筆者が東亜日報・權五琦記者と「密会」した書店（1970年代）。Photo Source: Flicker “Brentano’s Bookstore” on Streets of Washington, CC BY-NC 2.0.
PRI | A Secret Meeting with a Dong-A Ilbo Correspondent in a Bookstore: KCIA Threats and the Work of a Washington Correspondent
English text of this post appears at the bottom of this post.
【PRI】本屋で待ち合わせた「東亜日報」記者との密談――KCIAの脅迫とワシントン特派員の仕事
在米ジャーナリスト 髙濱 賛 (Tato Takahama)
Pacific Research Institute
2026年11月1日
ニューヨーク・タイムズのニコラス・クリストフ記者が10月30日、天安門事件の取材を振り返る記事を書いた。
この記事で私の目を引いたのは、彼が当時の取材を手伝っていた中国人青年を米国に逃がした経緯を、自らの体験として改めて明かしたことだった。
青年は劉翔（Liu Xiang）。当時19歳の清華大学の学生で、クリストフ夫妻の取材を手伝っていた。天安門事件後、中国当局から繰り返し取り調べを受け、逮捕を恐れて逃げた末に拘束され、投獄された。脱獄して北京に戻った彼は、クリストフ氏に助けを求めた。
クリストフ氏と妻のシェリル・ウーダン氏（中国系アメリカ人）は苦悩した。逃亡した人物の国外脱出を助けることは、ジャーナリストとしての職業倫理に反する。中国の法律にも触れ、ニューヨーク・タイムズの北京支局そのものを危険にさらす可能性があった。編集幹部に相談することもできなかった。電話が盗聴されていたからだ。
それでも二人は決断した。劉翔を香港に逃がし、クリストフ氏自身も翌日香港に飛んで、米国に渡る手助けをした。
クリストフ氏はこの行動をこう振り返っている。「ジャーナリストとしては極めて職業倫理に反する行為だった。しかし、人間として間違いなく正しいことだった」（It was enormously unprofessional and yet absolutely the right thing to do.）と表現している。
新聞記者としての職務の範囲を超え、一人の人間を救うことを選んだ。天安門事件は、彼にとって単なる取材対象ではなかった。記者として、そして一人の人間としての人生を変えた瞬間だったのだ。
この記事を読んで、私はワシントン特派員時代の出来事を思い出した。私は当時、韓国情勢を取材していた。その時、韓国政府の情報機関KCIAによる脅迫を受けた経験がある。
これは昔の危険な体験を自慢するために書くのではない。海外特派員とは何をする仕事なのか。何を背負い、どこまで責任を持つのか。クリストフ氏の記事をきっかけに、自分の記者人生で起きた一つの出来事を書き残しておきたいと思った。
私は1971年3月から76年夏ごろまで、読売新聞のワシントン特派員を務めた。韓国を本格的に取材するようになったのは、73年8月の金大中拉致事件がきっかけだった。
当時、韓国では朴正熙政権に反対する動きが強まっていた。東京からソウルに連れ去られた金大中氏について、読売新聞のソウル支局が「金大中はKCIAに拉致されていた」と報じた。韓国政府はこれに反発し、読売新聞のソウル支局員を国外に追放、支局を閉鎖した。
その後、読売新聞本社の編集幹部から私に指示があった。
「ソウル支局が閉鎖されて、韓国情勢に関する情報が入らなくなった。ついてはワシントンから韓国情報を送れ」
こうして私は、ワシントンから韓国を追うことになった。
情報源は一つではなかった。朴政権に反対する韓国人活動家や亡命者、韓国メディアの記者、韓国問題に関心を持つ米議会関係者、国務省の担当者。私はそれぞれの人脈をつなぎ、韓国政府の内部事情や米国側の動きを追った。
