Gusts Of Popular Feeling

The 1980 Gwangju Uprising: An Account by an 11th Brigade Paratrooper (1987) Part 2

noreply@blogger.com (matt) — Wed, 27 May 2026 07:42:10 +0000

Paratrooper accounts of the Gwangju Uprising

Account by an 11th Brigade paratrooper (1999)

Account by a 3rd Brigade paratrooper (1996)

Account by an 11th Brigade paratrooper (1987) Part 1

Account by an 11th Brigade paratrooper (1987) Part 2

Here is part 2 of an account by a paratrooper from the 11th Brigade, originally published in 1987. The original source is:

윤재걸 편, 『작전명령 화려한 휴가: 광주 민중항쟁의 기록』 (서울: 실천문학사, 1988), 30-60.

Yun Jae-geol, ed., Operation Order Splendid Holiday: A Record of the Kwangju People’s Uprising (Seoul: Silcheon Munhaksa, 1988), 30-60.

* * * * * * *

The “Splendid Holiday” That I Was Sent On

—Memoir of an Airborne Trooper Deployed During the Kwangju Incident

[Part 2: May 21 - 27]

When morning came, the demonstrations became even more violent. Yet that morning, breakfast somehow arrived in front of Sangmugwan through the demonstrator crowds. All the officers and soldiers were eating, but since there were not enough spoons, I was not eating. Then a private first class handed me the spoon he himself had been eating with, saying, ‘Company commander, please eat.’ Even when I told him to eat first, he stubbornly refused. In the end, I accepted it, but before I had even eaten half, word came that the front line facing the demonstrators was dangerous and that we should quickly assemble toward the demonstrators’ side. Even the meal delivered after several days could not properly be eaten, and when we returned again toward the demonstrators, it had become utterly impossible to suppress the protest anymore.

Today was May 21. In front of the fountain at the Provincial Office, the large arch made for ‘Buddha’s Birthday’ and such things looked utterly out of place. During a brief standoff, I slipped away alone to Sangmugwan to drink water and met a policeman from my hometown there. I was glad to see him. For a short while we talked about our hometown. I was so happy and pleased, as though I had met an older brother.

Going back out again toward the demonstrators, I climbed onto a flower planter on the sidewalk and looked ahead. At the front of the demonstrators were large buses, trucks, and other vehicles positioned in confrontation, while we had two armored vehicles in the center of the road, and by chance our regional unit stood at the very front on both sides. The Special Forces troops stood in ranks about twenty men across, while police stood at intervals of about twenty meters. The morale and hatred of the demonstrators had reached an extreme. Conversely, our morale had fallen to an extreme low. No—everyone wore expressions of fear. In the hands of the demonstrators were sickles, saws, and all sorts of things that could become weapons. In particular, some demonstrators had attached sickles or knives to wooden poles, hooking sickles around our necks as we stood in the front line or pressing knives against our chests. Saying, “Hey, I sharpened this sickle well. Want me to yank it?” some young demonstrators would hook a sickle around my neck. At the time I did not feel shocked or frightened at all, but thinking about it now gives me chills and scares me.

By around 10 a.m. on May 21 on Geumnam-ro, the situation was already rushing toward something unavoidable. It was said that out of Gwangju’s population of about 800,000, some 400,000 citizens were demonstrating on Geumnam-ro or around the Provincial Office. Why had so many citizens gathered? In particular, there were many housewives and young women. The reason was simple. The hardline suppression had brought out a terrible force among the citizens. On the martial law forces’ side, hardline suppression had been ordered from higher command from the very beginning, and in my opinion the conception behind these orders was the foolish result derived from the hardline suppression during the Bu-Ma Incident, while the Gwangju Incident had already been conceived at the time of the 12.12 Incident.

In particular, because Gwangju, the capital of South Jeolla Province, had few outsiders living there, everyone was connected, and once connections were followed everyone knew one another, so people flocked one after another to Geumnam-ro in response to the martial law forces’ harsh suppression. As middle-aged women came carrying gimbap, rice cakes, and the like to distribute to the demonstrators, the demonstrators ate this food while quenching their thirst with beer and soft drinks piled high in vehicles, becoming extremely excited. From the air, helicopters conducted propaganda broadcasts and scattered countless leaflets appealing for restraint in the demonstrations, but there was not a single demonstrator who listened or looked at the leaflets.

After those of us positioned at the front switched places with the rear ranks, and the unit behind us came forward and moved beside the Provincial Office fountain, the commanders began distributing live ammunition. Only officers and sergeants were given ten rounds each. There was not much live ammunition. This was because we carried only the minimum emergency ammunition. We inserted the issued rounds into magazines and, so that we could fire at any moment, kept them in the side pockets of our trousers rather than attaching them to our rifles.

At this point an emergency meeting of the commanders began. The purpose of the meeting was: “We absolutely cannot drive back the demonstrators, nor can we break through this huge crowd, and if this many troops and police engage in close combat with these enormous numbers of demonstrators, it will be easy for half the military and police forces to be killed or wounded—so by what method can we drive them back?” Various sergeants, officers, and commanders attended, but no conclusion could be reached. They contacted Martial Law Command, explained the present situation, and proposed that “we be allowed to carry out authorized firing,” but were told that this was absolutely not permitted. Thinking about it now, that was only natural, but at the time it seemed unbearably cold-hearted. [50]

Various methods were proposed. Among them, it was decided to adopt the following method.

The proposal was: “Using the M203 [grenade launcher] weapons carried by the sergeants, fire into intervals among the demonstrators, and in order to prevent vehicles from pushing forward, have snipers shoot the demonstrators driving the vehicles and then shoot the tires of the following vehicles.” Since there was no “order to fire” from higher command, the problem later would be responsibility. Fortunately, several commanders said that even if we were turned over to military court and even sentenced to death, we could not allow all our subordinates to be killed, so we should carry it out. But on the other hand, it was too enormous. If M203 rounds were dropped among the demonstrators, since they were like grenades with a lethal radius of five meters, and if not just one or two rounds but hundreds were fired, and if firing were carried out from the front, it was obvious that thousands would be killed or wounded.

For twenty to thirty minutes the argument continued. The conclusion was that we should wait a little longer for instructions from Martial Law Command. Again, by radio, they urged Martial Law Command to “issue an order to fire.” At that time students and several women came to negotiate. The students’ demeanor was extremely confident. Their conditions were roughly as follows: “The martial law forces must immediately withdraw from the city, immediately release all detainees through the Provincial Office microphone system, provide sufficient compensation for the dead, and apologize for the hardline suppression of the citizens of Gwangju.” However, the commanders replied that they absolutely could not comply. Then the representatives went to the Provincial Office saying they would negotiate with the provincial governor.

Again we moved to the very front of the demonstrators. At this time the demonstrators’ side already knew that we had been issued live ammunition. They asked us, “Did you receive live rounds?” We answered that we had. Now the distance between the demonstrators and us had narrowed to about five or six meters. The demonstrators in front did not seem to want to approach, but the demonstrators behind kept pushing them so that they were gradually forced closer and closer forward. At this time two armored vehicles were facing the demonstrators, but one of them pulled away because the situation on the Chungjang-ro side, where the 7th Airborne Brigade was confronting demonstrators, was said to be critical, and it went to support that area.

Now a single armored vehicle was left facing countless vehicles, and our hearts also became uneasy. However, having been issued live ammunition made us feel somewhat reassured. The terrifying confrontation between the demonstrators and the martial law forces continued. Both sides were careful not to inflame each other’s emotions. This was because if either side pushed or was pushed back, it would herald terrible bloodshed. By now it seemed that the police helicopters, which had been landing and taking off by the fountain carrying important documents and wounded personnel, had transported almost everything.

Around 1 p.m., the A.P.C. armored vehicle that had been idling in the middle of the road briefly stalled. This was because it had been running since morning and they were trying to cool the engine for a moment. This became an enormous problem. When the armored vehicle rolled back about one or two meters, the demonstrators all at once began charging forward with vehicles at the front. In an instant we turned and began fleeing toward the Provincial Office. Police and martial law troops alike fled toward the Sangmugwan building, and the Provincial Office line collapsed.

I ran toward the Nonghyup building and then tried to cross the road again toward Sangmugwan, when an A.P.C. armored vehicle driven by the demonstrators struck two soldiers. One of them seemed to have had his head crushed under the front and rear wheels, while the other was caught between the wheels and, suffering only minor injuries, lay collapsed there. The vehicle that the demonstrators had brought behind it could not bring itself to run him over, stopped briefly, seized only one M16 rifle, and then drove off in the opposite direction from the Provincial Office. The surviving soldier got up and crawled toward Sangmugwan, while right beside him I dragged the body of the dead soldier toward the front of Sangmugwan. When I looked at his face I could not recognize him, so I wiped the blood from his name tag and saw that he was the soldier who had handed me a spoon that morning at breakfast and told me to eat.

Seeing such a miserable death, tears burst from my eyes. I also felt rage toward the demonstrators. Many soldiers witnessed this scene. An excited officer shouted, “Open fire!” “Fire!” and all at once everyone loaded live rounds into their rifles and ran out toward Geumnam-ro. Then firing began. However, those thousands of gunshots were at first mostly warning shots fired into the air. As branches from the ginkgo trees lining Geumnam-ro fell to the ground, the gunfire, sounding like beans popping in a pan, continued for two or three minutes.

Sniper personnel headed toward Geumnam-ro, took prone firing positions on the asphalt, prepared to shoot, and began securing key buildings. At that moment, from a building beside the Jeonil Building, a young man came limping out, shouting, “You sons of bitches, kill me!” and sat down in the middle of the road only twenty or thirty meters in front of the snipers. When the snipers fired several shots, he collapsed to the side. When demonstrators hiding in an alley came out to retrieve the body, firing resumed and those demonstrators also fell.

At that moment a Daechang Passenger city bus carrying demonstrators charged toward us. As the snipers scattered out of the way, automatic fire began. The bus could go no farther and crashed into the fountain. This was because the driver had been killed...

Then, shortly afterward, an A.P.C. armored vehicle came charging forward waving the Taegukgi, with men bare-chested and white cloths tied around their heads, opening the hatch as they advanced. A sniper riding in our armored vehicle aimed and waited, and when it came within barely twenty meters, he fired the .50 caliber weapon. The men ducked their heads down, and the armored vehicle passed in front of the Nonghyup building and escaped. The police appeared to have retreated entirely into the Provincial Office; not a single one was visible. One demonstrator climbed onto the roof of the Nonghyup building carrying a rifle and fired at us below while exposing only his head, but when a sniper below, who had been aiming and waiting, fired, he fell from the roof.

Everything was a living hell. Casualties lay on the roads here and there. From that point onward, everyone except the snipers and minimum guard personnel was assembled, and orders came down from higher command to withdraw, meaning “escape and break out.” We were to withdraw in teams; not to expend all our ammunition, and if we were captured by demonstrators while trying to escape the city and faced being horribly killed, we were to use the distributed live ammunition to fire back. Those who still had ammunition were told to distribute even a single round each to soldiers who had none. Since I had not fired a single shot up to that point, I gave seven rounds to other soldiers and kept three rounds for myself. This was because if I were captured by the demonstrators, I intended to place the rifle muzzle against my chest and commit suicide on automatic fire. I did not particularly value my life nor feel fear. I only wished either to escape this place after seeing my mother one more time, or else to die.

Around that time, sounds slicing through the air — “swoosh, swoosh” — began passing by our side. It was machine-gun fire. The radio operator on the roof of the Provincial Office informed us that firing was coming from the roof of the Chonnam National University Medical School Hospital. There was a tremendous amount of firing, and it was coming from an advantageous building position. Several men volunteered. They said we should seize Chonnam National University Hospital and take away the machine gun. There were a little under two companies, about fifty men. But the commander told them to wait for a moment. Since we would soon be withdrawing, he said there was no need to go. Up to that point there had been no casualties from the machine-gun fire.

Around 5 p.m. the withdrawal began. One armored vehicle took the lead and another the rear, while all personnel stood along both sides of the road and withdrew toward Chosun University. The armored vehicle at the front continued firing its .50 caliber machine gun all the way to the front of Chosun University, repeatedly moving back and forth several times, while we retreated on foot. We returned fire at demonstrators who fired on us from alleys or from the rooftops of buildings as we withdrew to Chosun University.

When we arrived at the athletic field of Chosun University, dinner happened to be ready, and as we ate, gunfire poured into the grounds from all directions. However, as far as I know, there were still no casualties from this firing. At the Chosun University athletic field, live ammunition was distributed once again: sixty rounds per person. Carrying only the minimum equipment, all other gear was gathered in the gymnasium, the doors were locked from outside, and we withdrew over the mountain behind Chosun University.

Meanwhile, before this, all vehicles carrying administrative personnel and wounded men had needed to leave Gwangju and head to the 31st Division headquarters [at Sangmudae], but the city, and especially the major buildings in front of Chosun University, were already tightly guarded by armed demonstrators. [53]

With an armored vehicle at the very front leading the way and numerous vehicles following behind, a firefight broke out there as well. Two or three martial law troops were killed, many vehicles had their tires shot out, and they eventually reached Sangmudae.

There, one sergeant later said that he and his driver had been riding in the third vehicle from the front. As countless shots were fired at the vehicle from all directions, he himself leaned half his body outside and fired at buildings and other positions while they drove along. Then the vehicle struck the curb on the side of the road and he was thrown outside, though fortunately he was not injured. When he climbed back into the vehicle, the driver had already died from a gunshot wound to the chest. He tried to drive the vehicle himself, but even the tires had been shot and it could no longer move. He repeatedly tried to stop the vehicles following behind, but none stopped, until finally he managed to stop the last vehicle and escape aboard it. He said that even now he had not forgotten his gratitude toward the driver who stopped for him.

As we retreated over the mountain behind Chosun University, firing had already begun from behind the martial law forces. The sound of massive gunfire rang out. Tracer rounds flew continuously overhead, and sirens wailed and buzzed. Gwangju had now changed into a city armed by the demonstrators. During the retreat we also encountered many police officers. They were exactly like us. They were simply anxious because they were unarmed. Some wore civilian clothes, some wore only military trousers, and some policemen had even taken off their combat boots and gone barefoot. Everyone seemed to be victims of an enormous disaster.

After crossing the mountain behind Chosun University, we rested briefly in what seemed to be a cemetery. Leaning between graves to rest for a moment, I ended up falling asleep. When I awoke, the main force had disappeared somewhere, and only six of us were still asleep. Fortunately there was a radio operator with us, and when we contacted the others by radio they tried to guide us during the night, but we could not follow the directions. Wandering around while trying to catch up with the main force, we ended up back inside the city again. Panic-stricken, we once more moved through residential alleys and climbed a small hill, where we spent the night. When morning came, we continued moving over the hills, searching only for places where helicopters were landing.

Two helicopters spent the entire day landing and taking off halfway up the mountain. Fortunately, by dusk we reached that place, where enormous quantities of live ammunition, grenades, food supplies, and the like were piled up like mountains. It was the brigade headquarters. It was also a natural fortress. It lay along the slopes of Mudeungsan on the road from Gwangju toward Hwasun. At the front, two armored vehicles had been concealed behind cover, while ambush positions had been set in the forests on both sides.

As we spent the night there, gunfire beginning around 9 p.m. continued until morning. It did not stop even for a moment. When morning came, two wounded farmers arrived on handcarts with gunshot wounds. One was a man about fifty years old who had been shot seven times across his body and was nearly dying. [54] Another was a high school student with a gunshot wound to the shoulder. After all of them were transported by helicopter to a military hospital, thoughts of my late father again became overwhelming. I missed my father, who had spent his whole life farming before passing away, and tears welled in my eyes.

Around that time a radio message came in saying that thirteen demonstrators had been shot dead on the road below the mountain and that three wounded people were being brought in. A short time later, two people were brought on handcarts, along with a second-year female high school student whose right hand had been shot, severing two fingers. They say human life clings stubbornly to existence. The two young demonstrators (up to then we had called the citizens “rioters”) had been struck by numerous bullets across their bodies, yet they were fully conscious and still alive. One young man in particular had even had a bullet pass through his eye and was still alive. The smell of blood was overwhelming.

I asked where they lived, and they answered, “Jisan-dong.” When I asked their ages, they said twenty-one and twenty-three. When I asked their occupations, one said he was a student at Chonnam National University, while the other said he had none. As fellow young men, they seemed terribly pitiful and tragic to me. I wanted to save them somehow.

Another sergeant came over and said, “These sons of bitches were demonstrating,” while beginning to search their pockets. In their pockets were around thirty carbine rounds and a few bloodstained bills. I thought they were waiting for a helicopter to transport them to a military hospital, but then a major arrived and said, “Why did you bring those bastards here? Hurry up and take them down and kill them.” A sergeant from the same unit answered, “Yes, sir,” and pulled the handcart back down the hill. I followed after him. I wanted, at the very least, for them to be sent to a hospital for treatment, and to prevent them from being killed.

Two or three minutes later I followed after them, but they had already reached the roadside and were untying the ropes that bound them. I said, “There’s no need to kill them. Let’s just send them back to the demonstrators.” The sergeant replied, “What’s wrong with you, bastard? You’re just like them.” He outranked me, so I could say no more. They lifted them down from the handcart and then fired three more shots each into their heads. There was no writhing, no screaming, no sound at all. Only their bodies trembled… Up ahead, people were digging a pit with shovels borrowed from nearby houses to bury the bodies.

That morning, May 23, around 8 a.m., one detachment (an infantry squad) guarding the road to block demonstrators attempting to advance toward Hwasun had spotted a minibus traveling from the Gwangju direction toward Hwasun. The squad had lay prone on both sides of the road, and when one soldier stood in the middle of the road raising his hand, the bus stopped and fired a carbine rifle at the officer who had raised his hand. At that, all personnel lying on both sides of the road had opened fire simultaneously. Of the eighteen people aboard (including three women), thirteen died in the bus and three were severely wounded (including one female high school student). Two, as mentioned earlier, were then executed, while two others escaped by breaking the rear bus window and fleeing. The bodies of those killed were buried together in a single pit that had been dug for that purpose. [55]

Arms and legs were visible, and flies gathered, drawn by the smell of blood. It was agonizing. My heart was so tormented and sorrowful at seeing who was shooting and killing whom in this way. Looking inside the bus, the seats and floor were soaked with blood. Tears flowed from my eyes. But I could not show tears in front of my comrades and my seniors and juniors.

Then personnel from our unit came again toward brigade headquarters in order to move ammunition and other equipment. That afternoon, on the 23rd, we were told that we would advance into Gwangju once again, so each man carried 560 rounds of live ammunition and one grenade as we prepared to enter. Orders were given to thoroughly maintain our weapons, and sectors to be secured within the city were assigned to each team. Our team’s sector was the Chungjang-ro intersection. We listened to explanations of the area from a soldier who lived in Gwangju, and after finishing weapon maintenance, one tank per battalion was assigned in support. The tanks would lead, with the rest of us following behind, and we were re-instructed: “Absolutely do not retreat.”

