I managed to avoid it each time I came here before. I knew about it, vaguely and stayed away. Before now, it was the gardens that I came for. The most subtle, soothing and pretty ones I have ever seen: Saiho-ji (西芳寺), with over 200 kinds of moss; Katsura Rikyu (桂離宮), a little detached palace; Sanzen-in (三千院) and Jakko-in (寂光院), two Buddhist monasteries north of the city in Ohara (大原); the splendid temples Tenryu-ji (天龍寺), Nanzen-ji (南禅寺) and Ryoan-ji (竜安寺); the lake at the Byōdō-in (平等院) monastery. the karesansui (枯山水, dry landscape) creations of gravel and sand, stones and bonsai (盆栽)—imitations of a sea, islands, river currents, a patch of forest. You sit in front of these and if there is no one around, you can get lost in it; you can stay a long time. Troubled souls must have made these idylls. I am always looking for what there is inside the temple. The central worship hall of the Buddhist monastery Chion-in (知恩院) is one of the most beautiful interior spaces I have ever seen. And there is a little brook that runs into Byōdō-in; I have walked off the main path, gotten away from everyone else and sat down close to where the water runs over rocks and makes a tiny waterfall. The calm I have felt here is what has led me to ask my wife to scatter my ashes at this place.
Kyoto is like this: You come into it through the cruddy post-modern train station and you know, that, for all your efforts, the money you have spent, the studying you may have done, the stories you plan to tell, you are still quite like the rest of the horde. You will see what they see, stand in lines with them and take buses to find some of the magic. You will go to the Golden Pavilion of the temple Kiyomizu-dera (清水寺), the tea ceremony and geisha (芸者) show in the quarter of Gion (祇園); you will buy some delicious sweets and other Kyoto stuff because guidebooks and acquaintances have urged you to. Mementos are crucial. I have made many wonderful photo albums that have yet to earn the acclaim—or even the passing interest—they deserve.
Best of all are what Japanese call niwa (丹羽, garden). Any of us who are smart enough as tourists find some places of tranquillity that make all the cash (bye-bye), the lugging of bags, the sweat, the crowds (philistines, for sure), the outrageously high prices, the whole exhausting experience of travelling afar—all of this will finally have been worth it. The garden at the temple Shisen-do (詩仙堂), a little piece of paradise is just up the hill from where the legendary swordsman Miyamoto Musashi (宮本 武蔵, c.1584-1645) cut down a bunch of samurai (侍) from the Yoshioka clan (吉岡町, Yoshioka-shi) under a big old pine tree; or sitting down on the porch of the temple Shoden-ji (正伝寺), with Mount Hiei (比叡山, Hiei-zan) in the distance; walking through the bamboo grove in Sagano (嵯峨野). Having some strawberry-flavoured kakigori (かき氷, かきごお, shaved ice) with condensed milk pored over it, after you have just gotten some healing in a place like Tofuku-ji (東福寺) temple.
But Kyoto is not all about the pretty and the sublime. It was a very bloody place during the 1860's revolution against the Tokugawa Dynasty (徳川幕府, Tokugawa Bakufu) that ruled Japan for over 250 years. Assassinations, beheadings, surprise attacks in alleys, bars, homes. Heads stuck on poles on the banks of the Kamo River (鴨川, Kamo-gawa, Ducks’ River). Blood and bloodied walls and floors drenched and the howls of the killers and the killed.