なかでも重要だったのは、米国に亡命した元韓国外交官や、すでに米国に住みながら朴政権に公然と反対していた韓国人たちだった。彼らは高い教育を受けた知識人で、韓国政府の内情に通じていた。国務省の中にも朴政権の強権政治を批判する人がいた。彼らの話を聞き、情報を突き合わせることで、ソウルからは見えない韓国の姿が浮かび上がってきた。
ハーバード大学ロースクールのジェローム・A・コーエン教授とも親しくなった。中国法の専門家として知られるコーエンは、韓国の人権抑圧にも強い関心を持ち、米下院外交委員会で韓国の人権問題を取り上げるために働きかけていた。韓国人反体制派とのつながりを通じて、私はコーエン教授とも接点を持つようになった。韓国問題をワシントンで追うことは、いつしか私の独壇場になっていた。
その取材を支えてくれた一人が、文明子氏だった。彼女は韓国メディアのワシントン特派員で、私にとって重要な情報源だった。
韓国政府から脅迫を受け、米国への亡命を余儀なくされた。私は彼女の亡命を読売新聞でスクープした。彼女自身が後年、自らの体験を記した著書にも、韓国政府から受けた圧力と米国に逃れるまでの経緯が記されている。彼女の経験は、私がワシントンで取材していた韓国の現実を別の角度から裏付けるものだった。
韓国人の反体制活動家たちが開く秘密会合にも、私は出席を許されていた。取材相手の信頼を得なければ、そうした場所に入ることはできない。
当時、ワシントンには「東亜日報」の特派員として權五琦氏がいた。後に同紙の主筆、社長を務める人物だが、当時はワシントン特派員だった。
ある日、權氏から電話がかかってきた。
「明日午後1時に、本屋で会いませんか」
指定された時間に本屋へ行くと、權氏は店内で本を眺めていた。私に気づいても、知り合い同士のように近づいてくるわけではない。客を装って本棚の前に立ち、周囲を気にしながら、韓国政府の動きについて情報を伝えてきた。
なぜ本屋だったのか。なぜ、そんな会い方をしなければならなかったのか。情報の出どころについて、私は今も断定できない。ただ、韓国政府の動きを伝えるために、日本人と韓国人記者でさえ、こうした用心深い接触を必要としていた。その場の空気は今も記憶に残っている。
私自身も、韓国情勢を取材するようになって間もなく、身の回りで不穏なことが起き始めた。
ある日、連邦議会議事堂近くの道路に車を止め、議会関係者への取材を終えて戻ると、タイヤ四つ全部がパンクしていた。一つは外されて転がっていた。
単なるいたずらだったのかもしれない。しかし、私は議会へ行く予定を事前に調べられ、車のナンバーも把握されていたのではないかと疑った。韓国問題を追い始めてからの出来事だったからだ。
読売新聞のワシントン支局にも報告した。支局の同僚も、韓国取材に絡む嫌がらせではないかと受け止めていた。しかし、それ以上の対応はしてくれなかった。
その後、夜遅く、自宅に電話がかかってきた。電話の相手は、息子が通っている幼稚園の名前を口にした。これは単なる脅しではない。家族の居場所を知っている、という通告だった。
私は、かつて駐日大使を務めたことのある米国務省のロバート・S・インガソル東アジア・太平洋担当国務次官補に連絡した。インガソル氏とは、以前から面識があった。電話で私はこう尋ねた。
「私は今もあなたの客人ですか」
その一言で、彼には私の置かれた状況が伝わった。インガソル氏は動いた。私の記憶では、韓国大使館の情報担当者が逮捕され、国外追放となった。自宅には警察のパトカーが待機し、通勤の際にもパトカーが付き添うようになった。
米国務省が私の訴えを受け止め、具体的に動いたことは大きかった。私はこの時、米国で取材する外国人記者も、米国の法と政府によって守られるべき存在なのだと実感した。そして、取材を続ける覚悟も固まった。
そのころ、韓国の人権問題は米議会でも取り上げられるようになっていた。下院外交委員会では、ミネソタ州選出のドナルド・M・フレーザー議員らが関わり、1974年7月、8月、12月に韓国の人権状況をめぐる公聴会が開かれた。公聴会の記録は翌年、『Human Rights in South Korea: Implications for U.S. Policy』としてまとめられている。