Already so many had been killed and wounded, yet once again terrible bloodshed was being foretold. It was obvious as fire itself that carrying 560 rounds of ammunition, one grenade, M203 launchers, and other fearsome firepower into the city again to seize control would lead to carnage. I almost wished to be wounded so I could leave this place. It was not because I was afraid or trying to avoid things. Rather, I simply did not want to see or hear about the people of my hometown falling in such a dreadful manner.

K, what would you have done at that time? Gathered in groups in various places, the soldiers talked only of how this time they would shoot and kill anything they saw without condition. In one sense it may have been foolish; in another, perhaps it was the natural reaction of comrades who had lost fellow soldiers.

We had been told to depart at 8 p.m. that day (the 23rd), but at 6 p.m. sudden orders came that we would not enter the city after all. Some soldiers felt deflated. At the time and even now, I think it was fortunate. From what I heard that night, the order to open fire had officially been issued effective from 8 p.m. on the 21st. But firing had already begun before that. That night too we simply remained in the mountains, and throughout the entire night the sound of gunfire never ceased even briefly. It was the sound of demonstrators infiltrating our area and firefights breaking out with the perimeter units.

From that day onward, orders from the Army Chief of Staff were broadcast throughout all of Gwangju over the radio. Everyone was told to surrender all firearms, and the “rioters” were ordered to turn themselves in. It was then that I realized I did not know who the rioters were, or who had massacred whom.

After spending that night awake, we were ordered to prepare for withdrawal and then assemble. We gathered on the road, and while waiting because the withdrawal vehicles had not yet arrived, a funeral bier loaded on a handcart was passing by. A certain major personally loaded live rounds into his pistol and inspected the inside of the bier, even opening the coffin lid. The mourners following behind could only weep silently.

A private car arrived, and when they inspected the trunk there were many bags inside. When the bags were searched, enormous quantities of banknotes, bankbooks, and jewelry emerged. By my judgment at the time, it amounted to tens of millions of won and a tremendous amount of valuables. By then, the direction toward Hwasun had already been blocked by the 20th Division, the Naju-Mokpo direction had been blocked by the Gwangju Infantry School, and the Seoul expressway entrance was also blocked by the 20th Division.

Vehicles from the 20th Division arrived, and we boarded according to organizational order: 1st Battalion, 7th Airborne Brigade, 2nd Battalion, brigade headquarters company, then 3rd Battalion [followed by the 11th Brigade in the rear]. To reach the 31st Division we had to pass briefly through the city. However, we discovered a side road that allowed us to avoid advancing through the city, but when we turned back to follow this road, our battalion unexpectedly ended up at the very front in reverse order. The armored vehicle that had been bringing up the rear now moved to the front, and we who had been following at the very back now became the lead element.

As we were about to take the side road from Hwasun toward Naju, .50 caliber fire suddenly opened from the armored vehicle. Those of us following behind also began firing while guarding the left and right sides.

Directly on the road leading from Gwangju to Naju, instructors and officers from the 31st Division Infantry School had established a blockade. They were armed with 3.5-inch rocket launchers (for destroying tanks), machine guns, Claymores, and the like. Apparently the squad serving as a listening post in front of this blockade force heard the gunfire and reported to their unit that rioters were advancing. At the time they had received intelligence that demonstrators wearing reserve-force uniforms were moving toward Mokpo, so they were already tense. When our enormous vehicle column appeared, they mistook us for demonstrators and fired a 3.5-inch rocket launcher at the armored vehicle. With a tremendous explosion that shook heaven and earth, I saw the infantry support .50 caliber gunner fly through the air like a bird before crashing onto the asphalt.

Then, continuing on, they fired accurately at every other vehicle — the 1st, 3rd, 5th, 7th, and so on. Our vehicle too was struck by a rocket round in the front. The entire front section of the vehicle disappeared (the driver was killed and the company commander severely wounded), and four or five men riding in the front screamed for help from their wounds. Together with the thousands of gunshots and grenade blasts, it was truly the hell of war itself. Up to that moment I had believed it was a fierce battle with demonstrators defending Gwangju.

We were ordered to dismount and search the nearby hills and houses. Leaving the wounded lying by the roadside, we advanced in firing positions while searching the hills, when I spotted a Claymore mine mounted on pine branches. Cold sweat burst from me. I had no idea when it might explode. I cut the Claymore’s wire with my bayonet. No one was there.

Again we crossed the ridge and descended toward the houses. When a certain sergeant arrived at one house to search it, a dog began barking. They even shot the dog, though it had committed no crime. Two small children and a man who appeared to be in his forties simply trembled in fear inside the room.

Meanwhile, in the village ahead, a farmer was wailing that three or four of his dairy cows had been shot and killed. It seemed the cows were his very livelihood.

[57] From the hills in that area, two young men suspected of being demonstrators were brought in. Their hands were tightly bound behind their backs, and their faces had been beaten so badly that they were unrecognizable. As they were brought along, people began striking them one after another with rifle butts. Then they were ordered to “Lie down” in the stream flowing nearby. I could see their entire bodies trembling violently. They insisted that they absolutely were not demonstrators. They said they worked at a nearby briquette factory. From what I could see, that seemed true. But their excuses were useless.

As I sat on the hillside watching this scene, before I knew it two Cobra helicopters — famous from the Vietnam War — were circling overhead. Up to then the gunfire had continued, and apparently they had neither been able to sit down nor locate the demonstrators who had attacked.

When I went toward the front, it was truly a land of death. Burning vehicles, seven or eight corpses, shattered armored vehicles, commanders severely wounded, men crying out that all their subordinates were dying while requesting reinforcements, and a commander, grievously wounded, clutching a radio and rolling on the ground in agony while shouting, “Armed helicopter support! Armed helicopter support!” … It pained my heart terribly. The Infantry School blocking force at the front had already fled before our overwhelming firepower.

Helicopters landed and began loading bodies. One captain in particular had been struck in the abdomen by a rocket round and his body had been torn in half, so they wrapped him in a blanket before loading him aboard. There was no expression for it except: “Hell, it was hell itself.” Generals including the Special Warfare Command commander and the brigade commander descended one after another from the helicopters. But the situation had already passed beyond remedy, and there was nothing that could be done.

Around the time the helicopters had transported nearly all the casualties and the twenty or thirty wounded men, a farmer was brought from the rear on a handcart pulled by his daughter. He had been working in the rice paddies when he was struck by gunfire, and his daughter was so terrified she could not even cry. What crime had there been in simply working in the fields… Since nearly all the vehicles had burned up, I returned again toward the rear where our unit was, and they told us to prepare for withdrawal.

Up to that moment, the two young men who had earlier been captured were still lying face down. Then a certain officer said, “Hey — execute them.” “Yes, sir,” someone replied, and after releasing the safety on his M16, he fired three shots — bang, bang, bang — into the young man in front, and then fired three shots into the young man behind him. Their bodies trembled in the water. Human life was so insignificant and miserable.

Then another sergeant fired additional shots into the dead youths to make sure they were dead. I felt as if I were inside a dream. Everything unfolding before my eyes seemed unreal. But the misery was real. Leaving the bodies where they lay, we divided ourselves among several vehicles and arrived at Songjeong-ri Airfield. We began living inside the airport hangars. Lavish food — beef, chicken, and so on — was served. We said among ourselves that they must be giving us so much meat because so many people had died, and we hardly ate it. Instead we spent the time thinking painfully about our dead comrades and the comrades who had been wounded up to then.

We arrived at the airfield on May 24 and spent three days there maintaining equipment and the like. On the morning of the 26th, the personnel clerk (a senior sergeant) wrote down our addresses, blood types, home telephone numbers, and so forth. Even when we asked what it was for, there was no answer. But we knew. It was either for a parachute drop into the city or for an infiltration by land to seize Gwangju again.

After lunch, several senior sergeants assembled us again wearing ordinary combat uniforms rather than camouflage and carrying only light field gear. They told us that operations would begin that night and ordered us to prepare our magazines and equipment and assemble. Once again live ammunition, grenades, M203 grenade launchers, and other lethal equipment were issued, along with flak jackets.

There was a brief explanation of the operation plan. We were to depart by helicopter at 1600 hours, infiltrate the mountains behind Chosun University, and proceed on foot toward the Tourist Hotel as our objective. There was also ideological instruction from senior commanders. In addition, they explained the current situation inside the city. According to the explanation, securing the city was only a matter of time. However, there were said to be about four tons of TNT in the basement of the Provincial Office. They said special intelligence personnel had successfully infiltrated and removed the detonators, but that detonators had been obtained somewhere else, and if the explosives were set off when the martial law forces entered, not only we but everything within three kilometers around the Provincial Office would be destroyed. In one sense, this frightened me. But having endured those hellish days so far without any injury, I thought perhaps this time too I might somehow survive.

At 1800 hours we boarded helicopters. Then, with all radio communication cut off, we landed in the mountains behind Chosun University. Our operational team consisted of thirty men divided into seven groups. A drizzle was falling, and apart from the occasional whining sound of fire engines, Gwangju city was relatively quiet.

However, once daylight came, infiltration by land became impossible. We decided to wait in the rain until darkness fell again. Once more we loaded live ammunition into our rifles and prepared grenades and the like for immediate use.

Around midnight, as we followed the side of Chosun University and bypassed the Provincial Office, approaching the Geumnam-ro area, vehicles equipped with loudspeakers and microphones drove around shouting: “The martial law forces have invaded! Citizens of Gwangju, take up your guns and gather at the Provincial Office!” Almost simultaneously, the .50 caliber machine gun installed on the roof of the Provincial Office began spraying gunfire randomly throughout the city. We lay prone in alleys between buildings while countless live rounds poured over our heads. But it was clear they had not discovered us and were simply firing indiscriminately. [59]

Then, just as the weapons sergeant was crossing Geumnam-ro and passing beside the Tourist Hotel in order for part of our force to move around to the rear, a mobile strike unit of demonstrators suddenly advanced toward us, leading with a jeep and carrying demonstrators in four vehicles behind it. We all held our breath and lay flat on the ground, and they failed to notice us and simply passed by.

Two groups of twelve men secured the alleys behind the Tourist Hotel, while we attempted to destroy the shuttered front entrance using M203 launchers. At that moment thousands of gunshots began ringing out from the Provincial Office and elsewhere. At times we could also hear grenades and M203 rounds exploding.

In front of the Tourist Hotel, two M203 launchers first fired toward the main entrance, then seven or eight rounds were fired at lit areas from the first floor upward. After that, two grenades were thrown into the entrance, and we rushed inside firing our M16s wildly. Unexpectedly, however, only a few people were there. In several rooms rifles and liquor bottles lay scattered about in disorder. The personnel who had entered from the rear said the same thing.

From this point we began radio communications again. It was around 4 a.m. Meanwhile, fierce fighting was reportedly underway at the Provincial Office, which the 3rd Airborne Brigade had been assigned to secure, so we were ordered to proceed there and enter the Provincial Office by way of the tax office.

When we arrived at the Provincial Office, gunfire continued to be directed at us from the building. It seemed that much of it was not aimed fire but warning fire. Supporting one another over the wall one by one, we repeatedly announced over a microphone: “Surrender.” A few demonstrators came out with their hands raised. But most still refused to yield.

The 3rd Airborne Brigade forces broke through the main gate of the Provincial Office, entered through the lobby, searched the first floor, and dragged out many demonstrators. All of them were remarkably brave. The demonstrators were brave, and the martial law troops were brave as well.

It was around 4 a.m. The Provincial Office was now completely secured. However, at 5 a.m. we were scheduled to rendezvous with forces from the 20th Division, hand over the Provincial Office to them, and then withdraw. One sergeant from our team had been shot in the chest despite wearing a flak jacket, so I loaded him into a civilian vehicle and drove toward the Gwangju Integrated Hospital. But as we passed in front of the Asia Theater, concentrated gunfire suddenly began pouring at us from both sides of the road and from buildings. Bullets rained onto the vehicle as if in a storm. The driver and I threw ourselves down in the front of the vehicle.

When the firing stopped, I looked at the driver and saw that he had already died. Carefully peering outside over the vehicle, I could make out figures in the dawn light — they were soldiers. Seeing a civilian vehicle speeding along, the 20th Division troops, who had already secured the area, must have mistaken us for demonstrators and opened concentrated fire. But when I tried to open the car door and get out, I was too frightened to move. Everyone around the buildings and the road was clearly focused on my vehicle, and if they realized someone inside was still alive, they would surely think I was a demonstrator and fire again.

I decided to wait until daylight, when they could clearly see me. I called to the badly wounded sergeant in the back seat, but there was no answer. He appeared already dead. Blood was continuing to flow into my boot from my right calf, soaking it completely.

Beside me, the dead driver remained leaning against me with his eyes open. It had all happened in barely five or six minutes. Yet it felt like endless hours passing by.

Then came the sound of footsteps — heavy military boots. They were coming to confirm whether we had been killed. Thousands of thoughts crossed my mind. What if they saw me lying there and fired again to make sure I was dead? Perhaps I too had been struck somewhere else and was slowly dying. What would the world after death be like? The smell of blood and gunpowder filled my nose.

Finally, three men came right up beside the car and slightly opened the front door. I suddenly sprang up and shouted, “Hey, don’t shoot! Martial law forces!” A captain, apparently the company commander, asked, “Are you hurt?” I explained everything that had happened and asked, “Whose order was it to fire?” He replied that up to then they had been fighting demonstrators and had thought we were demonstrators. In short, it was friendly fire.

I rode in a 20th Division ambulance to the Integrated Hospital, where even outside the building patients overflowed everywhere like a marketplace. Fortunately, the bullet had merely penetrated the metal body of the vehicle and lodged in my leg. After removing the bullet and stopping the bleeding, they sent me back to the airfield. The sergeant being transported with me had been struck by six additional bullets during the friendly-fire incident, but they said his life was not in danger.

Everything was over.

I again reported back to my unit. Our team had two wounded men. But the gunshot wound in my leg began hurting more and more. I returned to the Integrated Hospital and was admitted there. The hospital was overflowing with patients — people whose hands or arms had been severed, people whose legs had been amputated, people with penetrating abdominal wounds, and countless others.

After remaining at the Integrated Hospital for two days, I was transferred again to the Integrated Hospital in Seoul, where I received inpatient treatment for two weeks before rejoining my main unit at Kyung Hee University.

K, what I have written until now about the Gwangju Incident consists of the things I personally felt, witnessed, and did. I spoke with many comrades, and the suppression of the incident was much the same for them as it was for me.

Thinking about it now, I believe the only solution is to clear the citizens of the false label of “rioters,” for those who were central figures at the time to reveal everything and apologize, and for the martial law troops who were deployed in suppressing the incident and the citizens to meet again and create an opportunity for reconciliation. This is because both the citizens and the martial law troops are now victims.

The Gwangju Incident was ignited by the initial excessive suppression and merciless beatings, and because the citizens’ demands continued to be ignored and met only with proclamations without any apology from those in high positions, the citizens did not lay down their weapons and the situation was ultimately suppressed by force.

Even now, to the citizens of Gwangju who suffered from this tragedy and remain filled with resentment, I write these words with deep reflection and apology.

November 25, 1987

* * * * * * *

I've previously noted the differences between the 3rd Brigade and 11th Brigade accounts, including the differences in degree of contrition (higher among the 11th Brigade veterans, lower among those of the 3rd Brigade), and another point to consider is that both of the 11th Brigade veterans who wrote accounts were wounded in friendly fire incidents, which no doubt contributes to them feeling conflicted or remorseful about the events of May 1980.

His statement that the officers at the Provincial Office were considering using grenade launchers on the crowds... rather horribly makes the 'mere' use of rifle fire seem moderate in comparison. The fact that retreat from the Provincial Office would be difficult amid the surging, angry crowds and - more importantly - was forbidden by their superiors clearly contributed to the the fatal decision to open fire, but it doesn't feel like much insight into that decision is on offer above.

That said, a lot of the details surrounding the shooting in front of the Provincial Office differ from other sources, but that's not entirely surprising considering how chaotic it was. He says, for example, that the shooting happened before 2 soldiers were run over by an APC, while most accounts agree that this happened before the shooting. As well, it is generally considered that it was a tracked military APC that ran over the two soldiers (one of whom died immediately) - something stated in the account of the other 11th Brigade paratrooper - when it reversed to avoid being hit by a four-wheeled APC commandeered by protesters that had charged suddenly at the military lines. The incident involving the vehicle that charged the soldiers, was fired on, and crashed into the fountain also, according to a number of sources, occurred before the mass shooting. It’s interesting that he remembers the mass shooting being an angry response to the two soldiers being run over, when my understanding is that orders had been given allowing for firing upon charging vehicles (such as the vehicle that was shot and crashed into the fountain) but that the order to open fire en masse was a specific, newly-given order. This account says otherwise, that they fired without orders. It seems that even today the exact facts of the matter aren't entirely clear.

He also describes a protester firing at them from a rooftop with a rifle soon after the mass firing began, and describes citizens firing a machine gun at them from the top of a hospital. This was described in 죽음을 넘어 시대의 어둠을 넘어 : 광주 5월 민중항쟁의 기록, an account of the uprising published in 1985 and published in translation as Kwangju Diary (1999), but a footnote in the translation read:

There are conflicting accounts as to whether the rebels actually fired the machine guns on the roof of the hospital. Now it seems certain that the militia did not fire the L.M.G.s. In his book Sibilkan ui ch’wijae such’ op (A reporter’s diary of ten days), Kim Yŏng-t’aek, who covered the uprising for Korea’s prestigious Dong A Il Bo, later wrote: “There were several young men-who appeared to be students-working on something on the top of the twelve-story Chŏnnam University Hospital. ... For a while they were busy at work, then the barrels of two L.M.G.s came into view ... The installation of these two machine guns was of great importance. The militia, now armed with automatic weapons, was threatening the soldiers on the roof of Province Hall ... However, the students would not attack soldiers [with machine guns] at the price of the innocent citizens... The machine guns were never fired. Indeed they [the students] were wise ... (Before they finally decided to withdraw from the city, the military considered sending in a strike team to remove the L.M.G.s[from the hospital].” (Quoted in O il p’ al ku sam kwa ch’ugum ui kirok [May 18: the record of life and death] (Seoul: P’ulpit, 1996),(452.)

If it is now agreed they didn't fire the machine gun, one wonders if the veteran who authored the above account may have read the 1985 book and been influenced by it. The timing in his account is also confusing because in the space of a page he goes from the mass shooting that takes place around 1:00 p.m. to withdrawal at 5:00 p.m..

A machine gun makes another appearance at the end of his account during the final assault on the Provincial Office, when he writes "Almost simultaneously, the .50 caliber machine gun installed on the roof of the Provincial Office began spraying gunfire randomly throughout the city." I've never heard of a .50 caliber machine gun being installed on the roof of the Provincial Office, and find the idea that they were "spraying gunfire randomly throughout the city" - and thereby putting citizens living in the area at risk - to be rather unlikely.

I hadn't known about the Tourist Hotel being a target of the final assault, and am not sure why it was.

He also provides accounts of the friendly fire incident that killed so many 11th Brigade soldiers and the shooting of minibus survivors (he doesn't make it clear that the high school girl survived).

