Syngman Rhee died in exile 59 years ago. Time has not tempered visceral reactions to his mention. To his supporters, he was an astute politician, savvy diplomat, staunch anti-communist and wrongly accused leader. To his detractors, he was a corrupt, vain, power-hungry authoritarian who did little to end postwar poverty.

In 1919, Rhee was elected president of the Korean Provisional Government in exile to confront Japanese imperialism. In 1948, he became president of the newly independent Republic of Korea. Both times he was ousted in disgrace.

The documentary “The Birth of Korea” chronicles Rhee’s life and achievements. Kim Deog-young, the film’s writer-director-narrator, intentionally timed his film with the run-up to the April legislative election and touched a nerve. More than 1 million tickets were sold.

Throughout its 100-minute run, Kim challenges historical narratives. “Ever since April 19, 1960,” the narration goes, “the image of Syngman Rhee has consistently been erased and distorted.”

Politicians, mostly of the ruling People Power Party, rallied around the film before the election. President Yoon Suk Yeol praised the documentary for providing an opportunity “to correctly perceive our country’s history.” A slew of well-known politicians and high-ranking officials visited movie venues and uploaded their photos to social media, apparently hoping to invigorate their “conservative” base and garner more votes.

Kim apparently believes that Rhee has been unfairly defamed and vilified by “leftists” and “North Korea sympathizers.” But the legitimacy of his views aside, the film raises questions about its own objectivity. Anyone with a modicum of knowledge about the nation’s recent history can see examples of selective amnesia.

First, the film challenges the established narrative that the rigged presidential election on March 15, 1960 caused mass protests, leading to the bloody street demonstrations on April 19 and Rhee’s resignation a week later. It denies Rhee’s responsibility for election fraud and places the blame on vice-presidential candidate Lee Ki-poong.

The film omits how Rhee ran roughshod over the National Assembly and the Constitution to secure constitutional amendments allowing him to serve beyond two terms. Still, a commentator insists that Rhee’s extended rule does not mean he was a dictator.

Second, the film repudiates the existing view that Rhee should ultimately be held accountable for civilians who died while crossing the main bridge over the Han River when it was blown up soon after the Korean War broke out. Another contentious issue is that he left Seoul before the bridge was destroyed, dooming his fleeing citizens.

The film contends that none of the three American war correspondents who happened to cross the bridge at that moment -- 2:15 a.m. on June 28, 1950 -- mentioned civilian victims in their firsthand coverage.

This is a question needing validation. One of the correspondents, Frank Gibney of Time magazine, reported: “Without warning the sky was lighted by a huge sheet of sickly orange flame. There was a tremendous explosion immediately in front of us … All the soldiers in the truck ahead of us had been killed. Bodies of dead and dying were strewn over the bridge. Scores of refugees were running pell-mell off the bridge and disappearing into the night beyond.”

Contrary to the film’s assertion that some 70 policemen were the total casualties from the incident, American journalist and historian T. R. Fehrenbach wrote in his 1963 book, “This Kind of War,” recognized as the classic Korean War history:

“With an ear-piercing roar, two long spans on the south side of the bridge dropped into the swirling dark water. No one will ever know how many soldiers and civilians died in the explosion or were hurled screaming into the Han to drown. The best estimates indicate the number was near one thousand. There was no warning of any kind to the traffic thronging the bridge.”

The documentary’s perception of the Jeju massacre of 1948 is another concerning matter. To gain a more objective perspective on the incident, where tens of thousands of innocent citizens were sacrificed under the pretext of subjugating a communist insurgency, a commentator proposes “decentering” victims. He argues that a victim-centered narrative has been an efficient tool for agitation and propaganda. This can be a dangerous position justifying state violence to quell opposing voices.

A balanced evaluation of leadership based on solid facts is crucial. Rhee may deserve better assessment than has been seen. Though a complex character with an inflated ego, as a 1948 CIA report describes him, he dedicated his lifetime to Korea’s independence in his own way and paved the way for peace by forging a mutual defense treaty with the US.

A single documentary does not alter a nation’s historical narrative. Nonetheless, “The Birth of Korea” can provide momentum for starting efforts to write a nationally defined history before too late, rather than attempting a hasty image recasting. Politicization of history is least desirable at this moment as Korea suffers a dire scarcity of visionary political leadership amid extreme ideological polarization. A shared history is essential to shaping a shared future.

By 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.