インガソル氏も74年6月13日の下院外交委員会で証言し、同月27日にはトーマス・E・モーガン委員長に書簡を送った。
その書簡でインガソル氏は、世界のどこで人権侵害が起きようとも米国は憂慮し、事実を把握し、人権と基本的自由の尊重を促すために最善を尽くすと述べている。また、韓国の状況についても、今後の進展を委員会に報告し続ける考えを明らかにしていた。
私がワシントンで取材していた韓国の人権問題は、こうして米議会の正式な議題となっていった。
1974年11月、私はジェラルド・フォード米大統領の韓国訪問に同行した。ソウルでの監視は徹底していた。ホテルの外には一日中、こちらを見張る人物が立っていた。部屋を出ると一人が後を追い、エレベーターにまで乗ってくる。エレベーターにはすでに一人が待機していた。
ところが、チェックインした部屋は、テーブルの上には立派な花が飾られていた。カードには「Welcome to Korea, Mr. Takahama」とある。歓迎の花を置きながら、外では記者を監視している。韓国政府の対応には、どこか滑稽なほどの矛盾があった。背筋が冷たくなった。
帰国後、私は読売新聞の調査研究本部主任研究員を務めていた。ある日、ワシントン支局の後輩記者からファクスが届いた。米国務省の機密解除文書を調べていたところ、インガソル氏のファイルの中に私に関するメモが見つかったという。
そこには、「読売新聞の高濱記者から韓国筋による脅迫行為があったとの情報が寄せられた」と記されていた。
あの時、私がインガソル氏に電話をし、韓国側から脅迫を受けていると伝えたことが、国務省の内部記録に残っていたのだ。私はそのメモの原本を手元に残していない。だが、後輩記者から届いたファクスの内容は、今も記憶している。何十年もたってから、自分の身に起きた出来事が米政府の記録にも残っていたことを知った。
私が韓国取材で得た情報は、ソウルの反体制派、亡命者、韓国人記者、米議会、国務省の人々とのつながりから生まれた。誰か一人の話をそのまま記事にしたのではない。人と会い、話を聞き、裏を取り、さらに別の人に確かめる。その積み重ねが、ワシントンから韓国を報じる仕事だった。
本屋で本を眺めるふりをしながら情報を伝えた權五琦。韓国政府の脅迫を受け、米国に逃れた文明子。私の訴えを受け止めて動いたインガソル。彼らとの出会いと、そこで交わした言葉は、何十年たった今も私の記憶に残っている。
クリストフ氏は、取材を手伝った19歳の青年を救うため、新聞記者としての職業上の一線を越えた。自分の行動が新聞社や自分自身にどのような結果をもたらすかを承知のうえで、一人の人間を助けることを選んだ。そして、それが人間として正しいことだったと語った。
私自身、ワシントンで韓国情勢を追い続けた時、取材とは記事を書くことだけではないと身をもって知った。情報源との信頼関係を築くこと。その人たちが置かれた状況を理解すること。そして、自分の報道が相手の人生に何をもたらすのかを考えること。時には、自分や家族の安全にも関わってくる。
若い記者たちに伝えたい。海外特派員は、遠い国のニュースを送るだけの仕事ではない。自分の目で見て、自分の耳で聞き、自分の判断で書く。その記事の向こうには、取材に応じてくれた人々の人生がある。記者としての職業倫理を守ることは当然だ。しかし、その原則を盾にして、人間としての責任から目をそらしてはならない時もある。
記者として何を伝えるのか。そして、一人の人間として何をすべきなのか。あの時の経験は、今も私にその問いを投げかけている。
【参考文献】
- Nicholas Kristof, “I Covered the Tiananmen Square Massacre. It Still Weighs on Me,” The New York Times, October 30, 2026.