And then there is Mimizuka. At the end of the 16th century, the dictator Hideyoshi, the one who succeeded in unifying Japan under his ruthless and at the same time brilliant authority, had a notion of conquering China. Korea was en route—a road to the big prize, a nation along the way that itself had to be brought under foot. But Koreans did not cooperate, did not roll over. They fought like the blazes and had military leaders like Yi Sun-Sin (李舜臣, 이순신, 1545-1598) and Kwon Yul (權慄, 권율, 1537-1599), plus a lot of support from Chinese troops, who made a mess of the Japanese invaders, sending them back to their native land twice. The Japanese ruined as much of this land as they could: Destroyed about 95 percent of Korea's palaces; laid waste to the farmland; kidnapped some of the best potters, forcing them to work and teach in Japan. Wrecked so much because they said they were superior and destroyed all evidence to the contrary. From his base in Osaka (大阪), Hideyoshi let his generals know that they would be rewarded based on the number of Koreans killed by units under their command. Individual soldiers were told that they should kill at least three apiece. And there had to be proof. Severed heads were best. But there was not room on the returning ships for tens of thousands of heads. Ears were another option, but proving that two came from the same victim was harder than just having one nose. So, noses it was, mainly.
The Japanese did not get anywhere close to grabbing China. Admiral Yi Sun-sin and his navy thrashed their foes near the island of Hansan (閑山島, 한산도, Hansando), Okpo (玉浦, 옥포) and Noryang (露梁, 노량). General Kwon Yul, with the help of Buddhist monks, stone-throwing ladies and assorted militia, whipped the much-larger assembly of Japanese at Haengju (幸州, 행주) near Seoul that they could not take. In time, they had to leave. The would-be conqueror of Asia was near his death when the defeat of his army and navy was assured and approaching fast. He wrote in his will that all his forces should return. At the tail end of this doomed campaign, his soldiers became more bloodthirsty. Korean soldiers and civilians were mutilated. No one knows how many. The estimates range from 40 000 to 200 000 people. The noses were tossed into big barrels of salt water and then put on the ships as the humiliated losers sailed back to the Land of the Rising Sun. They returned to Japan with these trophies.
In Kyoto, the things were on display for a time, signifying the terrifying power of Japan, sending a message to the Chinese and Koreans that resistance came at this price. But the Japanese had lost the war; Hideyoshi's dream of Asian conquest came to this: the deaths of a few hundred thousand people, the razing of most of Korea's royal complexes, infrastructure and agriculture.
One warrior clan alone, the Nabeshima (鍋島氏 Nabeshima-shi), brought back 29 251 noses from Korea. The leaders of that group must have gotten a fine piece of land as a sign of the dictator's pleasure. But what to do with so many thousands of cut-off body parts? Hideyoshi did something quite rare for autocrats of his time: He ordered that the noses be given a proper burial in front of the Great Buddha Hall of the Hoko-ji (方広寺) temple, a temple that was later ravaged by fire twice and is not now in sight of the tomb, but just north of the nearby shrine to this despot whose simian mug earned him the nickname ‘the monkey’.
Why did he command that these victims of his damned drive be honoured in death? We do not really know, but it is likely that there were at least three motives—first, to accentuate the fact that his armies could slay so many; second, to show that he could be compassionate, that he was human enough to pay his respects to the souls of any dead; third, perhaps to do what he could to ward off the threat of furious, vengeful ghosts.
A burial mound in Kyoto is called Mimizuka by Japaneseand Kwimudum by Koreans
The burial mound was first called Hanazuka (花冢)—a much more accurate name, since hana (nose) and zuka (hill). The chief priest of Hoko-ji, Saisho Jotai, being a fine lackey, exclaimed how the nine-metre-high memorial was a sign of Hideyoshi's great mercy. Saisho and his fellow monks were to pray for the spirits of the horribly cut-up-and-killed Koreans. Sometime in the early 1600's, an official in the new regime of the Tokugawa shogun (将軍, commander) in Edo (江戸)—today Tokyo (東京)—decided that Hanazuka was too crass, too disturbing as a name and an image. The Hill of Noses became Mimizuka, a more gentle-sounding. Not quite as gross. For Koreans, it has always been Kwimudum (긔무듬, Tomb of Ears) though here too there is the same error: The name should be Komudum (코무듬), since ko (nose).