It's been stated for decades (see this post from 2009) that at least some paratroopers could be considered to be victims in regard to events in Gwangju in 1980; at the very least they were (mis)used by Chun Doo-hwan's new military group to guarantee their coup succeeded. Hopefully this series of paratrooper accounts helps to show how the more simplistic narratives of "blameless citizens" and "evil martial law troops" conceal a much more complex reality. If only there was an account by a 7th Brigade veteran (the brigade that set off the uprising on May 18) to help shed light on what set everything in motion.

The 1980 Gwangju Uprising: An Account by an 11th Brigade Paratrooper (1987) Part 1

noreply@blogger.com (matt) — Mon, 25 May 2026 06:51:18 +0000

Paratrooper accounts of the Gwangju Uprising

Account by an 11th Brigade paratrooper (1999)

Account by a 3rd Brigade paratrooper (1996)

Account by an 11th Brigade paratrooper (1987) Part 1

Account by an 11th Brigade paratrooper (1987) Part 2

Account by an 11th Brigade paratrooper (1987) Part 1

Here is another account by a paratrooper from the 11th Brigade, originally published in 1987. Since it is 30 pages in length, I will divide it into two parts. The original source is:

윤재걸 편, 『작전명령 화려한 휴가: 광주 민중항쟁의 기록』 (서울: 실천문학사, 1988), 30-60.

Yun Jae-geol, ed., Operation Order Splendid Holiday: A Record of the Kwangju People’s Uprising (Seoul: Silcheon Munhaksa, 1988), 30-60.

Note: He uses the term 광주사태, or Gwangju Incident, as it was known before democratization. The "K" he addresses his account to is rendered "K형" in the original. His account is dated November 25, 1987.

The first half of this account is tricky because he mixes up the dates when he was deployed to Gwangju writing May 18 instead of May 19, but also seems to mix up May 19 and 20 as well. When I am certain of the date (using standard chronologies and referring to the other 11th Brigade paratrooper's account), I have written it in; otherwise I add a question mark to the date.

* * * * * * *

The “Splendid Holiday” That I Was Sent On

—Memoir of an Airborne Trooper Deployed During the Kwangju Incident

[Editor’s Note]

This is a memoir by a Special Forces noncommissioned officer who volunteered for the ROK Special Warfare Command in 1976 and was deployed to Gwangju in May 1980. It recounts his direct experiences and actions from the scene with honesty. Except for correcting spelling errors, it is presented exactly as written in the original.

K, as you know well, I volunteered for the Special Warfare Command in 1976 and served for over ten years before I was discharged. I was deployed as a martial law soldier during the Gwangju Incident—a moment in history that still lingers bitterly in the hearts of many citizens—and even sustained minor injuries there. Though I was only a humble noncommissioned officer, I want to recount my actions from that time truthfully, without exaggeration or lies. What the public most wants to know now seems to be:

1) How many people actually died?

2) Why was there such violent beating?

3) Were all the rumors and hearsay true?

4) Who were the people in Seoul giving the orders and leading at the time?

5) After the incident, what compensation, if any, was provided to civilians, soldiers, and police who were killed or injured?

K, I believe reading my memoir may help clarify some of these questions for those who remain curious about the Gwangju Incident. I also write this as a way to seek forgiveness, even if only slightly, for my wrongdoings at the time. I ask for your understanding that I cannot disclose the names of my comrades or commanding officers.

When President Park Chung-hee died in one of the most bizarre incidents in history, killed by his own right-hand man, I was serving as a senior NCO and barracks commander enduring a hard and grueling military life in a deep mountain valley in Gangwon Province. That night, I had returned from 2:00 am to 4:00 am perimeter sentry duty when another soldier, just off shift, told me about President Park’s assassination via radio. I couldn’t believe it at first. But our unit, being far removed from the capital on the eastern front, didn’t react with any noticeable unrest or changes. However, the number of ideological training sessions about loyalty to the state and maintaining order increased significantly, with a particularly marked increase in "Chungjeong [loyalty] Training" (at the time, this meant riot suppression drills). K, as you know, few soldiers enjoy military training. The Special Warfare Command is the spearhead of the army, trained to infiltrate enemy lines during all-out war to sabotage key facilities or assassinate targets, then escape and return to friendly areas. Because of this, our training was extremely demanding and specialized.

In any case, our unit remained calm. But on December 12, 1979, at 9 PM, we were placed on emergency alert. However, about four hours later, the alert was lifted. That night, rumors spread through the base that General Jeong Byeong-ju, commander of the Special Forces, had been arrested. Though I was only an NCO, and just one point in the hierarchy, there was a lot of talk in the barracks. They said a mutiny had taken place. On December 13, Defense Minister Roh Jae-hyun issued a statement claiming the military remained stable and focused on its duties. But among the soldiers, there was frustration and resentment, especially about who had orchestrated the mutiny and how the arrests had been carried out.

The year ended, and from February 1980 most regular training was suspended and riot suppression drills took over entirely. At the main gate of our battalion, one regional team (a Special Forces organizational unit, commanded by a captain or major, with around 14 officers and 100 men) would play the role of rioters, while another team played the defense force. The two sides would clash in endless drills, pushing and pulling.

In early April, our unit received orders to move to the capital region. As you already know, K, the structure of political power had shifted following the December 12 incident. I sensed that some unavoidable conflict would erupt as the new regime took shape. In mid-April (I forget when), around 8 pm, we were deployed in trucks borrowed from the infantry. As we left, we said tearful goodbyes to our wives and children. About a hundred trucks carried our brigade down winding mountain roads, and with their headlights on, the tail of the convoy looked like a long snake. We arrived at Bupyeong Station by train from Chuncheon early in the morning, then moved to a base near Gimpo Airfield and settled in. From that day, the riot suppression training resumed. CS gas was released by circling 500MD helicopters, and the training was much harsher than anything we had experienced before.

At that time, student protests were spreading daily across Seoul and other cities. Among the soldiers, a strong resentment toward students was growing. We asked ourselves, “Whose fault is it that we left our homes to suffer like this?” and anti-student sentiment flared. During training, our officers emphasized that, if deployed, we were to beat protestors brutally with batons on every part of the body except the head. Why were such harsh orders given? To this day, I can't rid myself of that question.

K, let me digress for a moment to explain the structure of the Special Forces. I believe this will help readers better understand what happened in Gwangju. About 80% of the Special Forces personnel are long-term NCOs or officers. This is because enlisted soldiers leave after fulfilling their mandatory service, while NCOs serve a minimum of four years and undergo six months or more of intensive training, making them more battle-ready and consistent. Also, when they reach their prime fighting age, unlike conscripts, they don’t get discharged. They undergo constant physical training, martial arts, taekwondo, and outdoor drills so they’re well-conditioned to survive behind enemy lines.

Back to our time in Gimpo. Nightly ideological education by commanders, daytime harsh training with CS gas and armored cars, the repeated process of packing and unpacking gear every night for potential deployment, the homesickness from not seeing our families, the poor food – all of these turned our hatred toward the students into a boiling rage, and we were consumed by foolish mindset that we would take revenge for our suffering by beating them.

In May, though I don’t recall the exact date, the president of the transitional government (whom we derisively called the “pushover”) left for the Middle East to negotiate for oil, and from that point, tension in the unit rose. Almost nightly, we boarded vehicles to deploy, only for the orders to be canceled at the last minute.

Around 5 pm on May 16 [SIC – May 17], President Choi Kyu-hah returned a day early. Our brigade commander had gone to Special Forces Headquarters. Around 11 pm he returned and gave the deployment order. At midnight, we left the base together with the 1st Airborne Brigade. The line of military vehicles stretched endlessly. The red light from the commander’s jeep’s nameplate flickered as we moved out, and everyone said, “We’re finally deploying.” Soldiers were filled with pride, curiosity, and burning hatred toward the students who only demonstrated. We arrived at Dongguk University.

Although curfew was in effect from midnight, some drunken civilians still wandered the streets. We detained a few of them and arrived to find the university gates locked. The campus security guard, unaware of martial law, told us to wait while he made a call. When he said that, one of us angrily barked, “This bastard wants to get beaten,” and we forced the gate open ourselves.

K, that moment marked the arrival of tragedy. A tragedy of history. A tragedy of our people. Today, even if people don’t know ‘Korea,’ they know Gwangju. That night, the Defense Security Command and the KCIA rounded up all major dissidents and political figures. At Dongguk, our unit set up 24-man tents on the large parade ground, while others began searching the campus and nearby buildings. In military operations, it’s basic practice to sweep the area around your encampment. But the search at Dongguk was different. The orders were to arrest on sight any students still on campus. I was assigned to sweep the greenhouse with about 10 others and found four students still studying there. We shouted at them in informal speech, “All of you, come out.” They replied, “We’re graduate students, just studying,” and showed us ID cards. But without any hesitation we kicked them with our boots and took them to our camp.

By the time we lay down to sleep in our tents, it was 4 am. After a brief rest on the cold ground, we woke up for morning physical training and searched the school again. At the main gate, I saw several detainees who had been dragged to the security office basement and beaten nearly to death.

K, I won’t claim I acted moderately or refrained from violence during the Gwangju Incident. I was no different from the others. But I write this now to reveal the truth. If the people were to demand punishment for my role, I would accept it.

I swear before the heavens, however, that I never once fired a gun. Except for the key people who gave the orders, I believe all of us who went to Gwangju, whether soldiers or civilians, were victims. That’s why I write this. I’ve since taken off my uniform, but even today, when I meet fellow veterans who were there, none of us can speak of it to our children or friends. We carry it as a burden of shame.

Later that afternoon, word came that the situation in Gwangju was worsening. We were ordered to move. Even though we moved like well-trained machines, strictly following orders, complaints were building up among us. Discontent was growing between officers and enlisted men due to indecisive and inconsistent command. One battalion flew from Seongnam to Gwangju by helicopter, while the remaining troops moved to Cheongnyangni Station by vehicle. Watching our unit's vehicles disregard traffic lights and pedestrian crossings, I had the ominous feeling that a storm was coming. When we arrived at Cheongnyangni Station, a train was already waiting, and it felt surprisingly luxurious. Normally, when the unit traveled, it was by dirty, slow local trains, but this time – perhaps because of martial law or pure chance – it was as clean as a first-class express. As we rode to Gwangju, we joked among ourselves that we were being treated exceptionally well. The train, running express, made only one stop in Daejeon (to change locomotives) before continuing to Gwangju's new station, where we arrived at dawn.

K, we didn’t know whether the ongoing demonstrations in Gwangju were led by students or were following orders from Kim Dae-jung. But one thing was certain: a storm was slowly rising in the southern city of Gwangju. The new station in Gwangju seemed no different than usual. The square in front of the station, empty in the early morning, was welcoming us with nothing but military trucks. As we boarded vehicles and drove through the city streets, we saw soldiers from the 7th Airborne Brigade stationed in pairs or threes, guarding key buildings. They waved at our vehicles with relief and excitement as reinforcements had arrived. Occasionally, we also saw personnel from the 31st Division on guard duty.

We arrived at the main field of Chosun University around 4 a.m. Tents had already been pitched during the day by the 31st Division. Each company was assigned one tent, and as we lay down, we fell into sleep like people who had dropped dead. We woke at 6 a.m. as usual, had breakfast, and were ordered to assemble in full combat gear for a show of force throughout the city. This meant personal rifles, bulletproof vests, helmets, gas masks, a single CS gas canister for riot control, bayonets, ammo belts, canteens—everything.

After being confined to base for such a long time, undergoing intense loyalty drills, and having barely slept in recent days, this unit was already steeped in hostility toward students and civilians. Even though we had not participated in the Busan-Masan incident before the October 26 assassination, we felt pride in how other Special Forces units had forcefully suppressed it. So sending this heavily trained and emotionally primed unit to conduct a show-of-force march across Gwangju was, I believe, a serious misjudgment by the commanding officers.

We wore bulletproof helmets (reinforced plastic versions of standard steel helmets), special forces fatigues, (so-called ‘jump suits’ with camouflage resembling reservist uniforms), M16 rifles, ammo belts with 1 pouch and 4 magazines (each with 20 rounds), Special Forces-issued boots (with sharp lines, not given to other units) and carried riot batons that were about 60 cm long (often mistakenly believed to be metal or reinforced with steel, but were actually made of ash or birch, felled and carved in civilian workshops in early April before our unit moved from Gangwon Province to Gimpo; these were made when the trees were full of spring sap and thus became as hard as metal, with diameters of about 5–6 cm). The mesh visor attached to our helmets was made of wire and could be flipped up or removed if not needed. Though our gear was complex, it was much lighter and more mobile than the standard riot control equipment used by police. K, truthfully, even at that time, none of us expected the Gwangju incident to end in such tragedy or escalate into something so immense.

Around 10 a.m. on May 18 [SIC 19], we boarded about 100 vehicles—one per company—from the field at Chosun University. At the front was an APC, followed by the battalion commander’s vehicle. Inside the APC was a soldier from Gwangju familiar with the local roads to guide us. All personnel wore white gloves, held their rifles upright, and were under strict orders: no talking, no smiling, no joking. Our convoy drove past Chonnam National University’s main gate, then through Geumnam-ro, the intercity bus terminal, and stopped in front of the Asea Theater. That’s when a radio message came through: remove the berets and put on bulletproof helmets. We already knew from our training that this meant dismounting and preparing to suppress a demonstration. The convoy turned left at Yangdong Arcade and sped down Geumnam-ro, stopping in front of the Tourist Hotel. The street was scattered with stones, but there was no sign of protesters. We were told to stay in the vehicles because the demonstrators had already fled.

A few minutes passed—maybe two to four—when the command came: “Dismount.” To our ears, this order sounded like, “Ruthlessly beat any young man you find.” That moment, around 10:30 a.m. on May [19], marked the beginning of the tragedy on Geumnam-ro. As we got out of the vehicles, the demonstrators had already scattered. Fueled by a need to vent our anger and with no protesters in sight, we began searching nearby buildings—hotels, cafés, barbershops. I remember going with seven or eight others to search a small inn behind the Tourist Hotel, I think it was called Midojang. The metal front gate was locked. No matter how much we knocked, no one answered. One soldier climbed over the wall and opened the gate from inside, and as he did, several workers came out all at once, insisting no one else was there.

Honestly, it would have been better if they had escaped through the back. But instead, someone shouted, “These sons of bitches have no fear!” and started kicking them with taekwondo moves—double kicks and such—while others began beating them with batons.

As I mentioned earlier, the riot baton was incredibly solid and heavy—so much so that even a light strike could break an arm if someone tried to block it with their wrist or forearm. In just two or three minutes, four or five hotel staff who had been wearing white dress shirts and bow ties were now sprawled across the cement floor, their clothes scattered and torn. We picked them up and lined four of them against the wall. Just then, the local area commander, a major, arrived. There was no distinction between officers and enlisted men when it came to beatings. The major ordered them to kneel, then kicked each of them in the face with the full force of his military boots.

Life was something terrifyingly fragile. Their faces were crushed, blood poured out, and their heads slammed hard against the cement wall from the impact of the boots. But no one fell unconscious. They remained upright, though their faces were disfigured beyond recognition—too brutal to look at. Meanwhile, two or three soldiers from our search group were checking each room and pulling out any young person they found, ordering them to line up outside. More than ten young men, in their twenties and thirties, gathered in a double-file line with terror on their faces. One man in his mid-thirties pleaded with us, saying he was on his honeymoon. But there was no room for conversation with us. It didn’t matter. Beatings were indiscriminate, and arrest was the only outcome. The bride came out in tears, begging for mercy, but there was neither compassion nor hesitation. Once a civilian was caught, the first thing that happened was a beating—supposedly to prevent escape, or to “crush their spirit.” The next step was always to strip them to their underwear. Their hands were then tied behind their backs using their own belts. With their stripped-off clothes in their bound hands, they were dragged to the side of the truck we had arrived in. There, they were grouped with others—thirty to forty people at a time—in the middle of Geumnam-ro street, and forced to lie down on their backs, then on their stomachs, then roll left, roll right—harsh physical punishment meant to humiliate and break them down. After that, they were lined up in double-file behind the truck. Then came the hardest part—boarding the truck while their hands were still tied. With their hands tied behind their backs, they had to climb onto trucks so high that even an ordinary adult would have struggled to board them. The detainees behind would shove and hoist the person ahead upward by the head and body, while the person boarding scrambled desperately onto the truck. It was a terrifying ordeal—so brutal it pushed the limits of human endurance. Once inside the truck, two or three communication soldiers were waiting. They ordered, “Keep your heads down, heads down.” The reason was simple: if detainees looked at each other, they might regain courage—or realize there were only a few of us Special Forces soldiers—and they might resist as a group or try to escape. If anyone dared lift their head or glance at another person, they would be struck hard across the back with a club by a soldier positioned above. The truck would then take them to the sports field at Chosun University. But the suffering didn’t end there. As soon as the truck honked and arrived at the parade ground, administrative clerks, kitchen staff, and security personnel who had stayed behind gathered, each wielding a riot baton, ready and waiting. And then, taken from the truck, they were made to line up again, and the punishment drills and beatings began anew. The beatings were so brutal they could not be put into words. Then we were detained in the gymnasium building.

At both the front and back doors, 4 to 5 guards were stationed, and inside, another 4 to 5 men would beat them again. After a brief wait, they were sent to the 31st Division at Sangmudae [a military base on the city's outskirts]. Whether they had participated in the protests or not, they were dragged away simply for being young. Once caught, we were subjected to extreme beatings and punishment drills three to four times — the ordeal was so intense it went beyond human limits, a suffering unbearable for any human being.

After finishing the roundup at Midojang Inn, I entered a building whose name I cannot remember well, but which had a wedding hall on the second and third floors. We searched under the chairs in the restroom and banquet hall, but there were no young people there. Whenever we moved around or entered buildings, we always went in groups of two or three. This was to prevent someone from wandering off alone and instead suffering harm himself.

When we failed to find anyone in the wedding hall, Lance Corporal Lee became enraged. Since we had not found anyone in the wedding hall, he took a female employee with him and went back into the bridal dressing room. Like a madman, he smashed dozens of cosmetics with his riot baton. After that, leaving another person behind smashing the plate glass with a riot baton, I came back out onto Geumnam-ro street, where they were saying we were withdrawing and ordering us to board the vehicles.

At around 12 o’clock we arrived once again at the athletic field of Chosun University, unloaded our gear, and were almost finished eating lunch when a siren sounded. It was the signal for an emergency assembly. When we returned again to Geumnam-ro, two privately owned vehicles with South Gyeongsang license plates and two bicycles were burning all at once, and the crowd that had been demonstrating up until then scattered in panic at the sight of us chasing them with armored vehicles and at the double-time march.

Up until that point we had been full of courage and confidence. We were filled with the simple mentality of soldiers — the foolish thinking that “if you beat them, they will be suppressed,” and “Koreans have to be beaten.” The crowds on Geumnam-ro, trembling with rage because of the merciless beatings that morning, would flee whenever we advanced just a few steps toward them. From this point onward began the suppression method of chasing, pushing, and being pushed back.

While we blocked the road across the center of Geumnam-ro and stood guard, the demonstrators kept throwing stones and slowly approached us. Even though stones were thrown at us, we did not budge and simply stood there holding our riot batons, and the demonstrators seemed quite frightened by this. Some of my comrades stood motionless even after being struck by stones on their bodies, while in some cases stones struck the wire mesh covering their faces and shattered it.

