remembering princess deokhye
by Clarice Lee
by Clarice Lee
Deokhye Ongju, the last princess of the Korean Empire (1897-1910), is one of the many women who were systematically erased, and forgotten throughout history. For this reason, I want to honor and commemorate her through my monument.
First, I will give a brief narrative of her life as I believe that it is imperative in order to understand the purpose of my monument. Born in 1912, two years after the annexation of the Korean Empire in 1910, Princess Deokhye was the youngest daughter between Emperor Gojong and his concubine, Yang Gui-in. She immediately became the nation’s darling, and was greatly loved and cherished by the royal family. However, having been born at a time when the Korean Empire lost its power, she was not officially acknowledged as a princess until 1917 when Emperor Gojong persuaded the Governor-General of Korea, Terauci Masatake, for her entry in the register of the Imperial Family. Only then, she was given the title Deokhye Ongju not Gongju, the Korean word for princess, because she was the daughter of a concubine, not the queen.
After her father’s sudden death in 1919, Princess Deokhye’s life unfolds into a series of tragic events. In 1925, she was taken to Japan allegedly to continue her studies at the young age of 14. She was only allowed to return to Korea for her mother’s funeral in 1930, and was immediately brought back to Japan afterwards. During her adolescent years in Japan, Deokhye was described as a timid and silent girl who spent most of her time alone. Furthermore, she was inevitably ostracized by her peers and the Japanese nobility due to her nationality, and having witnessed her father’s abrupt death, she constantly feared for her own safety as well. Consequently, she often skipped meals, and was said to only drink from her personal water bottle, which she always carried with her. Under these circumstances, she quickly developed a mental illness, which was diagnosed as precocious dementia, now known as schizophrenia.
Despite her deteriorating mental health, Princess Deokhye was arranged to marry Count Sō Takeyuki, a Japanese aristocrat, by Empress Teimei. After their marriage, she soon gave birth to her daughter Masae in 1932. However, Princess Deokhye spent the following years in a mental hospital due to her worsening condition. Even after Korea finally gained independence in 1945, the government did not allow her to return home in order to steer off any unwanted political chaos. With the defeat of the Allies, the Japanese Empire lost its power, and Deokhye’s marriage into the Japanese nobility became meaningless; the couple divorced in 1953. In 1956, Masae ran away leaving behind a suicide note, and was never seen again; this unfortunate incident only exacerbated Deokhye’s illness.
Princess Deokhye was only invited to return to Korea in 1962. It is said that she cried while approaching her homeland, and still remembered her court manners after 37 years. She resided in Changdeok palace until her death.
Every article I have read about Princess Deokhye emphasizes and focuses on the tragedy of her life: it is almost as if the two words “Deokhye” and “tragedy” go hand in hand. While I want to stay true to the events of her life, I do not want to commemorate her in this light. As a solution, I will have a plaque with an inscription that informs the viewers who Deokhye Ongju is. However, out of the many tragic events, I will commemorate and preserve her in her happiest memory. From a young age, Deokhye was taken from her family, stripped of her national identity, and forced to learn the language and culture of her colonizer. Thus, I want to memorialize her as the princess of Korea wearing the traditional royal hanbok: who she always was at heart and yearned to be, but could not be.
My monument would be placed in Koreatown, Long Island since it holds one of the largest Korean populations in the United States. The Korean community in New York is composed of immigrants, Korean-Americans, or in my case, international students, and more. Despite the diversity within the community, we all share a longing for Korea whether it be Korea as a home, family, or a missing identity.
For this reason, I want my monument to both commemorate Princess Deokhye and provide a space that could foster solidarity within the Korean community. In order to achieve this, the monument would be constructed out of stainless steel to allow passersby to see their reflection in the statue: they would not only see Princess Deokhye but see themselves in her.
Lee Bul, Titan, 2013.
Zhan Wang, Artificial Rock, 2001.
Furthermore, there would be a kiosk where people could sit and write their experiences as a Korean living in New York. Upon their choice, they could either keep their memos or post them on the kiosk for others to read. Through this individualized but shared act, I aim to transform the public space into a liminal space that could allow the viewers a moment to reconnect with themselves.
My kiosk would be similar to this except written memos by the viewers would be hung on the walls. There would be paper, wooden boards, and pens provided for the viewers to write on.
Monuments not only represent the past, but also the present and future as they reflect what we inherited, believe in, and celebrate. The story of Deokhye Ongju will not act as a reminder of a painful history, but symbolize an inheritance of patriotic solidarity, identity, and community that lives on in the present and will be carried on into the future.
Works Cited
Chung, Ah-young. “Life of Joseons Last Princess Revisited.” Koreatimes, 19 Feb. 2010, koreatimes.co.kr/www/news/culture/2010/02/135_61101.html.
“Late Joseon Princess Deokhye's Life Revealed.” The Korea Herald, 8 Aug. 2010, www.koreaherald.com/view.php?ud=20100808000154.
“Princess Deokhye - The Tragic Tale of Korea's Last Princess.” History of Royal Women, 12 Jan. 2020, www.historyofroyalwomen.com/deokhye-of-korea/princess-deokhye-the-tragic-tale-of-koreas-last-princess/.