So, this time in Kyoto—it may be my seventh visit and it may be my last, one never knows—I go around as if there will never be another chance and I will make this rarely-visited site a priority. I have come to Kansai (関西地方, Kansai-chihō, Kansai Region) to get a new residence visa at the South Korean consulate in Osaka. We foreigners do not quite know why we have to travel to a foreign country to get a residence visa for Korea, but it is a good opportunity for us to do some sightseeing, to get away for a short time. I am an architecture and history buff, so I have decided to see as many buildings designed by Ando Tadao (安藤 忠雄, 1941- ) as I can, to spend time in a few really nice museums and to finally make my own pilgrimage to the misnamed Hill of Ears.
At Kyoto station, I take the #206 bus heading toward the Kyoto National Museum and Sanjusangen-do (三十三間堂, Thirtythree Ken Hall Long), the temple with 1001 statues of the Buddhist goddess of mercy, Kannon (観音). In India, she is Avalokitesvara (अवलोकितेश्वर, Lord who Looks Down). Japanese like to say that each member of their clan can find his or her own face on one of those statues, since every one is a bit different. A few years back, I went here with my best friend, Mr. Sin (신시, Sinsi), but he could not find his face, perhaps because he is Korean. Obviously, I did not look for mine! Once on the bus, I ask to the driver to inform me when we arrive at Mimizuka. He looks at me in a very strange way and grumbling he comments: “You are a very strange foreigner to visit this grim place”. Fifteen minutes pass and out I get. The shrine of Toyokuni (豊国神社, Toyokuni-jinja) is across the street on the right. It is a Shinto sanctum where Hideyoshi is revered as a god. And somewhere very close to here is a hill packed with the noses of perhaps a hundred thousand of his victims.
Just a few steps and I stand on a cute little playground with a bright light-blue concrete baby hippo that two young kids pretend to feed grass to. Not sure of where exactly I am, I ask to a young lady where Mimizuka is. She gives me a gentle Japanese smile and points just past the park. Set back a ways from the road is this steep and bulging hill with a stupa (स्तूप, heap) on top of it. The grass covering the mound is a deep green.
I try but I cannot imagine noses in there. What happens to noses or ears that were buried 410 years ago? How do the neighbours feel about this place? There is a shiny silver sign with text in Japanese and Korean only. No English for people like me. I immediately assume that this is another example of the Japanese penchant for trying to keep outsiders ignorant of their nation's sins. But, to be fair, that is hardly unique to this people. I want a good text in my language that lays out the awful truth. I want an exception to the rule of silence, denial and cover-up. I want to take some good pictures, to absorb the horror of this place and then go. I look at the tidy houses around here, the neat-and-clean neighbourhood, the happy toddlers with the hippo and once again I look at the macabre hill with the stupa on it. Have all the noses turned into dust? Parts of so many faces become part of the ground, like the Bible says it is going to happen? Who were they? A few minutes are enough, I think. If I stay more, I will not get out of this and now it is starting to rain.
Across the street near the entrance to the Hideyoshi-is-a-god shrine, I see a college-aged guy standing there looking at his tour book and seeming a bit unsure where to go next, so I go up to him. His fine Fodor's tour book is in French. I tell him about where I just came from and share with him the story. Mimizuka is not in his book and he has never heard of it. I encourage him to check it out on the Japanese sign at the tomb. The rain starts coming down harder, so we go our ways.