After standing there for 30–40 minutes, the demonstrators began shielding themselves with public telephone booths and the like while pushing forward until they came within 20–30 meters directly in front of us. Then, when the regional unit commander shouted from right behind us, “Charge forward!”, we ran with all our strength. At such times, even though stones came flying from the demonstrators like rain, we neither dodged nor feared them and chased them to the end. And when we struck them from behind with riot batons, most would collapse. Then we would trample mainly on the legs of those who had fallen with our military boots. That way they could not run away and would lose any sign of resistance. Then once again we stripped off their clothes, tied their hands behind them with belts, formed groups of two or three, loaded 20–30 at a time onto vehicles, and subjected them again to severe beatings and punishment. I think it was at this time that the stories arose saying, “They stripped women naked and hauled them away.” Because restrictions on long hair had already been abolished, when people looked down from buildings and saw long-haired individuals wearing only underpants, with heads bowed, boarding vehicles, even I, if I had been an ordinary citizen, would certainly have thought the same thing.

K, by continuing the arrests and beatings in this manner, many young people who were completely innocent and simply passing by suffered harm. Also, I think that the demonstrators who had actually been protesting in an organized way were probably not arrested very often. Up to that point buses and taxis had still been operating fairly well, though there were places where traffic was partially blocked.

However, from then on there was a noticeably large increase in ordinary citizens joining in. Wearing motorcycle helmets, they threw many stones at us, aiming for our legs whenever we chased them. But we paid no attention. We chased them to the very end, even into the alleys. Into houses or bathrooms, wherever they went.

At that time (around 4 p.m. on May [19]), I chased two demonstrators on Geumnam-ro, and they turned into an alley and fled into some shabby house. I was at the very front, with three or four of our men following behind me, and when we reached the house they had fled into, they had already hidden themselves and disappeared. Still wearing my military boots, I entered the inner room, where there were three people: an elderly grandmother, an older woman who seemed to be her daughter, and another woman.

“Where did the two young bastards go?”

“We don’t know.”

“They didn’t come here.”

So I said, “If you’re lying, you’ll die,” and terrified, they pointed toward the toilet outside. As I approached with another member searching around the house in order to check the toilet, the toilet door suddenly burst open and the two demonstrators started running into the alley again. “Catch those bastards!” I shouted as I chased after them and threw the riot baton I was carrying. It struck one in the back of the head, and he collapsed, unable to run away. Blood kept flowing from his head. The other demonstrator was caught by the rest of our men, who continued chasing him. Had his hold on life not been exceptionally tenacious, he would already have died....

When we returned again to the Chosun University drill field, Captain Yun, the company commander, told me to assemble the company. Not understanding why, I asked what was going on, but he became angry, saying, “I said assemble them!”

To the assembled troops he said that we were not beating them hard enough and ordered us to beat them more harshly and mercilessly. Then he called out Private Lee (this soldier was from Gangwon Province, a very innocent private who knew nothing of the realities of the military). Saying that this soldier was not beating people at all, he shouted, “Get down!” and then struck him ten times on the buttocks with the riot baton he himself was carrying. I still cannot forget the expression on his face in pain. I hated the company commander to death for beating his own subordinate even all the way down in distant Gwangju. And my hatred toward the demonstrators only grew stronger.

It was here that the rumor first began spreading among the demonstrators, around 6:00 p.m. on the [19]th, that “they selected only Gyeongsang-do soldiers and sent them here to wipe out the Jeolla-do people.” In fact, there was no military unit in the entire armed forces composed only of Gyeongsang-do men, and even at the time of the incident there were many troops from all over the country, especially from Jeollanam-do and Gyeongsangnam-do. The units were absolutely not organized by selecting only men from Gyeongsang-do. As you know well yourself, K, I too was from Jeollanam-do, and there were many soldiers from Jeolla Province.

Even now, I think that on the afternoon of the 18th, while suppressing demonstrators on Geumnam-ro, there were soldiers shouting and yelling in Gyeongsang-do dialect, and that this was why people mistakenly thought they were all Gyeongsang-do soldiers. It was an exhausting and difficult day, and looking back now, a cruel one. But at the time, to us immature young men, it felt like something to be proud of. When we gathered among ourselves, we would boast proudly about where and how we had beaten people, or how bravely we had fought somewhere. K, I was no exception.

That afternoon (the [19]th), the Jeonnam-Jeonbuk Martial Law Subcommand announced by broadcast that a curfew would be imposed throughout Gwangju from 9 p.m. until 4 a.m., but it was useless. Around 8 p.m. that night, our regional unit, with about 70 to 80 men, encountered demonstrators in front of the intercity bus terminal, and there broke out the kind of hand-to-hand fighting I had previously only heard about. Up until that point, I had not seen with my own eyes any soldier draw a bayonet or fix one onto an M16 rifle. In front of the public terminal it was a terrible and terrifying battle against determined demonstrators. The demonstrators held wooden clubs, stones, and bricks in their hands, while we held riot batons. But even so many citizens could not overcome us, who were well trained. Of course, on our side as well there were seven or eight lightly wounded men, but the demonstrators all fled, leaving behind about ten injured people who had failed to escape in time. We again beat and stomped those injured demonstrators with riot batons before withdrawing once more to the front of the Geumnam-ro Tourist Hotel.

Although there were more than 2,000 men from the 7th Airborne Brigade’s two battalions, the 11th Airborne Brigade, and other units, because they were scattered throughout the entire city of Gwangju carrying out suppression operations, there seemed to be far too few troops, and there was also the sense that they were quietly waiting for reinforcements.

A little after 10 p.m., if not elsewhere then at least in front of Geumnam-ro, the demonstrations ceased. Around 11 p.m. we lay down on the ground around the buildings on Geumnam-ro to rest our exhausted bodies. Before long, we fell into a deep sleep. At dawn we assembled again and waited around Geumnam-ro for breakfast, but then orders came to withdraw once more to Chosun University. While withdrawing on foot, we were ordered to return to our original positions, and while moving back toward Geumnam-ro we again encountered demonstrators. That day was the 19th [SIC 20th], our second day after deployment.

Our harsh suppression methods were the same that day as well. The suppression operations were no different at all from the day before. That day, while I was walking along the sidewalk on Geumnam-ro, someone threw a flowerpot from the rooftop of a building toward my head. A huge flowerpot fell and shattered barely about 10 centimeters in front of me. When I looked up at the building, someone on the third floor quickly hid himself after throwing it. From that day onward buildings began pulling down their shutters and major shops started closing. That building too lowered its shutter, and I began kicking it and striking it mercilessly with my riot baton, trying to catch the citizen who had tried to smash me with the flowerpot. From inside the shutter I could hear the sound of glass shattering. Shortly afterward the shutter opened, and a man who seemed to be the caretaker opened the door. Two men were ordered to guard the building entrance, while three of us searched up to the third floor, where in a third-floor toilet we found four or five young people trembling violently. After giving them a barrage of blows with riot batons and loading them onto a vehicle for detention, we saw that the whole city of Gwangju was now overflowing with demonstrators, and little by little we too began to feel fear.

Without even eating breakfast, our eyes were bloodshot, exhaustion overwhelmed our entire bodies, and we were so tired that we could hardly remain standing even for a moment. From that day onward rumors began spreading that “they mixed hallucinogens into alcohol and made them drink it; that’s why their eyes were bloodshot.” There was absolutely no truth to the claim that alcohol mixed with hallucinogens had been given to us, and as can be seen from this account, the reason our eyes were bloodshot was that we had gone days without sleep. Around lunchtime that day we withdrew briefly to the Chosun University campus in order to eat.

Before eating, I went toward the Chosun University gymnasium looking for a faucet to wash up, and inside the gymnasium there were hundreds of detainees wearing only underpants, kneeling with their heads bowed. Among them, one young man about twenty-three or twenty-four years old suddenly sprang to his feet and shouted furiously, “You sons of bitches, kill me then!” His entire body was covered in dragon tattoos. Then an NCO from brigade headquarters who had been serving as a guard said, “Fine, I’ll kill you,” and began striking his whole body with all his strength using a riot baton. The young man quickly could not endure the pain and collapsed again. When the NCO shouted, “Kneel!” the young man immediately obeyed and knelt down. The NCO then raised the baton with both hands and brought it down from above with all his strength, and the young man fell forward and soon became motionless. Besides him, there were another two or three people in the corner who were almost at the point of death.

I could not bear to watch that scene. Finishing the meal halfheartedly, we assembled again at Suchang Elementary School. There we received further instruction again. The contents were things like: “Never move around alone,” “Act in groups of two or three,” and “Continue to respond forcefully.” When we came out of the school, demonstrators had already gathered around the area and a stone-throwing battle had begun. We were not afraid of the stone-throwing at all. Even if stones hit our bodies they caused only minor injuries, and we wore bulletproof helmets on our heads.

The tear-gas grenades that each of us had carried — one round per person — had already all been used up on the first day, and because they were bothersome almost no one carried them anymore. Instead, we too used the method of throwing stones at the demonstrators. K, isn’t it absurd? Suppressing demonstrations with such primitive methods. But there was nothing else we could do. Up until that day the demonstrators still feared us, and whenever we surrounded and approached them even slightly, they fled desperately as if their lives depended on it. In front of Suchang Elementary School we drove back the demonstrators, then advanced again toward the area in front of Asea Theater, taking control of the road in a four-abreast horizontal formation.

In front of Asea Theater we again encountered demonstrators, and another clash broke out. After driving them back, we advanced again toward Gyerim-dong, when a signalman suddenly received an urgent radio message. It said that in front of Gwangju High School, the operations officer who had been directing troop deployments and demonstrations-control operations by APC armored vehicle radio had become isolated and surrounded together with the APC, and that we were to come quickly. Our team (nine men) ran there with all our strength, and then we heard the sound of an M16 rifle firing more than twenty rounds on automatic in succession. It was the first gunfire since our deployment to Gwangju.

(This gunfire occurred when a captain, the operations officer, was returning to Chosun University from the Gwangju High School area in an APC armored vehicle. After becoming surrounded by demonstrators and having the front windshield intensely smashed with stones, the terrified APC driver accelerated, but the APC jumped onto the sidewalk and struck a roadside tree. When the APC’s front collided with the sidewalk railing and became immobilized, the demonstrators collectively set fires underneath the APC and opened the hatch on top, throwing in Molotov cocktails. Those inside barely extinguished the flames with blankets and such, and when they faced the danger of suffocating from smoke, the operations officer exposed himself outside and fired warning shots with an M16. In the process, a high-school student was struck in the neck and became the first death from “gunfire.”)

[Note: This incident actually took place May 19; records state that a demonstrator was wounded but none were killed.]

When we arrived, cries of agony could be heard from an alley in front of a house, and inside the APC there were more than twenty boxes of live ammunition for guard duty, tear-gas grenades, and other items scattered about chaotically. Two or three soldiers inside looked terrified. A vehicle arrived and towed away the APC, and we took up positions at the rotary in front of Gwangju High School. Fortunately, from that point rain began to fall. There was nowhere to shelter from the rain, we were hungry and cold, and it felt as if everyone in the world was looking at us with eyes burning with hostility. K, try to imagine our condition. We waited there in the rain in front of Gwangju High School.

42 However, although there were no more demonstrations in that area, demonstrations continued elsewhere. That day as well the curfew was supposedly to begin at 9 p.m., but even then demonstrations were still continuing in other places. After 9 p.m. that night, operations began to detain curfew violators.

I formed a team with two sergeants, three men in all, and while we were conducting inspections a vehicle arrived. When we stopped and checked it, it turned out to be a 31st Division vehicle already transporting weapons from the outskirts of Gwangju and various government offices to the 31st Division. Shortly afterward, a motorcycle came speeding through the rain at a frightening pace from the direction of Sinyeok. One sergeant from our team stepped forward and raised his hand to stop it, but the rider accelerated even more in an attempt to flee, struck the sergeant, and then crashed himself not far away. The sergeant fell unconscious, and I chased after the rider and mercilessly beat the now-injured man with a riot baton. We pounded on the door of a nearby hospital and had him treated and examined through the night, and fortunately they said that aside from a slight leg injury there was nothing seriously wrong with him. But K, the man we had beaten escaped from the hospital at dawn. He left only the motorcycle and his identification behind. If he had not been utterly terrified, would he have fled in that injured condition? Suddenly I began to wonder why we — no, why I — was acting this way.

The rain was still drizzling that morning. As I sat on the hospital stairs enduring the exhaustion throughout my body and my hunger, the three days I had spent in Gwangju up to that point passed through my mind like a panorama. I wanted to see my aged mother, who lived only thirty minutes away by bus, and eat a delicious breakfast of white rice and doenjang soup. I wanted to collapse in a warm room and sleep deeply. Everything in my thoughts was rushing back toward home. How long was this situation going to continue, and how was it ever going to end? At that time all 800,000 citizens of Gwangju regarded us as enemies, even small shops did not want to sell us cigarettes, and because we were suppressing demonstrations while surviving only on bread and constantly running around, our bodies had become utterly drained and exhausted. We were supposed to eat at Chosun University, but from the [20]th onward vehicles could no longer travel because of the demonstrators.

That morning (the 20th [It does seem the following events all took place May 20]), while we were making do with bread for breakfast, orders came over the radio. We were told absolutely not to beat the demonstrators, but only urge them to go home, and also to tell the citizens that “North Korean Communist forces are now standing by preparing to invade the South, and intelligence has been received that a special 8th Corps is planning to land by warship at Mokpo and advance on Gwangju.” When we once again went out on foot to Chungjang-ro, an enormous demonstration had begun again. Overhead, a 500MD helicopter carrying the brigade commander checked the situation of the demonstrations, and whenever he ordered us to move to some location because demonstrators were gathered there, by the time we ran there a massive demonstration was already underway.

The method of suppressing demonstrations in the city had no concrete plan or system whatsoever; it was an old-fashioned method in which, depending on the situation at the moment, if we were told there were demonstrators somewhere we chased after them, and when they dispersed we rested briefly at that location until being told to move out again to some other place.

On Chungjang-ro we shouted to the demonstrators, “The troops who beat and brutalized you until yesterday were replaced overnight — we are new troops,” while urging them to go home and telling them about the current situation regarding the North Korean Communist forces. But people shouted back, “Don’t lie!” “You murderous bats are the same ones who’ve been here from the beginning!” “You’re from unit ○○○, aren’t you?” “Two people died in front of the public terminal yesterday!” Countless rumors and facts alike flew about, and far from going home, the demonstrators, seeing how restrained we had become, approached and surrounded us from alleys on all sides, putting us in a dangerous position. When we tried to push them back with riot-control batons from one side, the demonstrators were already armed with clubs and wooden staves, and some citizens even carried baseball bats and iron pipes. There a terrifying clash began with the young demonstrators. Although it lasted only about two or three minutes, it felt like several hours. I too was struck on the waist and shoulders with wooden clubs and found it difficult even to walk.

Though the clash between us and the demonstrators was brief, many on both sides were injured. And during the fighting there, seven or eight demonstrators who failed to escape and were captured could not get away from us and were beaten so miserably with riot batons that they could not get back up.

It was already impossible to persuade the citizens calmly with words. Perhaps if things had been handled calmly and through persuasion from the beginning it might have been different, but for us suddenly to change overnight and try to suppress things gently was, even in our own minds, absurd. We too had now become afraid whenever we clashed with the demonstrators. And because we wanted to survive, we became even more vicious, and when colliding with large numbers of demonstrators, cases increasingly occurred in which people were struck indiscriminately anywhere — even on the head — with riot batons. The demonstrations now seemed endless. And we too had become utterly exhausted. It was completely different from when we had first gone out to suppress the protests.

As we continued pushing back the demonstrators, we came as far as the Provincial Office on Geumnam-ro, where fortunately there were police forces behind us. If the police had pushed the demonstrators toward us, the crowd might have scattered, but instead the police were driven backward, with the result that they opened the way for the demonstrators. One of our men called over a police officer, and an older policeman (a superintendent) came over. Even now I sympathize with the feelings of that elderly superintendent, who could say nothing as the regional unit commander cursed at him — calling him “this bastard” and “that bastard” — in front of the policemen under his command.

By lunchtime the demonstrations only continued to grow larger. Chants and songs such as “Pig ○, step down!”, “Tear ○○○ to pieces!”, “Martial law troops, withdraw!”, and the national anthem seemed to shake heaven and earth.

K, it was agonizing. And I wanted to leave Gwangju. All 800,000 citizens shouted that we were men who deserved to die. But we could not even continue eating properly, and now, in order to survive, we had to oppose the citizens as a means of self-preservation.

In front of the Provincial Office we could no longer actively push back the citizens; instead we had become reduced to merely standing there and watching the demonstrations. The police had already collapsed. The older policemen showed no aggressiveness in suppressing the demonstrations. Moreover, they were heavily burdened with riot batons, shields, and other equipment, so they could not move quickly. In a way, the police reaction was only natural.

At around 2 p.m., suddenly countless vehicles came racing down Geumnam-ro at terrifying speed with their headlights on and horns blaring. We had no way to stop them. We had no tear gas left. We had no choice but to block the vehicles with our own bodies. Fortunately, the police still had tear gas, and when they threw it we began hurling our riot batons at the front windshields of the cars. From the beginning we had not worn gas masks because they felt suffocating. Even the smell of tear gas had become bearable. As all our men stood motionless in front of the advancing vehicles, the more mild-mannered citizens could not bring themselves to run us over, and so they stopped their cars.

Another fierce struggle unfolded there. Citizens continued to suffer injuries in large numbers, but injuries also began occurring among us as well. There was hardly a single member of the unit who had not been struck somewhere on his body.

Trying to suppress the demonstrations with a little over 2,000 Special Forces troops and police forces mobilized from Jeollanam-do was hopeless from the start. No — even if hundreds of thousands of troops had come to Gwangju, they would not have been able to calm the fury of the citizens. The anger of the citizens had grown too great. Demonstrators now included everyone, young and old, men and women alike. In their hands they carried anything that could serve as a weapon. In a sense it was only natural. The citizens had been horrified by the beatings we inflicted from the beginning, so it was inevitable.

By evening the demonstrations had spread across the entire city. They would sing the national anthem, and when it ended they shouted, “Martial law troops, withdraw!” By then the demonstrations had grown so enormous that withdrawal seemed unavoidable. It felt as if the huge wave called “the citizens” was about to overwhelm the tiny boat called “the martial law forces.” Even then, however, it seemed that in Seoul they had absolutely no understanding of the seriousness of the situation. It seemed they thought only of their own interests and desires, unaware of the desperate condition of their subordinates, who were starving and on the verge of collapse before the demonstrators. Commanders began requesting reinforcements and recommending withdrawal over the radio. But as far as I know even now, no withdrawal order appears to have been given.

However, it seemed they had decided to withdraw temporarily to Chosun University. An order was given that “all troops are to board the vehicles waiting on Geumnam-ro,” and as we slowly withdrew toward Chosun University, thunderous applause erupted from the citizens. There was not a single person — young or old, man or woman — who was not clapping, and they were that delighted.

