Kim Min-gi never imagined that a song with only eight lines would change his life forever.

It was 1970. A freshman art major, Kim loved playing guitar and writing songs between painting. One summer morning, a stroll through a graveyard near his workroom inspired him to compose his short verse. He named it "Morning Dew” (Achim Iseul). Soon, completely unintended consequences overwhelmed him.

By the standards of Korean popular music at the time, the song was stunningly innovative. Its poetic lyrics and powerful melody contained an implicit message of courage and liberation, though Kim insisted that he had no subversive intention. The song quickly attracted widespread public attention amid longing for true democracy. Unnerved, the nation’s military junta banned “Morning Dew” at broadcasting stations and live performances.

Yet, the song continued to spread like floating embers through darkness, igniting more and more fervor, unity and solidarity among pro-democracy activists. It soon became the anthem of the democracy movement sung at every protest. By then, Kim was firmly in the dictatorship’s crosshairs. The rest of his songs were banned along with his public activities.

“I had little interest in (the) student movement. Then, suddenly, I found myself turned into a student activist under tight surveillance,” Kim noted. “My college life was already in tatters. I was constantly instructed to revise the lyrics of my songs. I was unable to release any song in my name.”

The authorities never imprisoned Kim but seldom left him alone either, apprehending him anytime to interrogate and torture him on fabricated allegations. He spent much of his 20s and 30s trying to be invisible. He grabbed whatever was available to sustain his nomadic existence, surviving as a factory worker, tenant farmer, coal miner and laborer on a seaweed harvesting boat.

But those years living anonymously led to lyrical depictions of the everyday reality of his surroundings, his coworkers and neighbors eking out a living at the humble grassroots. Some of those songs were released under another person’s name but carried his unmistakable message and style. They chronicled a gloomy era in contemporary political history, an unheard-of attempt by Korea’s first singer-songwriter.

With the popular vote introduced for the presidential election in 1987, the nation achieved political democratization. The long ban on blacklisted artists, writers and performers was lifted. But Kim maintained a low profile. In 1991, with the proceeds from the sales of his CDs, he opened Hakchon, a small theater and theater company, in Daehangno street for youth culture and arts.

There he worked hard as an impresario playing multiple roles as a producer, director, composer and mentor, putting on musicals and thereby tending a healthy nursery for the performing arts across genres. Over the next three decades, the theater grew into a famed cradle of actors and singers and an iconic hub of popular culture.

In all his endeavors, Kim remained steadfastly committed to his principles of “staying behind the scenes” and “transparency in profit sharing.” And most of the time he struggled to keep his theater afloat, but he never accepted financial assistance with strings attached. Hakchon closed in March this year, while Kim was receiving chemotherapy for stomach cancer. He passed away in July, at age 73.

Last Wednesday, Kim was posthumously honored with the Woodang Award, which memorializes independence activist Lee Hoe-yeong (1867-1932). “Mr. Kim Min-gi dedicated himself to building a free and equal society and contributed to enriching the spirit of our society through his cultural and artistic activities,” said Lee Jong-chan, president of the Woodang Education and Culture Foundation, at the award ceremony.

Lee emphasized that Kim’s thoughts overlapped with Lee Hoe-yeong’s advocacy for freedom, equality and human rights. “Particularly,” he said, “Mr. Kim’s self-effacing personality, never putting himself ahead of others but calling himself a backstage person, is reminiscent of Woodang who insisted on remaining an anonymous, behind-the-scenes leader throughout his lifetime.”

Lee Hoe-yeong, also known by his pen name Woodang, exiled himself in northeast China, leading his family of six brothers, shortly after Japan’s annexation of Korea in 1910. The Lee family spent all their enormous fortune on paving the ground for military struggle to regain Korea’s independence. Lee was tortured to death at the Russo-Japanese prison in Lushun, China, 13 years before liberation.

A half century on, “Morning Dew” still infuses protests and inspires artists. At a small concert in tribute to Kim, which followed the award ceremony, singer Chong Tae-chun recited a poem he had written for the event:

“I’ve never listened to his songs, lying down / I sprang up when his song played on the radio at night / His songs were different / Setting up a signpost of new standards for our songs … His eyes were on the lowest spots in the world / In solidarity with the weak / With anger at political oppression / The tragic nature of the reality / And his painful optimism to overcome the tragedy / Thus our songs became a human act of deeper and wider thinking / Ah, those beautiful songs / He is no longer with us / Kim Min-gi, the beautiful person / I cannot sing his songs carelessly.

Lee Kyong-hee

Lee Kyong-hee is a former editor-in-chief of The Korea Herald. The views expressed here are the writer's own. -- Ed.