junta used the palace grounds to highlight its own visions of an industrialized
modernity.
The passage of the Cultural Heritage Preservation Act in January 1962 and the
establishment of a government administration for managing cultural assets would
begin a fresh round of controversies over the palace grounds. On January 12, 1963
the Chosŏn ilbo reported on a plan to build a golf course on the site of the palace,
which triggered major criticisms from academics. 34 The article reports that the
3,000,000 won annually collected through gate receipts was barely enough to keep
the facilities in operation and alternative sources of revenue had to be found to stay
in operation. Ultimately, the plans for the golf course were abandoned, but this
episode reveals some of the practicalities of maintaining cultural heritage assets
without enough allocation of government revenues. Between 1961 and 1967, 31
buildings within the palace grounds were restored, but the majority of the projects
were small in scale and under a cost of 2,000,000 won.35 Major plans to transform
the palace grounds were finally initiated when five buildings connected to the new
National Museum began their construction in January 1966 and the palace grounds
would begin a new chapter of its postliberation fate.
The centerpiece of the 1960s palace reconstruction efforts would be the new
Kwanghwamun Gate, which was completed in December 1968. Two competing
plans were originally drafted for the purpose. The city of Seoul proposed to build a
concrete Kwanghwamun on the original site, while the Cultural Heritage office
proposed to build a wooden structure on the existing location at the side of the
place. Ultimately, the decision was made to build the gate out of concrete and steel
on its original location. The decision was not without controversy, for the proposal
to build a concrete and steel gate generated heavy criticism. 36 However, public
opposition failed to sway the decision, and a concrete Kwanghwamun was soon
unveiled. Constructed in tune with the aesthetics of the Park Chung Hee Era, an

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88 International Area Review 2010, Vol. 13(4)

editorial published in the Han’guk ilbo began with a title “Kwanghwamun: A new
historic gate has opened to withstand the winds and rains of 1,000 years.”37 The
editorial notes that the old Kwanghwamun was a wooden structure that could not
withstand the unfortunate fate of the nation, but the new concrete Kwanghwamun
would represent a Korean modernization that was rooted deeply in its past
traditions. The theme of a Korean modernity that maintained its connections with
Korean traditions was a prevalent theme of the 1960s and 1970s, and perhaps no
other construction of the era represents this sentiment better than the concrete
Kwanghwamun, which allowed Koreans to recreated a concrete rendition of the
special ‘glasses’ that allowed them to travel back visually to their past through
these gates. The Taehan News proudly proclaimed that, with the exception of the
wooden Kwanghwamun sign in han’gŭl that President Park himself had penned,
not a single piece of wood was used in the construction of concrete, stone and steel
wires.38 The news announcer states that the gate represents the face of a people
who flow through history and an autonomous nation of cultured citizens. This basic
desire to preserve the past during an era of rapid changes echoes the desires of city
planners elsewhere. Karen Till notes about reconstruction efforts in Berlin:

After unification, the heroic planner promises to return the city (and the nation)
to its dignified historic status and protect further destruction from happening in
the future. Implicit to planners’ claims to return the city to its “true” status are
nostalgia for a lost city and fears about continued damage in a rapidly
changing present.39

The concrete Kwanghwamun reflected a similar yearning on the part of the

Park regime to achieve a Korean modernization that would avoid the ‘harmful’
elements of modernity by fusing the traditional past with the modernizing present.
The question of whether or not the gate was an ‘authentic’ return to the past was
not an important consideration for the Park Chung Hee Era, because the crucial
purpose was to root Korean modernization in its past. The fears of an uncontrolled
modernity full of discord would lead to persistent calls to return to an idealized past,
but the relentless rush for development also infused the palace grounds with the
conflicting impulses of modernity.
The theme of a Korean modernity rooted in its traditions would be replaced by
a different kind of public discourse over the palace grounds in the 1990s. Rather
than trying to harmonize the Kyŏngbok Palace with Korean modernity, the