By chance, the vehicle I boarded was following at the very rear. Countless citizens, including what appeared to be young high-school students, followed behind the truck, handing cigarettes up to us sitting on top and shouting “Long live the martial law troops!” as they continued following us. At that moment the morale of the officers and men fell sharply. It felt as though we were retreating as a defeated army, and it was shameful as well. That was how it felt at the time.

But, K, that too turned out to be a mistake. We reached the front of Chosun University and sent away only the vehicles, then dismounted in order to reenter the city. At that moment two fire engines seized from the fire department came racing straight toward our men at terrifying speed with their sirens blaring. The battalion commander shouted for everyone to get out of the way, and the fire trucks simply sped past us. Fortunately everyone avoided them safely, and there were no casualties. Throughout the city, black smoke and flames lit the streets as brightly as daytime. At that point orders came directing us to move in front of the MBC broadcasting station, because the Munhwa Broadcasting station building and the tax office were said to be burning. By the time we ran to the broadcasting station, the building was already engulfed in flames. We heard that demonstrators had thrown Molotov cocktails at it, but when it failed to catch fire they set a taxi on fire and pushed it into the building to ignite it. Nearby, at the Goldstar Center, several people busily carried out electronic goods. Fortunately, APC armored vehicles were at that time attached to our regional unit. (There were two of these armored vehicles; our unit did not possess them originally, and they had been temporarily detached from the 31st Division.) These APCs became a great source of strength for us. Conversely, they were an object of fear for the demonstrators. They could collide with any vehicle without damage and could charge directly into the demonstrators.

As we faced off with the demonstrators in front of the broadcasting station, an order came saying that police officers had been surrounded in front of the tax office and were in danger, and that we were to come quickly. When we ran there, four or five hundred policemen were fleeing in our direction. The demonstrators were pursuing them, and when we advanced and charged forward, the demonstrators in front tried to turn and retreat, but those behind them did not know what was happening at the front, and so fierce fighting broke out between the two sides.

Even the fleeing police joined forces with us, and the area in front of the tax office literally became a “sea of blood.” The demonstrators were filled with rage, and we fought back against them. From this point on, for the first time I saw our men carrying bayonets in one hand and riot batons in the other.

The demonstrators were also armed with knives, sickles, steel pipes, and the like. They had painted the areas around their eyes, noses, and mouths white with toothpaste and fought a terrifying close battle with us. Before we knew it, the protest had changed into the aspect of hand-to-hand combat on a battlefield. Our unit also suffered a continuous stream of wounded, but conditions did not permit moving the wounded to hospitals, so only emergency treatment was administered at the Sangmugwan [martial arts athletic hall] in front of the Provincial Office. Up to that point, I did not see any dangerously wounded people with my own eyes. However, among the demonstrators, it could be seen that there were seriously wounded or dead people lying on the dark road. But the demonstrators quickly carried them off somewhere.

When we advanced again toward the Munhwa Broadcasting station, demonstrators riding in one Gwangju Express bus charged straight at us, so an armored vehicle rammed into it, causing a collision. The bus jumped onto the sidewalk and smashed into a building shutter, entering into the building itself. When the bus came to a stop, our group surrounded it and a merciless beating of the demonstrators began. Some officer or enlisted man began stabbing with a bayonet. There were personnel whose white gloves became red with blood. A little later, another bus charged toward us. This time, we picked up stones that had been thrown by the demonstrators and hurled them all together at the driver’s seat. All the windows of the vehicle shattered, the vehicle stopped, and once again......

Inside the express bus were the driver and a female attendant. They said they had come down from Seoul and that the demonstrators had hijacked the vehicle and forced them to carry the demonstrators to this place, so we told them to go. But this vehicle was again hijacked by the demonstrators in front of the tax office, and it pushed through the police blockade. Two riot policemen tried to evade it, but while attempting to escape toward the front wall of the tax office, the vehicle charged forward and struck them in the front part of their bodies, killing them instantly at the scene.

They were the first casualties among the military and police that I personally witnessed.

Advancing again toward the Munhwa Broadcasting station to suppress the demonstration, when we approached, the demonstrators no longer retreated backward. There seemed to be no end to the demonstrators. At that moment, the operations officer riding in the armored vehicle ordered, “Load live ammunition into the caliber .50 machine gun.” When the soldier driving the armored vehicle loaded the live rounds, he suddenly pointed the gun barrel toward the sky and opened fire into the air.

The sound of gunfire in the night sky was like the sound of artillery being fired. Reverberating between the buildings, it was enormously loud, completely unlike the gunfire heard in the field. The demonstrators who had scattered for a moment immediately began gathering again. The method of suppressing the demonstration was for us to pick up and throw back the stones thrown by the demonstrators.

Exhausted beyond measure, whenever we had even a brief moment, we collapsed onto the ground. We were in a state where it was difficult even to remain standing for a moment. From this time onward, the commanders began tearfully requesting over the radio to higher headquarters, “Please give the order to open fire.”

“We submitted countless requests saying, ‘All my subordinates are going to die,’ but they were ignored, and instead only the order to ‘hold the line’ was issued.

We were told, ‘Withdraw to the front of the Provincial Office,’ so we abandoned the Munhwa Broadcasting station and withdrew to the front of the Provincial Office. In the end, the result was that only the Provincial Office was being defended.

The endless demonstrators, bodies exhausted to the limit, hunger, lack of sleep, the shouts of the crowds, burning vehicles and buildings — everything around us was literally hell itself.

While we were standing guard in front of the tax office to prevent the demonstrators from advancing, suddenly the sound of a high-powered microphone began echoing from the front.

‘Citizens of Gwangju, let us all tear those bastards of Unit ㅇㅇㅇ to pieces!’

‘Murderous ㅇㅇㅇ, withdraw!’

‘ㅇㅇㅇ, bring my child back alive!’

To the citizens beneath the night sky, this woman’s voice was enough to send chills through the body, making them feel sorrow, resentment, and rage with their entire being. Her voice was also so beautiful that at first I thought perhaps a female announcer from the burned Munhwa Broadcasting station was angrily making propaganda broadcasts, and many comrades thought the same thing as I did.

‘Police officers, police officers, aren’t you the staff of the people? And aren’t you people of Jeolla Province as well? Let us join together with you police officers and tear all those bastards of Unit ㅇㅇㅇ to pieces.’

It was propaganda broadcasting that deeply moved the heart. So both our personnel and our commanders persistently pursued the idea of sniping and killing that woman, but because she was surrounded by demonstrators, it was impossible to shoot her before dispersing the crowd. And it seemed that woman was moving in that direction while saying, ‘Let’s go to Shinyeok’ [the new train station].

We who had been guarding the front of the tax office pulled back, and the police instead blocked the front line. We went to the front of Sangmugwan for a brief rest. There, with police officers’ equipment, wounded military and police personnel, completely wrecked vehicles, and everything else, it was literally hell. The two riot policemen who had died earlier were still lying there on the sidewalk in front of the Sangmu building wrapped in blankets.

I tried to rest inside Sangmugwan, but because it was filled with riot police and large amounts of equipment, there was not even a place to sit, so I came back outside. But outside too was crowded with people, leaving nowhere suitable to sit. Fortunately, beside the two corpses there was a bit of space, so I lay down beside the bodies. They were unfamiliar corpses, but I felt no fear or disgust whatsoever.

My only wish was simply to lie down and get some sleep.

Lying there and looking up at the night sky, the stars were twinkling brightly, and the smell of tear gas, the droning sound of fire engines, the shouts of the demonstrators, and especially the propaganda broadcasts of that woman named Jeon Ok-ju caused even us to fall into thoughts of our hometowns. I also came to regret that we had treated the citizens of Gwangju with such merciless brutality up to that point.

At the sound of the propaganda broadcasts, I too wanted to leave this place and go home. I did not know for whom or for what reason I had to do this in my own hometown.

When I closed my eyes, far from sleep coming, due to anxiety, nervousness, and longing for my father, my mind instead became clearer and clearer. Who could have predicted that after President Park was assassinated, such a terrifying situation would arise? During our school days, when one said ‘the President,’ we thought only of President Park, but now that such a horrifying situation had occurred, feelings of fear and dread began to dominate me. Sleep would not come, so I asked the comrade lying right beside me whether he had cigarettes, and he sat up saying he had bought some during the daytime. As we sat smoking, that comrade, the comrade beside him, and others — five of us in all — began talking about our feelings. Everyone was thinking exactly the same as I was. And none of us knew how this situation would end, and we believed that all of us soldiers, up to the rank of sergeant, would probably be punished.

Around 3 a.m., orders came for us to assemble because the Geumnam-ro side as seen from the Provincial Office was dangerous. There were enormous crowds of demonstrators. From that point onward, all we did was remain in confrontation; we could not even think about either active or passive suppression. We merely stood in threatening postures to prevent the demonstrators from approaching any further. Around 5 a.m., the police forces defended the line again and we began resting once more. When the police became exhausted, we took over; when we became exhausted, the police took over. That was how we passed the night.

[Part 2 covers May 21-27.]

* * * * * * *

This account, though it confuses chronology and dates for May 19-20 somewhat, is useful in explaining the training the paratroopers received after the 12.12 coup, and the equipment they took with them when they deployed. We are also given more of a sense of the involvement of the 31st Division (who were guarding posts the morning of May 19, and had set up tents for the 11th Brigade).

He describes beatings at Chosun University on May 19 that he did not see himself but instead witnessed the next day. He also says they took 80 rounds with them on May 19, which is different from the 3rd Brigade, who carried empty weapons into the city the next day (except for officers armed with side arms).

As he did not see any women being stripped, he considers it a ‘rumor’ that possibly derived from men with long hair who had been stripped to their underwear seen from above (and behind). The record shows, however, that some women were indeed stripped to their underwear when taken prisoner.

As I noted in the last post, it's hard not to notice the difference in (apologetic) tone between this author (and Lee Gyeong-nam) of the 11th Brigade, who carried out beatings of innocent citizens and were present at the mass shooting at the Provincial Office, and that of 3rd Brigade veterans who arrived once the uprising was in full swing and were not present at the Provincial Office. As this author put it,

I’ve since taken off my uniform, but even today, when I meet fellow veterans who were there, none of us can speak of it to our children or friends. We carry it as a burden of shame.

The 1980 Gwangju Uprising: An Account by a 3rd Brigade Paratrooper

noreply@blogger.com (matt) — Fri, 22 May 2026 07:23:18 +0000

Paratrooper accounts of the Gwangju Uprising

Account by an 11th Brigade paratrooper (1999)

Account by a 3rd Brigade paratrooper (1996)

Account by an 11th Brigade paratrooper (1987) Part 1

Account by an 11th Brigade paratrooper (1987) Part 2

Account by a 3rd Brigade paratrooper (1996)

Following Monday's post sharing a translation of an account of 5.18 written by a paratrooper from the Special Warfare Command 11th Brigade, here is an account written by paratrooper from the SWC 3rd Brigade.

According to a veteran of this brigade I've met who served in Gwangju (he was drafted as punishment for his student protest activities), the 3rd Brigade was considered among the best of the SWC brigades, and was involved in the suppression of the Busan protests of October 1979. Due to their reputation and experience, they were stationed in Seoul when martial law was expanded on May 17, 1980, and only arrived in Gwangju on May 20, the third day of the uprising, by which point the protests had grown large and combative to the point that, as the veteran put it, “They were driving cars at us! It was like everyone had lost their minds.”

I first found this account at this blog (and it should be here, but for some reason isn't). The original source is:

3공수여단 12대대 작전병 출신의 실명수기-『내가 겪은 광주사태』『전투는 있었지만 학살은 없었다』 / 김치년 (월간조선, 1996. 04) pp. 422-443

“Memoir Under the Real Name of a Former Operations Soldier of the 12th Battalion, 3rd Airborne Brigade — ‘The Gwangju Incident I Experienced’ / ‘There Was Combat, but There Was No Massacre,’” by Kim Chi-nyeon, Monthly Chosun, April 1996, pp. 422-443.

The article was written during the trial of Chun Doo-hwan and Roh Tae-woo in 1996.

*******

Experience in Suppressing the Busan-Masan Uprising

As someone who now finds himself labeled as a “subordinate of a murderer who committed treason,” I want to express, through writing, the perspective of a conscripted soldier in the martial law forces. Just as not all protesters were heroes, we who carried out our duties under martial law should not be seen as criminals. The current situation, where the causes of the incident have been interpreted only through a political lens, has left many of us paratroopers unconvinced. The soldiers deployed on-site had no political affiliations and often made sacrifices under the burdens of duty. So why must we be treated as if we were guilty?

Now that even former presidents have been arrested, and with public sentiment empowered as it is, who will step forward to testify on our behalf? Many of those who served in our 3rd Airborne Brigade have stayed silent because they remain in the military or fear losing their livelihoods after discharge. I was once among the latter. After starting a business, I eventually went bankrupt, crushed by the very system of the Fifth Republic.

However, bankruptcy ironically gave me a sense of relief. I felt someone had to honestly recount the things we endured and shed blood doing back then. I now believe this is part of fulfilling that duty. I hope other special forces veterans who remember those days will also continue to speak out.

Above all, I believe it is important to clearly understand the origin of the Gwangju Uprising. From the perspective of a martial law soldier, our views on the protesters were largely shaped by the Bu-Ma Uprising (Busan-Masan, 1979). The 3rd Brigade, which I belonged to, along with the 5th Brigade, participated in the suppression of the Bu-Ma protests on October 18, 1979. From our point of view, it was a successful operation.

But it is noteworthy that the 3rd and 5th Brigades, who had that suppression experience, were not initially deployed to Gwangju. The 7th Brigade, which had no prior experience, applied excessive force by superficially imitating the tactics of the 3rd and 5th Brigades, worsening the situation instead. There was a significant difference between the units.

The 3rd Airborne Brigade was airlifted from Seongnam Airfield to Busan aboard C-123 aircraft. We were issued our precise operational orders inside the plane. Our commander gave a brief instruction: "A very serious demonstration is taking place in Busan, so we are to carry out the loyalty operation exactly as trained.”

Upon arrival in Busan, we pitched tents for quarters at the Dong-A University stadium and began preparations for a show-of-force operation. Our gear consisted only of rifles, 70 cm batons, cumbersome protective netting, and gas masks. We rode in 2.5-ton military trucks wearing white gloves and drove through the corners of the city. This display alone was enough to impress the authority of the airborne troops on citizens. Though some demonstrators threw stones at our vehicles, we simply stared forward and completed our three-hour city tour, after which we returned to base and ate dinner.

Soon after, we were deployed near Busan City Hall, where the brigade commander (then Brigadier General Choi Se-chang) issued a very strict order: "Do not respond to anything without command." As we held our positions, the number of protesters gradually decreased after 8 p.m.

Around 9 p.m., when only 300–400 demonstrators remained, an order to suppress the protest was finally given. The operation ended in just 20–30 minutes. I cannot confidently say that the baton blows we delivered were less severe than what the 7th Brigade used in Gwangju. If suppression was unavoidable, it had to be done decisively. Whether strong or weak, the difference could not be controlled. Yet, the outcome was different from Gwangju. In Busan, there were sporadic protests, but they were suppressed smoothly. The two-day operation yielded effective results, and no further protests occurred.

From this, we can see the difference between the suppression of the Bu-Ma and Gwangju incidents.

First, during the Busan suppression, and likewise in the 5th Brigade’s operation in Masan, no operations were carried out during the daytime, minimizing clashes with civilians. Nighttime suppression targeting key demonstrator groups allowed for swift operations, and even if there was bloodshed from baton strikes, it wasn’t to the extent that it would provoke bystanders like in Gwangju. As such, the protest in Busan quickly collapsed.

Second, those arrested during the Bu-Ma incident were civilians and were immediately handed over to the police, which helped avoid direct conflict between civilians and the military. In Gwangju, there were hardly any police left to receive detainees.

In Gwangju, bloodshed occurred during daylight hours. This naturally enraged the entire citizenry. How could someone not become enraged when their child or friend bleeds before their very eyes?

I believe that Korean society at the time accepted both protesters and martial law troops as necessary evils. Protests needed to happen, and national security and public order had to be preserved. Therefore, to portray suppression as entirely wrong and protesters as absolute heroes is, I believe, unfair. If we now categorically deny the legitimacy of suppression based on the outcome alone, are soldiers like us not also citizens of the Republic of Korea?

My opinion is that the mishandling of the suppression by the martial law forces should have been judged in court. Likewise, the protesters also bore responsibility. If we continue to politicize the situation while ignoring both of these aspects, it may long remain a source of conflict within Korean society.

Meanwhile, after the Bu-Ma incident subsided, the 3rd Airborne Brigade, stationed in Seoul, was deployed to Gwangju on the early morning of May 20, 1980. At 1 a.m., five battalions assembled at Cheongnyangni Station and headed to Gwangju by train. By the time we departed, the 7th and 11th Brigades were already in operation there.

At 7:00 a.m., when we arrived at Gwangju Station, we saw some of the 7th Airborne troops sitting on the station square having breakfast. They looked extremely tired and worn out. Having already experienced the Bu-Ma Uprising, we felt sorry for them. In contrast, we looked relatively relaxed.

We immediately proceeded to Jeonnam National University, had a meal brought in from a nearby unit, and then prepared to move into the city. The 1,392 troops of the 3rd Airborne Brigade who participated gathered in the university auditorium (possibly a gymnasium), where they listened to a speech from Brigadier General Choi Se-chang.

He said: "The situation in Gwangju is much more serious than the Bu-Ma Uprising. No matter what crisis arises, do not respond without orders. Since communist agitators are joining in and worsening the situation, all commanders and soldiers must carry out the suppression operation with extreme caution. Except for CS gas (handheld tear gas) and E-8 launchers (64-round tear gas launchers), nothing else is to be used. Again, do not respond without direct orders."

When we first entered Jeonnam University, most of the slogans written around the campus were in red letters. The messages read: “Release Kim Dae-jung,” “Down with Chun Doo-hwan,” “Stop Exploiting Farmers,” and so on. The soldiers, including myself, believed this to be the work of “pro-communist elements.” These days, after 1987, even if red slogans or content aligned with North Korean propaganda appear on university campuses, people are desensitized—but back then, it wasn’t like that. National security was a top priority in the political atmosphere, so red slogans on campus were shocking to us. I believe the protestors were responsible for this. Even if they were protesting for Kim Dae-jung’s release, did they really need to use red paint? And why choose slogans like “Stop Exploiting Farmers,” which were sure to be misunderstood as pro-communist?

Among the slogans were names unfamiliar to low-ranking soldiers like myself. One of them was “Chun Doo-hwan.” At the time, we thought of him as merely a powerful figure in the military. We had no idea he was commanding our unit, nor could we imagine he was in our chain of command. This shows how distant Chun Doo-hwan actually was from us in reality. At the time, the only mindset we had as a special operations unit was, “I will never forgive pro-communist activities on the land I defend. I will protect my country.”

Let’s briefly look at the composition of our unit back then. The 12th Battalion of the 3rd Airborne Brigade, deployed to Gwangju, had about 50 officers and 250 enlisted soldiers. Among the officers, around four—including Battalion Commander Kim Wan-bae, the operations officer, and the headquarters company commander—were graduates of the Korea Military Academy. Around eight were ROTC graduates, and the rest were from the Army Cadet Academy. This suggests that few officers were familiar with university culture. Of the 250 enlisted soldiers, about 25 were warrant officers, 80 were sergeants, 120 were corporals, and only about 25 were regular privates. Most of the NCOs had only a high school education, and fewer than 10 had attended college (even two-year colleges).