- Nicholas D. Kristof, “Nicholas Kristof on Integrity,” Academy of Achievement, interview (2008). Kristof recounts how he and Sheryl WuDunn helped Liu Xiang escape to Hong Kong and reach the United States.
- Robert S. Ingersoll, Assistant Secretary of State for East Asian and Pacific Affairs, letter to Thomas E. Morgan, Chairman, House Committee on Foreign Affairs, June 27, 1974, Foreign Relations of the United States, 1969–1976, Volume E–3, Document 237. Office of the Historian
- U.S. House of Representatives, Committee on Foreign Affairs, Human Rights in South Korea: Implications for U.S. Policy, hearings held July 30, August 5, and December 20, 1974, U.S. Government Printing Office, 1975.
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PRI | A Secret Meeting with a Dong-A Ilbo Correspondent in a Bookstore: KCIA Threats and the Work of a Washington Correspondent
By Tato Takahama
Pacific Research Institute
November 1, 2026
On October 30, New York Times correspondent Nicholas Kristof published an article looking back at his coverage of the Tiananmen Square crackdown.
What caught my attention was his account of how he helped a young Chinese man who had assisted him with his reporting escape to the United States. Kristof revisited the episode and explained what he had done and why.
The young man was Liu Xiang, a 19-year-old student at Tsinghua University who had helped Kristof and his wife, Sheryl WuDunn, with their reporting. After the Tiananmen crackdown, Chinese authorities repeatedly interrogated him. Fearing arrest, he fled, but he was eventually imprisoned. He escaped from prison, returned to Beijing, and asked Kristof for help.
Kristof and WuDunn faced an agonizing decision. Helping an escaped prisoner leave the country went beyond the normal boundaries of a journalist's professional role. It could violate Chinese law and put the New York Times bureau in Beijing at risk. They could not even consult their editors. Their telephone lines were being tapped.
Still, they decided to help. They arranged for Liu to escape to Hong Kong. The following day, Kristof flew there himself and helped Liu make his way to the United States.
Kristof later described his decision this way: “It was enormously unprofessional and yet absolutely the right thing to do.”
He had gone beyond his duties as a newspaper correspondent to help save another person's life. The Tiananmen crackdown was not simply a story he had covered. His decision to help Liu became a defining moment in his life, both as a journalist and as a human being.
Kristof's decision raises a question that goes beyond the usual discussion of journalistic ethics: Where does a reporter's responsibility end? His answer was to put the safety of a young man who had helped him ahead of the risks to himself and his newspaper.
My experience was different. I did not have to make the same kind of decision Kristof made. But while reporting on South Korea from Washington, I came to understand that journalism is never detached from the lives of the people involved. Sources take risks when they speak to us. Their trust carries a responsibility. And sometimes, as I learned firsthand, the consequences of reporting reach beyond the journalist to his or her family.
That is why Kristof's account brought back memories of my years in Washington. I want to tell one of those stories—not to boast about a dangerous episode from my past, but to explain what I learned about the responsibilities that come with being a foreign correspondent.
I served as the Yomiuri Shimbun's Washington correspondent from March 1971 until the summer of 1976. I began covering South Korea in earnest after the kidnapping of Kim Dae-jung in August 1973.
At the time, opposition to the government of President Park Chung-hee was growing. Kim Dae-jung had been abducted in Tokyo and taken to Seoul. The Yomiuri's Seoul bureau reported that the KCIA was responsible for the kidnapping. The South Korean government reacted by expelling the bureau's staff and closing the bureau.
After that, senior editors at Yomiuri's Tokyo headquarters gave me a new assignment.
“With the Seoul bureau closed, we can no longer get information on South Korea. We want you to cover developments there from Washington.”
That was how I came to cover South Korea from the U.S. capital.
My sources were varied. They included Korean activists opposed to the Park government, exiles, Korean journalists, members of Congress interested in Korean affairs, and officials at the State Department. I built relationships across these circles, following both the internal workings of the South Korean government and the American response to its policies.