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 Collective Memory and Commemorative Space 89

sentiments moved towards completely restoring the site to its pristine traditional
appearance. The Roh Tae Woo government held the opening ceremonies for a
twenty-year palace restoration campaign on June 5, 1991. Efforts to reconstruct the
original palace then triggered considerable controversy over whether or not the
Governor General Building should be destroyed or removed. The building had
been converted into the National Museum in 1986, but its former incarnation as the
hated visual symbol of colonial rule could not be forgotten. The Kim Young Sam
government ultimately made the final decision to demolish the building and
performed the spectacle of cutting off the top of the building on Liberation Day in
1995. Numerous academic works have already explicated the symbolic importance
of this event in the construction of Korean nationalism, so there need not be a full
discussion of this aspect in this study. The efforts to remove the Governor General
Building and reconstruct the original palace were also linked to efforts made by
President Roh and President Kim to establish the legitimacy of their regimes after
decades of military rule. 40 The aspect here that seems worthy of note is the
intensity of public opposition that surrounded the news that the building would be
demolished.41 A major tide of public opposition erupted in 1993, when the Minister
of Cultural Affairs announced the decision to demolish the building by Liberation
Day in 1995 and temporarily move the contents of the National Museum into
storage without holding any public hearings. Commentators criticized the removal
of a landmark building in such haste without considering its historical significance
and the potential damage to fragile cultural artifacts by relocating them into storage
before a replacement museum could be built. In a sense, there is a need to view the
intensity of debates over the palace reconstruction and the Governor General
Building within the context of the democracy movement in 1987 and the rapid
growth of communications media and public debates that followed. The public
discourse challenged the civilian government’s authority as the custodian of
tradition and heavily criticized the lack of public involvement in the decision to
demolish the building, just as in previous authoritarian regimes. As Yi Sŏn-bok, an
art historian at Seoul National University, points out:

When I heard about the Ministry of Culture’s decision to temporarily move the
National Museum, myself and many others could not help but feel
disappointed by the present government. This decision has led many to
conclude that the so called ‘Civil Government of the People’ makes decision
based on politics rather than reason. The temporary move of the Central

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90 International Area Review 2010, Vol. 13(4)

Museum took place without a single official debate and so called experts were
unofficially mobilized for the decision.42

The removal of a hated symbol of colonial rule generated a storm of criticism

that covered a broad spectrum of issues, but central among them was the extremely
short time frame and lack of preparation for such a massive effort involving the
preservation of countless museum pieces. To the opponents of the decision, the
removal of the Governor General Building would become a litmus test for the
democratic intentions of President Kim Young Sam’s government. While public
opinion regarding the removal of the building may have largely been in favor of
President Kim’s decision, dissenting voices pointed out the lack of due process
when making such an important decision over a public space at the heart of the city.
In a sense, the authority to reshape the Kyŏngbok Palace became challenged by a
newly emerging public discourse that questioned the government’s fundamental
authority over public spaces.
The final chapter in the Kyŏngbok Palace reconstruction effort would be the
relocation of Kwanghwamun back to its original location, which was completed in
August 2010. The city of Seoul decided that the Park Chung Hee era
Kwanghwamun was several meters away from its original location and set at a
wrong angle to the palace because it had previously been calibrated to the site of
the Governor General Building. While this event can be seen as the latest round in
a long series of decisions to reshape the Kyŏngbok Palace grounds, what
distinguishes this episode were the extended public hearings and debates that
preceded the decision. In July 2003, a public hearing was held on the palace
reconstruction effort and over 200 people packed the auditorium of the National
Folk Museum.43 The hearing discussed the results of palace research reports that
had been prepared since the end of 2002 and concerned citizens were invited to
express their opinions about the palace reconstruction and the fate of the
Kwanghwamun Gate. This phase of the palace reconstruction efforts would be part
of a larger project to transform the entire Kwanghwamun Square area from a
highly congested roadway to a pedestrian park. On January 23, 2005, the Minister
of the Ministry of Cultural Heritage announced plans to remove the han’gŭl sign
that President Park had penned himself. Considerable debate took place over the
sign and they took on a political character as Koreans deliberated over the memory
of President Park. On January 24, 2006, the Ministry of Cultural Heritage
announced the details of the plan to reconstruct a new Kwanghwamun made of