On the first day, our unit finished eating and was then deployed near the Jeonnam Provincial Government building. The battalion's senior NCO, supply officer, operations NCO, and I stayed at the university to organize the battalion’s operational log. I also managed the “security-use live ammunition” that had become a major issue. Even then, as now, airborne units carry live rounds during training, either for anti-infiltration or security purposes, stored in ammunition boxes managed by the battalion HQ. These ammunition boxes still exist in airborne battalion HQs across the country. However, on May 20, those rounds were stored at HQ, not issued to individuals.

Thus, when we were first deployed, only the battalion commander carried a loaded pistol. The rest of the troops were equipped with unloaded rifles, bayonets, 70 cm batons, gas masks, two CS gas canisters, and steel helmet liners. Of these, the most cumbersome were the M-16 rifles and gas masks. The gas masks issued at the time were substandard, allowing tear gas to seep in rather than keeping it out.

At the battalion HQ set up in the university campus, I operated the P-77 radio and recorded the battalion’s operational situation. The 12th Battalion of the 3rd Airborne was stationed near Gwangju City Hall as a mobile strike force. Until about 3 p.m. that day, the situation was merely a standoff. According to updates from brigade HQ, the initial overreaction by the 7th Airborne troops had generated strong public resentment, making it hard to regain control. Moreover, rumors were already spreading throughout Gwangju—claims that only Gyeongsang-do soldiers had been deployed, or that paratroopers were raping married women, drinking alcohol, or taking drugs. These rumors, reportedly gathered by undercover police, were enough to incite intense public outrage.

The battalion commander, a Jeolla native, was so alarmed by these regionalist rumors that he ordered, “Place Gyeongsang-do soldiers at the rear of the formation so they don’t provoke Gwangju citizens.”

I, not being deployed to the frontline, heard these absurd rumors through the radio and scoffed. Seriously? We were raping married women? In a war-like situation, leaving formation to do such a thing would be a death sentence—what kind of lunatic would do that? Especially in a unit composed of teams of just 12 people, two officers and ten enlisted men, how could anyone pull that off?

Furthermore, during the most intense demonstrations that day, most of our troops couldn’t even eat dinner. The food truck had been blocked by protestors and returned without delivering meals. There was no way exhausted and hungry soldiers had access to drugs or alcohol.

I shook my head as I recorded these ridiculous rumors in the log. But even 16 years later, these absurd rumors are still widely believed. It’s disheartening. Worse, it seems that those spreading such claims think it makes them part of the “heroes of Gwangju.” It’s truly appalling.

Meanwhile, as I was sorting through the rumors, the situation room began receiving increasingly alarming reports:

• The number of protestors is rapidly increasing.

• The opposition is armed with sticks and metal pipes.

• Minor injuries from rock-throwing are occurring frequently.

• CS gas is completely depleted.

• Requesting more E-8 tear gas launchers.

• We must carry out at least minimal self-defense.

These reports were sent to brigade headquarters, and soon a new operational order was issued:

"Begin suppression operations under the concept of self-defense, but only against protestors who cross the blockade line."

However, the situation continued to deteriorate. Reports kept coming through the radio:

• All tear gas has been depleted.

• Injuries are rapidly increasing.

• The number of protestors in our battalion's area is estimated to be about 5,000.

• All units must regroup and not disperse.

Around 7 p.m. on May 20, our 12th Battalion received an order from the brigade commander to support the 15th Battalion of the 3rd Airborne at Gwangju Station and to protect the KBS Gwangju Broadcasting Station. We moved to Gwangju Station and joined the 15th Battalion. As dusk fell, reports began pouring in that our outnumbered unit was being pushed back. It felt like a nightmare. We were supposed to be the most elite unit in the Republic of Korea, having gone through intensive training and demonstrations. But the reality was that we were being overwhelmed. Communications grew increasingly grim:

• Vehicles are charging toward us.

Around 8 p.m., reports of vehicle attacks came in one after another. Then, by about 10 p.m., reports of casualties arrived:

• Casualties have occurred.

• A staff sergeant from the 16th Battalion has been killed.

• A soldier from our battalion was also run over and injured.

The soldier who was run over and killed at that time was Staff Sergeant Jeong Gwan-cheol (posthumously promoted to Sergeant First Class). He had been scheduled to be discharged in a month. Moreover, his wife was nine months pregnant. News of his death caused uncontrollable anger among the fellow NCOs.

About 20 minutes after we received the radio report of injuries, the wounded were evacuated. One of them was Sergeant Jang from the 6th company, whose leg had been crushed by a vehicle. According to him, a vehicle suddenly charged at them, and he couldn’t get out of the way in time. He said the vehicle drove erratically in a zigzag toward the troops, and as more soldiers were injured, the unit panicked and scattered, while the situation on the ground grew increasingly violent.

Two civilians were also transported alongside Sergeant Jang. They were the driver and assistant of a cargo truck with Gyeongsang Province license plates. They said they had been beaten by protestors at a gas station just for driving a Gyeongsang-tagged vehicle. They looked terrified. Both had their clothes torn and were covered in blood; one had his head wrapped in a bandage. Seeing their condition left me speechless.

Around this time, desperate voices from junior officers began coming through the radio:

• We have no way to control the situation.

• We’ve lost contact with the adjacent battalion.

• Give us blank cartridges.

• At the very least, give us live ammunition to stop the vehicles.

The urgency in their voices was unmistakable. All tear gas had already been used, and riot batons were proving ineffective. About 20 minutes later, brigade headquarters gave the order to use blank cartridges and live ammunition, with several conditions:

1. Only officers at the company commander level or above would be issued 30 rounds each. (Each airborne battalion has 16 companies, organized into 4 area companies with 4 companies each. These are referred to as “teams,” and the team leader is typically a captain.)

2. Live rounds could only be used to stop charging vehicles.

3. Absolutely no shooting at human targets.

4. Any use beyond warning or vehicle-stopping purposes would be strictly punished.

An official telegram with this directive was sent, and I, the operations soldier at the time, relayed it to subordinate units—I knew these details better than anyone.

Meanwhile, our battalion sent an ammunition box containing M-16 rounds, tracer rounds, and blank cartridges to our area of operation, accompanied by brigade personnel.

The live ammunition distributed from our unit was divided and sent to two locations. One batch went to the Sinan-dong underpass, where the 16th Battalion was facing off against protestors. Around 20 headquarters personnel and an intelligence officer delivered roughly 100 rounds of security-use live ammunition to them. The ammunition transport group, led by the brigade operations officer, headed toward Gwangju Station and encountered hundreds of protestors along the way.

The transport team struggled through resistance from the citizen militia to secure a path and eventually reached Gwangju Station, where the 12th and 15th Battalions were located. At this time, the 11th Battalion of the 3rd Airborne was surrounded by protestors near the empty lot of the Sintak Bank on Geumnam-ro. Under orders to regroup at Gwangju Station, they broke through the siege by firing tear gas and moved to join the 13th Battalion near Gwangju City Hall. Around 11:30 p.m., they finally reached the station.

At this point, a woman was driving around in a small Titan truck with loudspeakers, broadcasting propaganda. (I later learned her name was Jeon Ok-ju.) Her psychological warfare messages were relayed to me. Here’s what she was saying:

• Two citizens have been killed at the Gwangju provincial office.

• Citizens of Gwangju, rise up and drive out the ruthless airborne troops.

• Another citizen has been killed near Gwangju Station.

• They will never shoot at us.

• Citizens of Gwangju, do not fear death—rise up!

As I was writing this report, I noticed the expressions on my fellow soldiers' faces—they were visibly shaken by the psychological warfare broadcast by the woman named Jeon Ok-ju. Her psychological operations were actually intimidating soldiers like us, who were trained in special warfare. My comrades unanimously insisted, “That woman is making the situation worse—we need to kill her.” One noncommissioned officer even said to Captain Son, the company commander at the time, “If you won’t shoot her, give me your gun. I’ll do it.” But in the end, no soldier opened fire on her.

Our unit regularly trained for operations targeting a region in North Korea. Our missions involved infiltration, psychological warfare, initiating protests, and broadcasting propaganda over loudspeakers or distributing leaflets—in short, we were trained for irregular warfare. Yet we were being psychologically outmaneuvered by a civilian militia’s propaganda. In my view, the Gwangju Uprising was a kind of irregular war between the citizen militia and the South Korean army. Ironically, soldiers trained in unconventional warfare were being outplayed by amateur citizen forces.

The first day of the 3rd Airborne Brigade’s operations in Gwangju—May 20—continued until dawn the next day. When we had arrived at Gwangju Station that morning, no one expected such a situation to unfold. Everyone seemed to be hoping it wasn’t real. After regrouping at the station and trying to disperse the protestors, our unit, along with the 31st Division's security troops* and 4 to 5 plainclothes police officers who had been guarding KBS, received orders around 2:00 a.m. on May 21 to retreat to Chonnam National University. Shortly after, we received word that the KBS Gwangju station was on fire.

To this day, I regret that the suppression at Gwangju Station is referred to as a "massacre." At the time, we had no idea how many civilians had been killed by gunfire. But if it had truly been a massacre or indiscriminate shooting, surely dozens, even hundreds, would have been killed or wounded. According to what I heard from my fellow soldiers that day, they had fired not at people but into the air as a warning.

In fact, a July 1995 report from the prosecution stated that four people were killed and six wounded by gunfire that night. One NCO from the 3rd Airborne Brigade had been killed after being run over by a vehicle, and several others were injured. If soldiers had deliberately fired with lethal intent after those injuries, why would the death toll have stopped at four? I still don't understand why we have been branded as murderers.

Some argue that it was wrong not to have assigned ordinary infantry units to suppress the Gwangju uprising. But I doubt whether they would have exercised the same restraint. Even in such an explosive situation, we did not engage in indiscriminate shooting. Why does no one see that as a reason the death toll remained at four?

I believe that in life, people sometimes find themselves on opposing sides unintentionally. Just as we didn’t volunteer to become suppression forces, the citizen militias likely didn’t volunteer to be in that position either. But it is truly regrettable that now, the act of suppression itself is being condemned unilaterally.

At the same time, the fear experienced by the paratroopers deployed on the ground that day was indescribable. When the soldiers returned to Chonnam National University after facing death all day, they all looked shell-shocked. The most terrifying thing for them was hearing someone yell, “A car is coming!” Anyone who has ever stood in front of a car zigzagging toward them knows that there is no soldier who can feel safe in that moment.

One mischievous NCO yelled “A car is coming!” to his exhausted comrades who had collapsed on the floor. Instantly, every single one of them sprang up and dove for cover, believing it was real. The prank ended with the joker being heavily scolded by his comrades. It might sound silly, but watching this scene gave me a strange feeling. It showed how all day long they had used every ounce of strength to stay alert and protect themselves from charging vehicles. For them, “vehicle attack” had become a kind of trauma.

At dawn on May 21, aside from a few security guards, most of us got some sleep in a lecture hall. Around 5:00 a.m., a siren sounded. It was a fire truck brought in by the protestors. They surrounded Chonnam National University looking furious, as if they would devour us. The sun was just beginning to rise. At that moment, gunfire was heard from the protestor side. Then came a telegram reporting that the citizen militia was now armed, followed by an order to issue 10 live rounds to every soldier in the battalion. The ammunition boxes stored on base began to be opened.

The protestors, armed with rifles, drove military jeeps while waving Taegeukgi flags, moving back and forth in front of the main gate. They wore masks, carried rifles on their shoulders, and fired warning shots into the air. They, too, couldn’t recklessly shoot at us. It was only then that I realized they were carrying carbines.

At this point, live ammunition was distributed to all ordinary battalion members for the first time, and the message was clear—it meant we now had permission to fire if necessary. From a distance, the protestors came in various appearances. Some even wore reservist uniforms. Back then, airborne troops wore uniforms very similar to those of reservists. Later, claims emerged of atrocities such as rape committed by airborne soldiers. I now wonder whether the victims might have mistaken reservists for airborne troops. I still vividly remember the protestors dressed in reservist gear at the university gates.

The morning of May 21—exactly one day after we had arrived in Gwangju—was spent entirely inside Chonnam National University. From 5:00 a.m., protestors gathered in front of the university gates with trucks, fire engines, buses, and even armored vehicles.

At the time, though we described the situation as a standoff, in reality, we were surrounded. The protestors had already raided an armory and armed themselves. Compared to the roughly 1,400 members of the 3rd Airborne Brigade, they had assembled a force several times larger.

Around noon that day (May 21), the protestors rammed vehicles into the university’s front gate and forced their way in. We had to retreat approximately 300 meters behind the gate, unable to hold our position. Outwardly, we were an imposing airborne force, but inwardly we felt we were on the verge of death. Until our retreat to Gwangju Prison around 2 p.m., we had to continue an intense exchange of tear gas with the protestors.

During that confrontation, when protestors charged us with armored vehicles and trucks, we had no choice but to open fire. This was the first instance of live fire by the 3rd Airborne Brigade at Chonnam University. The soldiers who stopped the vehicles pursued the fleeing protestors into residential areas and arrested them.

Later, I learned that after the shooting in front of the university’s gate, out of a crowd of about 40,000 protestors, three were killed by gunfire and three were wounded. Two of the arrested protestors who were sent to Gwangju Prison later died from blunt force trauma.

I don’t know what to say to those who died. In this situation, I can only say that everyone was a victim of tragedy. One of the deceased was later confirmed to be a woman who was eight months pregnant. A warning shot must have taken her life. But why was she in such a chaotic scene in that condition?

Even so, using her death to claim that “paratroopers shot a pregnant woman to death” is no different from exploiting the dead for propaganda. I believe none of the soldiers who fired that day knowingly aimed at her. Nevertheless, the media, politicians, and the majority of the public have come to portray all paratroopers as brutal killers.

Whenever I hear things like that, I, and many other paratroopers, feel completely demoralized. We’re supposed to throw ourselves into enemy territory in wartime—but should we still be expected to do so while being treated this way? Why did we endure such grueling training?

While we were confronting the citizen militia, we received a telegram stating that an attack on Gwangju Prison was underway and that many political offenders were imprisoned there, making it imperative to defend the facility. At the time, we had about 20 captured protestors. Most had been stripped of their shirts, and had labels like “driver” or “protestor” written on their backs in marker to classify them. A considerable number of them were people who had been captured after charging forward in vehicles and armored personnel carriers.

These protestors, along with some wounded and a small number of soldiers, were loaded onto vehicles and sent ahead to Gwangju Prison. The rest of us soon began marching on foot along the Honam Expressway. This was around 2 p.m. on May 21. The group that went by vehicle transported the detainees in a military truck.

There was something strange about this conflict from the beginning. For the protestors, we were clearly the enemy—but to us, the protestors didn’t feel like clear enemies. Aside from a few so-called “ringleaders,” we didn’t harbor hostility toward the protestors as a whole. And even the term “ringleader” was vague. Although we were surrounded and under psychological pressure at the provincial office and university gates, we refrained from indiscriminate fire. I think it’s because, deep down, we all held back from fully recognizing the protestors as “the enemy.”

When citizen militia members charged toward us waving Taegeukgi flags and singing the national anthem, how could we tell who the enemy was? That’s why we held our fire. But once the “ringleaders” were arrested, the anger we had been suppressing finally exploded. Of course, the people on the receiving end must have felt wronged—but we felt the same.

After leaving Chonnam University, we marched in double file along the Honam Expressway for about 30 minutes. Suddenly, someone shouted from the rear, “A truck is coming!” When we turned around, we saw two 2.5-ton military trucks speeding toward us while firing LMG-30 machine guns. Our troops, who had been marching on both sides of the highway, dove into the roadside ditches. None of us could return fire—it would have been like firing at our comrades across the road. The trucks took some fire from the lead troops but managed to escape unharmed.

We hurried to Gwangju Prison, and our battalion was deployed on the right side of the prison entrance, facing Gwangju city and adjacent to the expressway. Meanwhile, the neighboring 3rd Airborne 15th Battalion arrived at a gas station in front of the prison. While exchanging duties with the 31st Division, they were ambushed by two high-speed buses armed with carbines, and one of their troops was injured.

Shortly thereafter, a helicopter arrived, delivering rice and some ammunition, and evacuating the wounded. Soon after, members of the joint investigative unit arrived and took custody of the 20 or so captured protestors. Many of them were seriously injured.

One protestor who crawled out of an armored vehicle still reeked of alcohol and had “driver” written on his back. He had been severely beaten before being evacuated. The armored vehicle he was in remained parked in an open lot for some time.

Inside the armored vehicle I checked, there were a couple of rice balls, a bottle of soju, and a Taegeukgi (Korean flag). The young man inside, who looked to be in his twenties, was still drunk and shouting at the top of his lungs, screaming things like “Long live the Republic of Korea! Kill me, you bastards!” It was truly ironic—both sides were claiming to defend the Republic of Korea while turning the situation into a living hell.

At the time, the intelligence agents from the joint investigation team who arrested and interrogated them never revealed who incited these people or why. That remains a mystery for the martial law troops, including myself. The dominant explanation is that the citizens, outraged by excessive repression from day one, spontaneously rose up.

But those of us who were on the ground found it hard to fully accept that view. It’s difficult to believe that people would hijack an armored vehicle and charge at domestic troops—not foreign invaders—willing to die in the process. Moreover, not one of the captured vehicles lacked alcohol bottles, and none of the captured drivers ever clearly explained their motivations. This remains a puzzle to me.

Around 5 p.m., just as we finished setting up defensive positions at the prison, a jeep and a bus charged toward us. They were armed and opened fire, but no one in our unit was hit. Likely because we were trained to respond instantly and correctly to gunfire. After the brief firefight, the bus fled and the jeep, riddled with bullets, stopped on the highway. We didn’t move for 30 minutes.

When no one emerged from the vehicle, we approached it. Inside, we found two young men wrapped in the Korean flag, dead with guns in their hands. I don’t know if this was typical of every vehicle the militia used, but this jeep also contained bottles of soju, gimbap, rice balls, and ammunition magazines. The bodies were photographed by administrative soldiers and then wrapped in straw mats and moved to the area behind the prison. I suspect this may have sparked later rumors about mass graves near the prison.

During the suppression of the Gwangju Uprising, martial law troops photographed all the casualties during recovery. I accompanied those doing this work. After photos were taken, the bodies were temporarily buried, marked on a map, and labeled with signs. These remains were reportedly later exhumed after the uprising ended. I recall seeing a photo of a dead 11th Airborne Division soldier whose body had been horrifically mutilated by the militia. This wasn’t just a democratization movement—it was a war.

That night, we were provided with our first real meal: just one rice ball and some salted shrimp, but it tasted incredible. Up until then, our unit had only survived on emergency rations—compressed rice, wheat, and chocolate. Not long after eating, buses and military trucks once again charged toward the road in front of the prison’s open field. A firefight broke out as night fell.