Some of my most important sources were former South Korean diplomats who had sought asylum in the United States, as well as Koreans already living in America who openly opposed the Park government. Many were highly educated people with extensive knowledge of what was happening inside South Korea. There were also officials within the State Department who criticized the Park administration's authoritarian rule. By listening to these people and checking their accounts against one another, I was able to build a picture of South Korea that could not be seen from Seoul alone.
I also became close to Jerome A. Cohen, a professor at Harvard Law School. Cohen was widely known as an expert on Chinese law, but he was also deeply concerned about human rights abuses in South Korea. He worked to bring the issue before the House Foreign Affairs Committee. Through my contacts with Korean dissidents, I encountered him as well. Before long, covering South Korea from Washington had become something of my own specialty.
One person who helped me with that reporting was Moon Myung-ja. She was a Washington correspondent for a Korean news organization and an important source for me.
She was threatened by the South Korean government and was eventually forced to seek asylum in the United States. I broke the story of her asylum in the Yomiuri. In a book she published years later, she described the pressure she had faced from the South Korean government and the circumstances that led her to flee to the United States. Her experience offered another perspective on the reality of South Korea that I was reporting from Washington.
I was also allowed to attend private meetings organized by Korean opposition activists. Access to gatherings like these depended on trust. Without the confidence of the people involved, I would never have been allowed into the room.
At the time, Kwon O-ki was working in Washington as a correspondent for the Dong-A Ilbo, one of South Korea's major newspapers. He later became the paper's chief editorial writer and president.
One day, Kwon called me.
“Could you meet me at a bookstore tomorrow at one in the afternoon?”
When I arrived at the appointed time, he was browsing the shelves. He did not approach me as an acquaintance would. Instead, he stood in front of the books, pretending to be an ordinary customer. Keeping an eye on the people around him, he quietly passed along information about the South Korean government's activities.
Why a bookstore? Why did we have to meet in that way? Even now, I cannot say for certain where his information came from. What I do remember is the atmosphere. Even two journalists, one Japanese and one Korean, had to be so careful simply to exchange information about the South Korean government. I have never forgotten that meeting.
Not long after I began covering South Korea, unsettling things also started happening to me.
One day, I parked my car near the Capitol and went to interview a congressional source. When I returned, all four tires had been punctured. One of the tires had been removed and was lying on the ground.
It may have been an act of vandalism. But I suspected that someone might have known in advance that I was going to the Capitol and had obtained my license plate number. The incident occurred after I began reporting on South Korea, and that timing made me suspicious.
I reported what had happened to the Yomiuri's Washington bureau. My colleagues also thought it might have been connected to my coverage of Korea. But nothing more was done.
Some time later, I received a telephone call at home late at night. The caller mentioned the name of the preschool my son attended. This was more than a simple threat. It was a message: We know where your family is.
I decided to contact Robert S. Ingersoll, the State Department's assistant secretary for East Asian and Pacific affairs. He had previously served as U.S. ambassador to Japan, and I had known him for some time.
On the telephone, I asked him one question:
“Am I still your guest?”
He understood immediately what I meant. Ingersoll took action. As I remember it, an intelligence officer at the South Korean Embassy was arrested and expelled from the United States. A police patrol car was stationed outside my home, and police officers accompanied me on my commute.
It meant a great deal that the State Department had taken my complaint seriously and acted on it. I realized that a foreign journalist working in the United States was entitled to the protection of American law and government. The experience also strengthened my determination to continue reporting.
Meanwhile, human rights abuses in South Korea were becoming an issue in Congress. Donald M. Fraser, a Democratic congressman from Minnesota, was among those involved in bringing the issue before the House Foreign Affairs Committee. Hearings on human rights in South Korea were held in July, August, and December 1974. The hearing records were later published in a volume titled Human Rights in South Korea: Implications for U.S. Policy.
Ingersoll also testified before the House Foreign Affairs Committee on June 13, 1974. On June 27, he sent a letter to the committee's chairman, Thomas E. Morgan.