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 Collective Memory and Commemorative Space 91

wood on the original location and the replacement of the han’gŭl sign with one
made from historical photographs of the previous Taewŏn’gun era sign. The
debates over the Kwangwhamun between 2003 and 2006 were in some respects
just as fierce and heated as the earlier ones, but what may be worth noting is that
considerable public discussion preceded the final decision and unlike earlier efforts
to reconstruct the palace, there were few concerns raised about the legitimacy of
the entire decision making process.
Liberation Day on August 15, 2010 witnessed the unveiling of the newly
reconstructed Kwanghwamun and 150,000 filled the square to celebrate the
occasion. The City of Seoul announced a statement regarding the significance of
the new Kwanghwamun and made note of several key points:

After the Japanese empire destroyed our culture and history, the streets of the
Chosŏn Dynasty’s Six Ministries that had given way to automobiles have been
returned to its citizens as the people-centered “Kwanghwamun Square.” Now
that the Kwanghwamun has recovered its original appearance, the construction
that represents our people has been properly restored for the first time in a
hundred years.44

The sentiments expressed by this statement reveal a basic desire to return the
palace back to an age before the arrival of modernity and restore a proud symbol of
the nation to its original location. What had once symbolized the monarchical
authority of the Chosŏn Dynasy now firmly represented the Korean people in a
newly designed Kwanghwamun Square free of automobiles. Behind such
sentiments is a clear understanding that the space belongs to the people and that the
people had the right to a palace grounds without the modern trappings, even if
intense public discussions over public spaces are themselves hallmarks of
modernity.

Ⅵ. Conclusion

The existing plans to reconstruct the Kyŏngbok Palace call for eventually
rebuilding approximately 40% of the Taewŏn’gun era complex. The reasons for
this partial reconstruction concern mostly practical matters. Much of the former
palace grounds have given way to urban development and the cost of repurchasing

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92 International Area Review 2010, Vol. 13(4)

the high priced land at the center of Seoul would be prohibitive. In addition, the
maintenance cost of a completely reconstructed palace would be a major financial
burden. Therefore, the site cannot be fully restored to its original condition, for at
best only a partial approximation of the site’s previous appearance can be achieved.
However, the symbolic significance of the palace grounds extends much further
than simply a return to past traditions. The site contains many elements that reveal
the indelible impact of modernity: from the fervent desire to eliminate all traces of
the modern to the intense public debates that have surrounded its reconstruction.
Ultimately, the significance of the palace grounds may not lie in the actual neo-
traditional buildings that fill the complex. Instead, from a historical perspective,
what seems far more significant is the emergence of a public culture of
commemoration in modern Korean society with a firm belief that the public is the
rightful custodian of public spaces. What had once been considered monarchical
space during the Chosŏn Dynasty and later colonial space during the Japanese
occupation has now become a site of intense public contestation in Korea’s
postliberation civil society.
Efforts to reconstruct the palace will no doubt continue well into the future, and
there will be public controversy that follows any further decisions over how to
reconfigure this space. An historical overview reveals that conflicting
representations of the palace grounds began with Korea’s first encounter with
modernity, and at times the site was even excluded from major urban
reconstruction efforts due to various calamities and financial difficulties. The
current trend towards reconstructing the grounds to represent a lost Korean
tradition lies in sharp contrast to previous efforts to interpret the grounds as an
emblem of modernity. Indeed, the ‘unstable optic of identity’ resulted in
conflicting messages being inscribed into this space, as different generations of
Koreans and political authorities developed their own particular interpretations.
Regardless of the changing perspectives on Kyŏngbok Palace, now that a public
culture of commemoration and historic preservation has emerged in Korean society,
no one authority can claim supreme power to reshape this space. Instead, this
central part of Seoul’s urban landscape now serves as an important nexus point for
Korea’s complex urban politics and a contested terrain among different interest
groups for the right to impart their own vision of the Korean nation and Korean
modernity.