That evening, in an area guarded by a neighboring unit, four civilians were hit by gunfire while riding in a pickup truck through an active firefight zone. Two of them died. Interestingly, they had been shot with carbines—meaning they were killed by militia fire. But you wouldn’t call this “massacring civilians by the militia.” In the same way, I don’t think it’s accurate to call every tragic event during the Gwangju Uprising a “massacre” by the Airborne Division. However, most of the investigations felt one-sided, and it seemed they were designed only to avoid upsetting public sentiment in Gwangju. How can that be a fair investigation?

That night, we remained in our individual foxholes without moving and continued to exchange fire five to six times until dawn on May 22.

On the morning of May 22, a tattered bus riddled with bullet holes stood alone in front of us. It had sandbags piled on both sides, acting like an improvised armored vehicle. Blood stains on the floor suggested wounded occupants had retreated.

If someone had been shot by an M-16 and died in a ditch while fleeing, people would say, “The Airborne troops killed someone and dumped the body in a ditch.” Or if the body had been buried hastily by comrades and later discovered, it would become “a secret burial site.”

I wonder what happened to those militia members who boarded that bus or truck and attacked the prison. We don’t know each other’s names or faces, but we were on opposite sides of the same event at the same time and place. I hope one day we can meet and confirm the facts.

Apparently, even the prosecution didn’t conduct such investigations. Even the Ministry of Defense hasn’t made efforts to support soldier morale or clarify the truth. I can only hope someone will one day set the record straight. In today’s climate of something like a people’s tribunal, saying this might get me lynched...

On the morning of May 22, our commanders received harsh criticism from higher-ups:

“You engaged in firefights all night and didn’t capture a single person—just wasted ammunition. How can you call yourselves an airborne unit?”

“From now on, only designate sniper companies and implement strict fire control.”

One thing I want to make clear: About half of us, including myself, never fired a single live round and returned our full 10-round allocation when we withdrew to Gwangju Airfield. I didn’t fire because, as a support soldier, I wasn’t needed during limited skirmishes. In a unit largely composed of career soldiers, people like me were treated like the youngest siblings. The professionals always took the lead in dangerous situations.

Yes, there were some issues with identifying targets, but most of us hadn’t slept in nearly two days, and apart from scattered gunfire, we spent most of our time trying to sleep in our foxholes. On the second day, dedicated shooting teams were formed, so there wasn’t even a chance to shoot.

The morning of May 22, we towed a bus that had been left in front of the prison. Not long after, gunfire rang out again. On a small hill beyond the main road—nicknamed “Sugar Hill” after a large white sugar advertisement—bullets came flying. About 50–60 militia members were firing toward our unit from that direction. Our battalion commander selected the most senior platoon leader’s 6th unit to conduct a counterassault. We called it “Operation Sugar Hill.”

After about an hour, we managed to capture the hill. The biggest reason we succeeded was the support fire from M-60 machine guns positioned on both sides of the prison rooftop. I don’t know how many militia casualties there were.

Once the 6th unit was rotated out and we finished lunch, a military truck came charging at the prison gate. Our rooftop M-60s opened fire and riddled the truck with bullets.

Four men jumped from the truck and tried to flee. One was shot by a sniper; the other three crawled away toward nearby houses. (A civilian passing by in another truck was reportedly wounded by gunfire and later died from complications.)

When we retrieved the truck, we were shocked to find it loaded with two crates of dynamite and four or five grenades. If they had exploded, they could have destroyed the prison gate. It sent chills down our spines.

The next day, May 23, there were a few more firefights, but the militia attacks gradually weakened and finally all but disappeared.

At approximately 12:30 p.m. on May 24, we handed over the defense of the prison to the 62nd Regiment of the 20th Division and headed for Gwangju Songjeong-ri Airfield in their vehicles. From the day we arrived at the Gwangju airfield, we resumed map-based training exercises as a strategic special operations force, in preparation for infiltration into North Korea.

If you were a soldier, speak the truth before history

The testimony of Lee Seong-u, reported in the March 1996 issue of Monthly Chosun and broadcast by SBS, closely resembles the scene at Songjeong-ri Airfield. He testified, “When I arrived at Seongnam Airfield early in the morning, I saw corpses covered with white cloths. There must have been dozens.”

At the time, while our unit was housed in one of the hangars at Songjeong-ri Airfield, members of the 11th Brigade were stationed in a neighboring hangar. The 11th Brigade had suffered significant casualties after being mistakenly fired upon by troops from the Army Training Command during their withdrawal operations outside Gwangju. About 15 coffins, covered in white cloths, were loaded onto transport planes with ceremonial rifle salutes by members of the 11th Airborne.

This funeral took place in the late afternoon. Lee’s unit, also stationed at the airfield, likely witnessed this from a distance. I believe, as suggested by a psychiatrist, he may have confused this scene in his memory. Our own brigade lost one man, who was transported by C-123 transport aircraft under the same procedure.

Three days later, on May 27, our brigade’s 11th Battalion, 1st Company, participated in the operation to recapture the Provincial Government Building. I only heard about it secondhand from fellow soldiers, as I did not participate in any such operation myself and therefore cannot describe it in detail. What I have written so far is simply what I recall with relative accuracy from over 15 years ago.

College students, high schoolers, civilians, prosecutors, and even the president have joined the militia’s campaign—and it still hasn’t ended.

After being discharged, I completed both university and graduate studies. Campuses in the 1980s overwhelmingly reflected the narrative of Gwangju as a victim. I had opportunities to see things from their perspective, and I reviewed as many of their sources as I could. But if you try to reconcile both sides’ accounts, they don’t form a coherent picture.

The record of the Airborne Division’s actions is like a torn-up photo. If you try to piece it back together, it begins to look more like a photo from a war. On the other hand, the Gwangju citizen narrative lacks the realism of a photograph—it feels more like a cartoon. Yes, the victims are real and numerous, but the alleged organized resistance is hard to find. Were we fighting phantoms?

Although it may look like we won the ten-day battle, the truth is that we’ve been losing the propaganda war ever since. First it was the citizens of Gwangju, then university students across the country, then high schoolers and ordinary people—and now it seems even the prosecution and the president are using the issue.

The Gwangju Uprising was a war!

No matter what anyone says, I want to emphasize that the ten days of conflict were not a democratization movement—they were a war.

In this irreparably scarred chapter of 1980, I remain one of the direct participants. Had I misinterpreted this event on a personal level, I might have ended up in a mentally unstable state like Lee Seong-u.

After being discharged and returning to school, I once visited the Mangwol-dong cemetery in Gwangju. I went in search of my own sense of reconciliation and humanity. I still believe that was the right thing to do—and I will always believe it. I’ve tried to maintain the same attitude toward those who died as Airborne troops. But now I feel even more compassion toward those from the Airborne Division. It feels like the world has lost its balance.

Wounds must be stitched shut if we hope to heal. Only then can new skin form and grow stronger. But as things stand now, I feel like the wound is only festering deeper.

— Kim Chi-nyeon

* The 31st Division is based in Gwangju and serves as a regional defense division for Jeollanam-do. It began occupying certain locations on the city's outskirts on May 20, 1980.

Kim's account is unique due to its description of his unit's suppression of the Busan protest (which is not as well-documented as 5.18 and about which rumours circulated at the time claiming a handful of protesters had been killed; a death in Masan is the only one to have been confirmed). In comparing the 3rd Brigade's tactics in Busan, he also describes what the 7th Brigade failed to do in Gwangju, including waiting to carry out suppression operations after dark (and after curfew) and driving soldiers throughout the city for hours as an intimidation tactic. The latter was carried out, according to a US Embassy cable, in Seoul on May 21: "In Seoul a truck convoy loaded with Special Forces troops with fixed bayonets has been passing through the streets. It is moving slowly and has the air of a parade or a show of force."

Soldiers of the 3rd Brigade may have a different perspective from those in the 7th and 11th Brigades because by the time the 3rd Brigade arrived, things had escalated (at the hands of the other brigades) to the point that the protesters had become an increasingly organized resistance capable of inflicting injuries and, once vehicle attacks were utilized, even deaths upon the soldiers. (His story of the prankster shouting “A car is coming!” and causing every single one of the exhausted soldiers to spring up and dive for cover clearly illustrates the toll this tactic took on them.) This is summed up by his assertion that "the ten days of conflict were not a democratization movement—they were a war." From his unit's experience (which did not include being inside the city during the cooperative 'liberated Gwangju' phase of those ten days), this point of view makes sense. As well, since they were not involved in the mass shooting at the Provincial Office on May 21, and comparatively few of them were involved in the final assault on the Provincial Office, there may have been both literal and psychological distance between their own experiences and the moments during the uprising that led to the most casualties, which may have contributed to a suspicion among them that some of the more violent acts attributed to the paratroopers were exaggerated. (The veteran I talked to assumed a number of shooting deaths were caused by untrained members of the citizens militia, for example.) This is no doubt due in part to the fact that the majority of instances where paratroopers fired randomly and caused loss of life, or beat people to death or near death when the soldiers' lives were not at risk, did not involve the 3rd Brigade. This applies also to Kim's refusal to consider the possibility of (what is now well-documented) sexual violence against women.

Kim and the veteran I spoke to both seem to perceive the 3rd Brigade's gunfire as self defense. Kim asks, for example, in regard to the shootings at Gwangju Station on May 20, "If soldiers had deliberately fired with lethal intent after those injuries [and the death of a soldier due to vehicle attacks], why would the death toll have stopped at four?" According to the numbers Kim put forward above, 30 rounds made available to each of the 16 company commanders in his battalion suggests there were at least 480 rounds available for use at Gwangju Station. Though updated figures indicate that seven died there, it's clear they had the means to shoot many, many more people than they did, a fact that fuels Kim's displeasure with the use of the word "massacre."

One notable discrepancy with the standard record of what happened is his statement that, in addition to using vehicles as weapons, demonstrators at Chonnam University had already armed themselves with rifles by the morning of the May 21. There is general agreement (and the May 18 Democratization Movement Truth Commission concluded) that armories were raided during the afternoon of May 21 after the mass shooting at the Provincial Office, so he may be simply misremembering this detail 15 years after the fact.

There is another account by an 11th Brigade soldier that is twice the length of this one that I will post eventually.

The 1980 Gwangju Uprising: The Confession of a Paratrooper

noreply@blogger.com (matt) — Mon, 18 May 2026 14:28:12 +0000

Paratrooper accounts of the Gwangju Uprising

Account by an 11th Brigade paratrooper (1999)

Account by a 3rd Brigade paratrooper (1996)

Account by an 11th Brigade paratrooper (1987) Part 1

Account by an 11th Brigade paratrooper (1987) Part 2

Account by an 11th Brigade paratrooper (1999)

Today marks the 46th anniversary of the beginning of the Gwangju Uprising, a topic I've written about many times (an index is here).

One topic I've never looked deeply into is the view from the military side. It's worth noting the military deployments that occurred at this time. The New Military Group under Chun Doo-hwan responded to two days of large-scale student protests in central Seoul (on May 14-15) by expanding martial law (partial martial law had been in place since Park Chung-hee's assassination the previous October), closing universities, closing the National Assembly, and arresting politicians who could challenge Chun. When this occurred, most Special Warfare Command (ie. special forces / paratroopers) units were stationed at university campuses in Seoul or nearby. The exception was elements of the SWC 7th Brigade that were sent to Gwangju and (likely) Jeonju universities, likely chosen for this because they were based near Iksan. Marines were deployed to southeastern cities. The 7th Brigade's brutality in Gwangju on May 18 sparked the uprising, but the fact that any protest at all was occurring there led the New Military Group to quickly send the SWC 11th Brigade to Gwangju, and they arrived the morning of May 19. When they failed to quell the protests, the SWC 3rd Brigade (perhaps considered the best-trained; they had put down the October 1979 Busan protests) were deployed and arrived on May 20. As the situation worsened, the 20th Infantry Division was sent, but by the time they arrived on May 21, the military had fired on protesters in front of the Provincial Office, the citizen army had formed, and the New Military Group ordered all units to retreat to the outskirts of the city, where they surrounded it for 5 days before returning in force on the morning of May 27.

Over the last year or so I've found three accounts by paratroopers of the events of May 1980 (and earlier). I haven't found any by former 7th Brigade soldiers, but there are two by those from the 11th Brigade and one from the 3rd Brigade.

The first I'll share, which I found reprinted here, was originally published as 이경남, 20년 만의 고백 : 한 특전사 병사가 겪은 광주『당대비평』 1999년 겨울호 / Lee Gyeong-nam, “A Confession After 20 Years: Gwangju as Experienced by a Special Warfare Command Soldier,” Dangdae Bipyeong [Contemporary Critique], Winter 1999, pp. 203-223.

Lee is a witness to the SWC's training, the shooting in front of the Provincial Office, and the May 24 accidental firefight between two military units, which he describes in detail.

*******

1980 was not only a time of upheaval for our society but also a period of personal pain for me. I was a young man in my mid-20s about to graduate from a theological seminary. Like Jonah in the Bible, unable to bear my burden, I chose to flee to the military. God, like casting Jonah into the sea, placed me in the Special Forces and ultimately threw me into the horrific scene of Gwangju in May.

Over the next 20 years, I wanted to escape the memories of that dreadful site. Above all, due to the physical injuries and emotional wounds I suffered, I tried to stay as far away from them as possible.

Perhaps that wasn’t the only reason. The renewed faith life I embarked upon and the demands of pastoring a rural church didn’t allow me the space to deeply contemplate serious historical issues. Still, in a corner of my heart, I always longed to visit Gwangju in May someday—to revisit the horrifying sites, reflect on the message they conveyed to me, and mourn and pay respect to the innocent citizens lying in Mangwol-dong.

I enlisted in the military in May 1979. After completing airborne and special warfare training (specifically guerrilla infiltration and riot control training), I was assigned to a brigade under the Special Warfare Command around the end of September. Then, in October, the presidential assassination occurred, followed by the December 12 incident. The Special Forces troops, unknowingly, became the power base of the New Military Group with political ambitions and were swept into an enormous political whirlwind.

After the assassination, DEFCON III—a wartime alert level—was issued, and serving in the frontline airborne brigade in Hwacheon, Gangwon Province, I had to endure tense, sleepless military days. The ensuing chaos and unrest in spring 1980, spurred by the New Military Group’s intentions to seize power, made life and training unbearably tough for the paratroopers. As junior soldiers and NCOs, we had no understanding of the political situation or the military’s intentions. We simply believed the narrative: the president was dead, the country was in turmoil, and war was looming—therefore, these riots had to be suppressed.

Moreover, what we heard in ideological training was that all college students were leftist radicals. Naturally, this instilled hostility in us, which psychologically set the stage for the atrocities we would later commit in Gwangju.

Even now, some may think the New Military Group’s rise to power in 1980 was an inevitable reaction to the outbreak of the Gwangju Uprising and ensuing chaos. But in retrospect, this was not the case at all.

I still vividly remember the expression of our company commander during the end-of-year meeting around December 30, 1979, as we began a three-day New Year break. At the time, Special Forces troops received higher pay than regular infantry due to parachute allowances. Though I don’t remember the exact details, it was said that from the new year, Special Forces soldiers would receive a 200% salary and 500% increase in parachute allowances. I remember the excited faces of my fellow soldiers as they cheerfully calculated their future pay. I, a private first class at the time, did the same and thought I might actually save some money during my service. This was clearly a calculated incentive by the New Military Group to win loyalty and create their own Praetorian Guard.

Since my assignment to the unit in October 1979, all regular training had been suspended and we were thrown into endless riot suppression drills. I had suspicions: if there was a real threat from North Korea, why weren’t we preparing for war instead of focusing solely on quelling protests? By spring 1980, the student demonstrations and political fragmentation caused by the rivalry of the three Kims made the situation increasingly grim. Our unit began full preparations for riot suppression. Soldiers ventured into deep mountains in Gangwon to chop down tough birch trees to make our own batons. Ideological training was repeatedly drilled into us, stressing the urgency of early suppression and the need to eliminate leftist radicals.

I recall that our brigade in Hwacheon moved en masse to Seoul around early May 1980. This was not a temporary deployment but a relocation intended for long-term stationing. Every July and August, airborne troops undergo weeks of swimming training on the coast. We were instructed to bring swimming gear when we relocated in spring, implying a long-term plan that included martial law and what might follow—not simply a return to base after a mission.

I remember departing in the evening and arriving at Chuncheon Station late at night, where we boarded a train with all curtains drawn and reached the airborne brigade in Gimpo by dawn. At that time, I recall thinking, “During the Korean War, North Korean soldiers moved south in similarly covered trains. What kind of strange situation is this?” I began to feel a growing unease about the unknown developments.

In May, we had to sleep without removing our boots or uniforms, ready to deploy at any moment. Just a few days before martial law was declared, the commander of the Special Warfare Command issued a 15 million won allowance to each brigade. Our battalion received 4 million won, and we held a grand feast with pork and liquor. While waiting, we continued receiving ideological training, conducted by a battalion commander who had suppressed the Busan-Masan (Buma) protests.

He proudly recounted how ruthlessly and decisively they had crushed the protests, and the soldiers admired him as a hero.

Several deployment orders were issued and then suddenly canceled. Finally, on the evening of the 17th, the order came through. We boarded military vehicles and entered downtown Seoul. When we got off the trucks, we realized we were at Dongguk University, and it was almost midnight. Some of us were sent to apprehend protesting students inside the campus, while the rest of us paused to listen to a broadcast instead of unloading our gear. The person on the broadcast was then Army Chief of Staff Lee Hui-seong. In a sharp and intimidating voice, he announced the proclamation of emergency martial law and declared that key anti-government figures would be arrested.

The next day, on the afternoon of the 18th around 5 p.m., we were abruptly ordered to redeploy to Gwangju. We were suddenly told to pack our things, with no explanation, though there were vague rumors among the troops that large numbers of guerrillas had infiltrated Jeju Island, which is where we assumed we were going.

Some personnel boarded planes and departed first, while the rest of us took a late-night train from Cheongnyangni Station. None of the soldiers knew where we were going or why—we simply obeyed orders. We were accustomed to that kind of life. No one questioned it, nor could they.

As the train sped south, I remember a moment as we passed through the darkness of Pyeongtaek, where my parents served as pastors. I saw faint village lights in the distance and felt an overwhelming longing for my family. I pulled out a book from my bag, one I had hidden from others back in the barracks: An Appeal to the Korean Youth. I may have been reading it half-heartedly, but I remember thinking: “As a Korean youth, where am I being taken right now…?” My comrades scoffed: “This is no time to be reading.”

We arrived in Gwangju around 2 a.m. and were taken to Chosun University, where sleeping quarters had already been arranged. Exhausted, we threw down our gear and got a few hours of sleep—maybe just three or four—before being jolted awake by orders to deploy. We quickly packed light field gear, fixed our bayonets, and loaded into military trucks to conduct what was called a “show of force.”

Rumor had it that a different Airborne Brigade based in Geumma, North Jeolla Province, had already been deployed to Gwangju. But due to unexpectedly fierce resistance from the students and the excessive response by that brigade, public sentiment turned sour. That unit was pulled out and replaced with ours.

On the morning of the 19th, the student demonstrations were relatively subdued, perhaps due to the brutal crackdown the day before. When soldiers approached, protesters usually dispersed rather than confront them directly.