In that letter, Ingersoll stated that the United States took seriously its obligation to promote respect for human rights and fundamental freedoms around the world. He also said that the State Department would keep the committee informed about developments in South Korea.
The human rights issues in South Korea that I had been covering from Washington had become a formal subject of congressional debate.
In November 1974, I accompanied President Gerald Ford on his visit to South Korea. Surveillance in Seoul was intense. A man stood outside my hotel throughout the day, watching. Whenever I left my room, someone followed me. One person even got into the elevator with me, where another man was already waiting.
Yet when I checked into my room, I found an impressive arrangement of flowers on the table. A card read, “Welcome to Korea, Mr. Takahama.”
The government welcomed me with flowers while keeping me under surveillance outside. There was something almost absurd about the contradiction in its behavior. But it was also chilling.
After returning to Japan, I became chief researcher at Yomiuri's Research and Survey Headquarters. One day, I received a fax from a younger colleague at the Washington bureau. He had been examining declassified State Department documents and had come across a memo in Ingersoll's files concerning me.
According to the memo, information had been provided that “Yomiuri correspondent Takahama” had been threatened by Korean sources.
In other words, my telephone conversation with Ingersoll, in which I told him that I was being threatened by the South Korean side, had been recorded in the State Department's internal files. I do not have the original memo. But I still remember the contents of the fax my former colleague sent me. Decades after the events, I learned that what had happened to me was also documented in the records of the U.S. government.
The information I gathered on South Korea came from relationships I had built with dissidents, exiles, Korean journalists, members of Congress, and people at the State Department. I did not simply take one person's word and turn it into a story. I met people, listened to them, checked what they told me, and then went to others to verify it. That was what reporting on South Korea from Washington involved.
Kwon O-ki, who passed information to me while pretending to browse books in a bookstore. Moon Myung-ja, who faced threats from the South Korean government and fled to the United States. Ingersoll, who took my complaint seriously and acted. The people I met and the words we exchanged remain with me, even after all these years.
Kristof crossed a professional boundary to help the 19-year-old student who had assisted him with his reporting. He knew that his decision could have consequences for himself and for his newspaper. He chose to help another human being anyway. And he has said that, although the act was unprofessional, it was the right thing to do.
My own experience covering South Korea from Washington taught me that journalism is about more than writing stories. It means building relationships based on trust, understanding the circumstances in which our sources live, and considering how our reporting may affect their lives. At times, the work can also put our own safety and the safety of our families at risk.
There is something I want young journalists to understand. Being a foreign correspondent is not simply a matter of sending news home from a distant country. You must see things with your own eyes, listen with your own ears, and make your own judgments before you write. Behind every story are people who have trusted you enough to speak. Maintaining professional standards is essential. But there are times when we must not use those standards as an excuse to turn away from our responsibilities as human beings.
For those of you who are beginning or building a career in journalism, I would leave you with this: Never forget that the people who help you do your work are not merely sources. They are human beings, with lives and families of their own. Their trust is not something to take for granted. It is a responsibility.
What should we report as journalists? And what should we do as human beings? The experiences I had in Washington continue to make me ask those questions.
Note: English translation was prepared by the author. Translation assistance tools may have been used.
References
- Nicholas Kristof, “I Covered the Tiananmen Square Massacre. It Still Weighs on Me,” The New York Times, October 30, 2026.
- Nicholas D. Kristof, “Nicholas Kristof on Integrity,” Academy of Achievement, interview (2008). Kristof recounts how he and Sheryl WuDunn helped Liu Xiang escape to Hong Kong and reach the United States.
- Robert S. Ingersoll, Assistant Secretary of State for East Asian and Pacific Affairs, letter to Thomas E. Morgan, Chairman, House Committee on Foreign Affairs, June 27, 1974, Foreign Relations of the United States, 1969–1976, Volume E–3, Document 237.
- U.S. House of Representatives, Committee on Foreign Affairs, Human Rights in South Korea: Implications for U.S. Policy, hearings held July 30, August 5, and December 20, 1974, U.S. Government Printing Office, 1975.