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 Collective Memory and Commemorative Space 93

Notes
1
David Frisby, Cityscapes of Modernity (Cambridge: Polity Press, 2001), p. 5-6.
2
Karen Till, The New Berlin: Memory, Politics, Place (Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press, 2005), p. 5.
3
See Koen de Ceuster, “The Changing Nature of National Icons,” Review of Korean Studies (December 2000),
207-242, pp. 207-242; Jong-Heon Jin, “Demolishing Colony: The Demolition of the Old Government General
Building of Chosŏn,” in Sitings: Critical Approaches to Korean Geography, ed. Timothy R. Tangherlini and
Sallie Yea. (Honolulu: University of Hawaii Press, 2008), p. 39-58.
4
Rudy J. Koshar, “Building Pasts: Historic Preservation and Identity in Twentieth-Century Germany,” in
Commemorations: The Politics of National Identity, ed. John R. Gilis (Princeton: Princeton University Press,
1994), p. 218.
5
Preservation is the act of saving what already exists. The goal of preservation is to prevent the erosion and
deterioration of historical sites to maintain their original form. However, depending on the material used, it may
be impossible to preserve certain historical sites. Wooden structures in particular cannot be preserved indefinitely,
while stone objects can be preserved for a long time. The goal of restoration, on the other hand, is to replace
certain damaged parts of historical sites so that the original appearance of the site can be maintained or recovered.
Restoration efforts may eventually replace nearly all of the original construction materials but cannot maintain the
original design and architecture of historic sites.
6
The palace does follow the lines of the original, but significant deviations made it essentially a different
construction. Cho Chae-mo and Chŏn Pong-hŭi “Kojongjo kyŏngbokkung chunggŏne kwanhan yŏn’gu,”
Han’guk kŏnch’ukhakhoe nonmunjip kyehoekkye (2000), 34, pp. 31-40.
7
Munhwajech’ŏng, Kyŏngbokkung pyŏnch’ŏnsa (Sang) (Seoul: 2007), p. 42.
8
Hong Sun-min, “Kojongdae kyŏngbokkung chunggŏnŭi ŭimi,” Sŏul yŏn’gu 24 (August 2007), 63, pp. 57-82.
9
Ching Young Choe, The Rule of the Taewŏn’gun, 1864-1873: Restoration in Yi Korea (Cambridge: East Asian
Research Center, Harvard University, 1972), p. 67-69.
10
Hong Sun-min, “Tasi kwanghwamuniyŏ kwanghwamuniyŏ chosŏn hwangsilŭi unmyŏnggwa ilcheŭi kunggwŏl
p’agoe,” Yŏksa pip’yŏng 36 (1997), 261-293, pp. 261-293.
11
Koen de Ceuster, op. cit., p. 80-81.
12
Todd Henry, “Respatializing Chosŏn’s Royal Capital,” in Sitings: Critical Approaches to Korean Geography,
ed. Timothy R. Tangherlini and Sallie Yea (Honolulu: University of Hawaii Press, 2008).
13
Todd Henry, “Respatializing Chosŏn’s Royal Capital,” p. 18-22.
14
Bruce Cumings, Korea’s Place in the Sun: A Modern History (Norton, 1997), p. 132-133.
15
Koen de Ceuster, op. cit., p. 88.
16
For more on colonial exhibitions in Korea, see Kal Hong, "Modeling the West, Returning to Asia: Shifting
Politics of Representation in Japanese Colonial Expositions in Korea," Comparative Studies in Society and
History 47 (2005), 507-531, pp. 507-531.
17
The architect of the Governor General Building was George de Lalande (1872-1914) who was born in
Hirschberg, Prussia. George de Lalande did not live long enough to see the completion of his work because of his
death in 1914, and Japanese architects completed the plans for the new building.
18
Munhwajech’ŏng, op. cit., p. 87.
19
Son Chŏng-mok, Ilchegangjŏmgi tosisahoesang yŏn’gu (Seoul: Tonggwang Media, 2005), p. 552.
20
Cited and translated in Son, op. cit., p. 552-553; For more on the postliberation controversy over the Governor
General Building see: Koen de Ceuster, op. cit., pp. 207-242.
21
Soch’un, “Nyero bogo,” Kaebyŏk (June 1924), 57-58, pp. 57-58.
22
Tongnipsinmun (March 7, 1923).
23
Tonga ilbo (May 24, 1921).
24
For more on Yanagi Muneyoshi and his criticisms of the Governor General’s decision to move the
Kwanghwamun, see Kenji Kanda, “Kwanghwamunŭl chikin ilbonin: yanagi muneyosiwa ilbonin kulisŭtoindŭl,”
trans. Yŏng-ch’ŏl Cho Sinhakkwa Segye 57 (Winter 2006), 302-326, pp. 302-326.
25
Tonga ilbo (August 24- August 27 1922).
26
Tonga ilbo (October 2, 1923). While the official reason given for removing the Kwanghwamun was that it did
not harmonize with the modern Governor General Building, another important consideration was the fact that
colonial city planners had redesigned the roads of the capital city and the placement of the gate did not match
with the new road system. Ha Sang-bok, “Kwanghwamunŭi chŏngch’ihak: yesulgwa gwŏllŏgŭi chaehyŏn,”
Han’gukchŏng’chihakhoepo 43 (Fall 2009), 89, pp. 77-98.
27
Chosŏn ilbo (January 17, 1927).
28
Chosŏn ilbo (October 26, 1927).
29
Tonga ilbo (April 14, 1927).