On the bus back to Kyoto station, an American man close to my age starts chatting with me, as in: "What brings you here?" He has a Japanese wife and a 5-year-old child who stares at me as I tell her papa about the Mound of Noses. He is a professor of Japanese history at a college in eastern Pennsylvania and he has never heard of the place, either, though he speaks to me with the easy confidence of a seasoned Kyoto-explorer—a student and professor of Japanese history. He is in the old capital of this country for a two-week training session in Noh (能楽, nogaku, skill or talent) theatre. Every day, he tells me, he spends hours practicing the precise and difficult moves of performers of this ancient form of drama. He looks at me in a way that is part blank and part displeased as I tell him about my excursion to Kwimudum. Just to keep the conversation going, since he and his wife seem to be interested in talking with me, I tell them about two of the places in Japan that fascinate me the most. They are very small islands: Okunoshima (大久野島), in the Seto Naikai (瀬戸内海, Inland Sea) in Hiroshima Prefecture (広島県 Hiroshima-ken). From 1929-1945, it was the site of the biggest chemical weapons facility in the nation. And Otsushima (対馬) in Nagasaki Prefecture (長崎県, Nagasaki-ken) home to a training base for kaiten (回天, return to the sky) suicide subs during World War II. The face of my fellow American gets longer as I speak. He is an expert in the Muromachi Period (室町時代, Muromachi jidai, 1336-1573). He does not seem to know or care much about either the era of Hideyoshi or Hirohito (裕仁). A certain tension seeps into our exchange. I like to think I am a swell guy who is just eager to swap stories. His brow creases and he blurts this out: "Oh, we have got these people in my department. All they know is World War II; Japanese crimes. They do not know this country's very rich history. Nothing about Muromachi! They cannot speak Japanese. They could never survive here!" seems like he is even upset with me. I am one of them. I do not speak Japanese. I have only a Korean wife. No interest in gruelling Noh theatre rituals. Kinda sad! I would have been happy to hear all about where his passions lie. Still and all, any head of any Japanese history department should know about the misnamed Mimizuka and those islands.
The bus arrives at the Kyoto station; another parting of strangers briefly brought into each other's spheres. They will go to their somewhere and I will go back to the J-Hoppers cheapo (Guest House) a few blocks behind the station. One more full day in Japan and then back to Korea. With the help of Myo-hwa (my wife) and of Mr. Sin, the Korean friend who speak Japanese, I find out that the bilingual sign is actually quite good, by Japanese standards. It says how Hideyoshi "tried to extend his power to the continent and invaded the Korean peninsula," how his troops cut off the ears and noses of Korean soldiers "and people, even women, ... Hideyoshi was defeated ... by the tenacious resistance of Korean people. And Mimizuka/Hanazuka ... gives us an admonition of the suffering of Korean people in battle." Though the Japanese government declared this site a ‘national cultural asset’, thereby rejecting Korean attempts over the years to either have the Hill of Noses bulldozed or moved to Korea, Tokyo does not even provide the funds for upkeep of the grounds, so it is local folks who tend to it; Japanese people. The city of Kyoto commissioned the bilingual sign. The stupa on top of the hill has probably been there almost from the beginning, since there is a drawing of it on a 1643 map. But the script engraved into it is unreadable—something derived from India and used long ago in Japan for Buddhist rituals sutra (सूत्र, peace). The dismal hill will remain in Kyoto.
During this visit, I have gone, as I always do when I am here, to one of the most calming and beautiful places in the world. It is the Kodai-ji (高台寺) temple in the low western hills—the Higashiyama area (東山区, Higashiyama-ku, East Mountain), not so far from Hanazuka and the shrine to the tyrant who died in 1598. His wife, following tradition, became a nun after his death and she had this temple made in his honour. In the summertime for a few weeks, it is softly illuminated by electric lanterns. The gardens and wooden buildings are all serenity. A small pond embodies the trees that arch around and over it with a depth that makes it more than a reflection: It is as if the trees are down in the water. I cannot avoid to think at two worlds—terrific illusion. I cannot reconcile the statue of the ugly dictator ensconced in a chapel here—the evil of the man—with this perfect stillness, this peace.
PS. I wrote these notes about one of the many trips in Japan sometimes in August 2005, but I believe that it could be still today useful in remembering a sad page of Korean history.
Giorgio Olivotto
Photo by Giorgio Olivotto
Seoul, Korea
June 12, 2011
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