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30
Munhwajech’ŏng, op. cit., p. 96.
31
During the Syngman Rhee period, an industrial exhibition was held on the grounds of Ch’anggyŏng Palace
instead of the Kyŏngbok Palace grounds.
32
Chosŏn ilbo (April 14, 1962). According to the article, the international exhibit featured a model of an
American satellite and the anti-communist exhibit displayed the crimes of communist countries. An entertainment
section featured activities for children as well as adults. Food from around the world was available in the
restaurant and a 300,000,000 hwan lottery ticket could be purchased for 100 hwan.
33
“Kwanghwamun chun’gongsik kwan’gyŏng,” Taehan nyusŭ no. 705, (December 13, 1968).
34
Chosŏn ilbo (October 22, 1963).
35
Munhwajech’ŏng, op. cit., Kyŏngbokkung byŏnch’ŏnsa (Sang), p. 99.
36
Chosŏn ilbo (November 9, 1967).
37
Han’guk ilbo (December 11, 1968).
38
“Kwanghwamun chun’gongsik kwan’gyŏng,” Taehan nyusŭ no. 705, (December 13, 1968).
39
Karen Till, op. cit., p. 48.
40
Ha, op. cit., 91-92, pp. 77-98.
41
Kang In-Sŏn, “Yet ch’ongdokpu ch’ŏlgŏ nonjaengŭn urieke muŏsŭl namgyŏtta?” Wŏlgan chosŏn (October
1993), 344-364, pp. 364-344; A collection of essays opposing the removal of the building by architects and artists
were published as Min-Ch’ŏl Pak, ed., Kŏnch’ukŭn ŏpta? (Seoul: Kanhyang Media, 1995).
42
Yi Sŏn-bok, “Panmannyŏn yŏksarŭl kiŏk’o mŏngdŭlge hal semin’ga,” in Kŏnch’ukŭn ŏpta? ed. Min-Ch’ŏl Pak.
(Seoul: Kanhyang Media, 1995), p. 75.
43
Chungang ilbo (January 28, 2005).
44
Nyusŭwaiŏ (August 29, 2010).

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