But by the afternoon, things began to change. Infuriated by the stares and silent disapproval of the citizens, soldiers became increasingly aggressive. They began indiscriminately rounding up young people—on the streets, in markets—beating them, stripping them, and attacking them with riot batons and bayonets.

Troops spread out across the city. When student protesters fled into houses or buildings, soldiers followed them in and beat anyone young-looking, assuming they were part of the demonstrations. Innocent bystanders—people simply walking home from work—were dragged off and assaulted.

I remember members of my unit storming into an inn, dragging out a young man, and beating him so severely that his head and face were covered in blood. He begged for his life in utter terror.

Women were not spared. Those apprehended were often stripped, kicked with military boots, and humiliated before being loaded onto trucks and taken to military bases at Jeonnam or Chosun Universities, where the abuse continued. People watching from the streets were horrified. Initially, some protested, but after witnessing such extreme violence, everyone grew silent and fearful.

Despite the horror of it all, I remember the confidence and swagger of the soldiers as they returned from “clearing” the streets.

In a word, it was an attitude of, “Those bastards, those nobodies dare to act up.” I do not remember clearly whether it was the 19th or the 20th, but when I returned after going around the city, there were hundreds of students who had been captured by soldiers in the grounds of Chosŏn University, and on that wide athletic field they were being mercilessly beaten and trampled by dozens of soldiers. They were forced to crawl through gutters as the soldiers ordered, and had to do dozens of laps around the athletic field, while those who lagged behind suffered the humiliation of being kicked with military boots and beaten with riot batons.

Also, whether it was on the 20th or the following day I cannot remember for certain, but in the gymnasium building being used by the military police I saw two young men lying there dead, pale white. They were probably people who had been killed either while being transported in vehicles or amid such circumstances. I also heard that there were soldiers who, while transporting beaten and injured students in military trucks, detonated several tear gas grenades inside the trucks, so the situation was so horrific that if it was fortunate they did not die in the process, that alone could be counted as luck. Such miserable scenes continued without end.

Throughout the morning and afternoon of the 20th we went around the city suppressing demonstrations, but the more the soldiers did so, the stranger it seemed that even though many people were not directly participating in the protests, the crowds nevertheless kept growing until the streets were full. Perhaps, as matters had reached such a state, people were curious, and although they were too frightened to join the demonstration ranks themselves, they seemed to be silently expressing support for the protests and hatred toward the airborne troops. Perhaps because they sensed this atmosphere, some soldiers even unhesitatingly made extreme remarks such as, “All those Chŏlla-do bastards ought to be killed.” Many among us had already become slaves to blind rage.

That day wasn’t as violent as the day before. I think the commanders realized things were escalating too fast and gave orders to hold back. And maybe because of the strong show of force, student protests had temporarily diminished in intensity.

However, from late in the evening onward, the number of demonstrators increased rapidly. The soldiers exercised restraint and merely surrounded them without forcibly dispersing them, but on the streets not only did the number of demonstrators grow enormously, the number of ordinary citizens did as well. Some among them even looked at the soldiers surrounding them and asked whether they were really soldiers of the Republic of Korea, or perhaps communist troops instead. There were also people demonstrating with Taegeukgi flags attached to their vehicles, and in the face of this situation I saw unit commanders unable to decide what to do, busily contacting higher commanders by radio and receiving operational instructions.

At length, the order for the unit to retreat was given. The soldiers were to withdraw toward Chosŏn University, leaving the demonstrators as they were, and citizens who saw this even applauded as they sent the soldiers off. The demonstrators also followed the withdrawing soldiers while singing military songs to them. Abandoning the hostile attitude they had shown up to that point and seeing the airborne troops quietly withdrawing, some citizens jumped into the ranks of soldiers, offering handshakes to them and even trying to embrace them, showing enthusiastic reactions. The sight of this truly gave a strange feeling.

In my view, as the situation was taking on a serious aspect, the soldiers were carrying out a tactical withdrawal, but people seemed pleased, thinking the soldiers had changed their minds and were going back of their own accord. In the end, I cannot help but think bitterly that this only left them even more deeply wounded.

I sometimes wonder: did that idealistic young man who ran toward us smiling, thinking things were okay—did he survive?

That night, as we retreated from Chosun University, a terrifying confrontation occurred. It must have been around 9 p.m. To block the demonstrators following behind, soldiers continuously fired tear gas as they withdrew. Despite repeated warnings to turn back, some of the protestors seized a fire truck and charged past our blockade—a highly dangerous situation. Then a fiery glow lit up the night sky. I later heard it was the local tax office that had been set on fire. The situation was spiraling out of control.

As the night grew darker and more serious, a battalion commander, standing behind an armored vehicle and firing warning shots, desperately requested permission via radio to use live ammunition. From what I saw, his voice grew increasingly urgent, as if pleading.

Later I found out that the demonstrators had followed the military back to Chosun University not just to chase us down but to demand the release of the citizens who had been detained on the campus. When their demand was not met, a small group of radical students began to act—commandeering the fire truck to ram through barriers and throwing stones to launch a surprise attack. Rocks hurled from the darkness struck some soldiers, who collapsed screaming in pain. Enraged, soldiers responded fiercely, chasing down fleeing students and, in some cases, beating them to death. I think that night may have marked the true beginning of the slaughter that became the Gwangju Uprising. In that moment of chaos, I felt like I wasn’t in my right mind. How had I come to be here? The unfolding scene allowed no room for questioning. It was like a vision of hell—gunfire and tear gas everywhere, darkness swallowing the neighborhood near the university, screams and cries blending into a horrific cacophony.

Somehow, amid it all, I spotted a civilian who had been beaten nearly to death by soldiers. Without thinking, I left formation, lifted him onto my back, and carried him into a nearby civilian house. Why did I act so recklessly? I can only say that it felt like the only thing I could do.

But no matter how much I knocked, no one would open their door. Eventually, I turned down an alley and saw a small church, with a faint light glowing from within. I knocked frantically, and a tall, dignified elderly man with white hair opened the door. Startled at first, he quickly led me and the injured man into his study. There, we found several students who had already taken refuge.Imagine the scene: a paratrooper, still wearing boots and carrying a rifle, entering a sanctuary where frightened students had hidden from the very violence I represented. I can't imagine what they thought.

When I laid the man down under the light, he was already unconscious. He looked to be in his late 40s or early 50s—a laborer, maybe. His head had been split open by a riot baton, a gash more than 15 centimeters long. One of his arms appeared broken and limp.

That night, I slept in the pastor's study alongside those students. At dawn the next day, I returned alone to my unit. Of course, my unauthorized absence caused serious trouble. My superiors were furious. I was punished, beaten, and reprimanded. But what truly terrified me wasn’t the punishment.

Even now, I can still hear the students sobbing and wailing, dragging the bodies of their dead comrades, shouting, singing, pleading into the night.

I never learned the identity of the man I carried, nor whether he lived or died. All I know is that the church was “Gwangju Sae Church” in Hakil-dong, and the pastor’s name was Jeong In-bo. Judging from his age at the time, he must have passed away by now.

When I returned to the unit on the 21st, it turned out to be one of the most pivotal days of the entire Gwangju Uprising. Upon arrival, word of my return was radioed to the command, and I was sent by truck to Sangmu Base, where my unit had been resting. My uniform was soaked in blood. My direct superior exploded in rage, berating me. But despite everything, what he said left a lasting impression on me. Though he had spent the night anxious over my disappearance and was livid, he knew I was a theology student and not someone prone to trouble, so he handled it within reasonable limits. He told me, “Under martial law, desertion is grounds for immediate execution. I know what you were doing last night—but this is a war zone. Get your head straight and act properly.” To this day, I’m strangely grateful to that captain and the other officers who handled the incident with discretion.

Later that morning, on the 21st, we marched into the Gwangju Provincial Office. All the soldiers from our brigade were gathering there.

By then, the demonstrators were filled with fury after seeing so many die the night before. Armed with vehicles, they now began to confront the military directly. At one point, I saw an armored vehicle stolen from an industrial complex advancing toward us.

During the Gwangju Hearings, one of the brigade commanders testified that the army began firing after soldiers were killed by demonstrators in armored vehicles. Court records also reflect this. But that is not what I witnessed.

When the demonstrators’ armored vehicle appeared near the Provincial Office, no soldiers were present in the immediate area, so it passed without injuring anyone. It simply turned and drove away. The soldier who died beneath an armored vehicle was not struck by one driven by the demonstrators, but rather by a military armored car maneuvered by our own forces during a chaotic retreat.

I saw it with my own eyes. Negotiations with the protestors had failed, and when some demonstrators began driving vehicles toward us, a military armored vehicle, attempting to retreat in a hurry, ran over a fallen soldier. He died instantly. His body was pinned beneath the tracks of the vehicle, blood pouring from his mouth. He had just joined our unit—a rookie.

When demonstrators holding steel pipes, batons, and riding trucks and buses faced off against soldiers on Chungjang-ro Street, the situation became extremely dangerous and urgent. The commanding officers appeared visibly distressed, unsure of how to respond. I was positioned more toward the rear of our formation, so I wasn’t in immediate danger, but those soldiers stationed on the front lines—just meters from the protesters—must have been paralyzed with fear when vehicles suddenly surged forward toward them. From the sky, helicopters broadcasted demands urging the protestors to disperse. The protesters chanted and sang solemnly. Thousands of paratroopers and tens of thousands of protestors now stood on the brink of an all-out clash. Unless one had actually stood there in person, it would be impossible to grasp the sheer intensity of that moment.

Earlier that morning, another vivid memory comes to mind. At the plaza in front of the Provincial Office fountain, demonstrators and soldiers faced each other in a standoff. A city bus suddenly broke through the line and rushed toward the soldiers. The soldiers, startled, scattered. The bus crashed into a tree and came to a halt. Angered by the incident, the soldiers ran into the streets and began to beat passing civilians indiscriminately. One man in his 40s or 50s, wearing rubber slippers and a jacket, happened to be walking by and got caught up in the frenzy. He was soon knocked unconscious by batons. Sensing that his life might be in danger, I rushed to lift him and drag him away to safety. He was a large man, and I struggled to carry him. At that moment, a sergeant from another company ran over and helped me. Hundreds of fellow paratroopers were watching us. After dragging the injured man to safety, we gestured to nearby citizens to take care of him, then returned to our lines.

Shortly afterward, a senior officer from my company approached me. He pointed his bayonet at me and asked, “Are you trying to get yourself killed?” Then he added, “Whose side are you on—ours or theirs?”

I didn’t respond. I just smiled faintly. He then warned me, “If you pull something like that again, I’ll shoot you myself.” But I had seen something else. As we had rescued the injured man and handed him over to the citizens, some of them, unable to approach out of fear, simply bowed their heads toward us in gratitude.

At one point during a standoff near what I remember as the Jeonil Building, a young man leaned out a window and hurled profanity at the soldiers. Furious, soldiers stormed into the building and dragged him out, bloodied and broken. As they pressed bayonets to his neck and threatened to kill him, he pleaded for his life with a look of pure terror on his face. I can’t forget that look. As a low-ranking private, I was powerless to intervene. What happened to him afterward, I’ll never know.

The shooting at the Provincial Office on May 21 began shortly after one of our soldiers was run over and killed by our own armored vehicle during the chaos caused by oncoming protestor vehicles. As the protesters advanced, our defensive line collapsed. The plaza in front of the Provincial Office filled with demonstrators and their vehicles. At that point, someone ordered the soldiers to open fire. With gunfire, the crowd scattered. We dropped to the pavement, lying prone to take cover.

In my memory, at that time, the armored vehicle stood in the middle of the road and fired a .50 caliber machine gun in rapid bursts. That was not just a warning shot—it was clearly live, targeted fire. Some people say the shooting at the front of the provincial government building began with gunfire from the demonstrators, and that the military only responded, but to my knowledge, that’s simply not true. It was only after the military began shooting that the citizens, having seized weapons, began to return fire. They did not shoot first, nor was it simultaneous. At the time, hundreds of soldiers were lying prone, completely exposed, on the road in front of the provincial office. Even after we had withdrawn, none of us were hit by any gunfire from the protesters. If the demonstrators had indeed possessed firearms and fired at us, some of us, who were lying completely vulnerable, should have been hit. But that did not happen. Furthermore, around 4 p.m., when the troops of our brigade stationed at the provincial office withdrew on foot toward Chosun University, they were able to walk away along the road unscathed. If the demonstrators had had guns and were prepared to shoot, would that have been possible?

After retreating from the provincial government building to Chosun University, we immediately received an urgent evacuation order. I also remember that an armored vehicle at the university plaza opened fire repeatedly toward the surrounding neighborhood—where residents, children, and curious onlookers had gathered. Presumably, the purpose was to cover the retreat of the soldiers and to maintain operational secrecy. But whether the shots were meant to be direct attacks or simply warning shots to disperse people—I do not know.

We quickly packed up our gear and departed Chosun University around 7 p.m., as dusk fell. The main unit, carrying important documents and equipment on military trucks, was ambushed by demonstrators as they exited the city, resulting in the first military casualties.

We didn’t know where we were going—we just followed the soldier ahead of us, walking all night. Then, around 11 a.m. the next day—May 22—we realized we had arrived in a deep valley in Mudeungsan. There, not only our brigade, but—though I’m not certain—also troops from another brigade had gathered. We received rations delivered by air and were issued 580 rounds of live ammunition per person, as well as grenades and tear gas. Then we rested our exhausted bodies and awaited operational orders. We were like wild animals trapped in a jungle of barbarism.

In that mountain valley, I heard that a college student who had been taken prisoner was executed by firing squad. I did not witness it myself, but I heard the story from a fellow soldier in another battalion who saw it and confided in one of my juniors, saying he couldn’t understand why he had to be in such a unit. At the time, the incident circulated within the unit as a rumor, and about ten years later, the discovery of skeletal remains with gunshot wounds in the area where the airborne troops had been stationed served as evidence. That wasn’t the only case. One company from another battalion, while lying in ambush along a national road, spotted a vehicle carrying protesters and opened fire, killing many students. A female student who was the only survivor from that bus later testified that the soldiers confirmed the kills by individually checking and executing the wounded. Her account shocked many people.

We stayed in the Mudeungsan valley from the 22nd to the 24th and then received orders for an operation to recapture the provincial office and other key facilities in Gwangju. But strangely, the operational order was given and then canceled again. I suspect there was some disagreement within the South Korea–U.S. military command about how to proceed with the final crackdown, which was expected to result in heavy casualties. Much later, I learned that when DEFCON 3 is declared—signifying a wartime state and elevated alert level—South Korea's military operational command transfers to the ROK-U.S. Combined Forces Command, and no military action can be taken without U.S. consent.

Looking out over the darkened city of Gwangju from the mountains was a mournful experience. The suppression troops had already withdrawn from the city, but for some unknown reason, gunfire erupted all through the night, like beans popping in a frying pan. On the night of the 23rd, there was an order to launch an operation into the city that was later canceled. I still remember the sight of fellow soldiers, worn out by continuous operations and forced marches, fast asleep in their tents from sheer exhaustion. We were spent. We hadn’t properly washed or shaved for days. Numbed by the monotony of military life, we had no idea what we were doing or what might happen to us the next moment. Those simple, snoring faces, just relieved to be fed and resting...

Unable to sleep, sensing that the upcoming urban assault and the mission to reclaim key sites would result in heavy casualties and put my life in grave danger, I left the tent and prayed alone beneath a secluded rock. I was so tired, and my senses dulled by routine military life, that it was hard to collect my thoughts. But my prayer was something like this: “God, I was a seminary student, hoping to become a pastor. But now I’ve come to this point where I must kill innocent people to stay alive—or be killed myself. Please help me escape this nightmare. Let me neither kill nor be killed.”

It was late spring, and the land was lush with new growth. The mountains were filled with vibrant life and beauty. But May 24th—this day would become the most painful, the most tragic day not just for me, but for many soldiers and civilians alike.

After finishing breakfast, a sudden order for withdrawal was given. We were told to bring all our hidden packs and gear from where they had been buried in the mountains, which indicated that we were not heading out for another battle or mission but were instead relocating or retreating. It seemed we were moving to Songjeong-ri Airfield, located on the outskirts of Gwangju, where we would likely carry out the final operations to retake the city. Around 1 p.m., about a thousand soldiers boarded dozens of military vehicles, led by armored cars, and began moving toward the airfield. At that point, each soldier was armed with 580 rounds of live ammunition and various weapons including grenades and gas canisters. We were ordered to load our weapons with live rounds and maintain full alert against possible ambushes by protesters during the move. As we traveled along the national highway, we heard intermittent gunshots being fired toward nearby civilian villages.

These were rural villages far removed from downtown Gwangju, where farmers were planting rice in paddies or children were playing in schoolyards, seemingly unaware of the chaos unfolding in the city. Even now, I don’t understand why soldiers opened fire in such places. The occasional gunshot soon turned into a continuous barrage, like beans popping in a skillet. I vividly remember the farmers startled out of their fields, the children running from the reservoir in terror, and students scattering in panic from the playground—all from the sound of gunfire. According to the soldiers, they said the protesters had appeared, but I still don’t know the truth. For someone who didn’t experience that situation firsthand, it might be hard to understand, but from what I felt, it seemed that the soldiers, having loaded live rounds and gripped by fear on one hand and instinct on the other, fired at any moving object they saw. I later found out that during this chaos, several innocent villagers, including children, had been shot and killed.

A little later, in a place called Songam-dong, something even more horrific happened—by far the most dreadful thing I experienced during the Gwangju Uprising. A company from the Gwangju Infantry School, lying in ambush with recoilless rifles, mistook the approaching vehicles of the airborne troops, led by an armored car, for protester vehicles and opened fire on them. It wasn’t a long battle—probably no more than five minutes—but in that brief moment, I wondered how on earth soldiers could fire into a peaceful residential neighborhood like that. Caught off guard, I didn’t even duck for cover and was simply watching when I was hit in the head by a bullet.

The infantry school soldiers directly hit the armored vehicle at the front with a recoilless rifle, destroying it, and continued to attack the trailing vehicles. Suddenly, explosions rang out from all directions, and startled soldiers responded with gunfire or jumped out of the vehicles, fleeing into roadside ditches.

I first realized I had been shot when I felt something strike my body. I collapsed, as if my strength had suddenly vanished. I vaguely sensed that something had happened to the back of my head. As death came upon me so suddenly, I felt a wave of fear and futility wash over me. How could this happen to me? I couldn't believe this was really happening. What I remember most clearly was not just the fear of death, but a deep, aching sorrow about my family—especially my mother. As I imagined the agony she would feel upon hearing of my death, the pain was unbearable.

I didn’t want to face the reality of what had happened to me. I still had a faint consciousness, and even if I were to die, I just wanted to pass quietly like that. I was too afraid to confirm the extent of my injury. But trembling, I began to check myself. I touched the back of my head and felt blood pouring out. Then I felt my face. If the bullet had passed through the back of my head, I thought it would have come out the front.

I felt around my face, but there was no exit wound. The wound on the back of my head didn’t seem that large either. I began to feel a glimmer of hope—maybe I wouldn’t die. I was alone in the vehicle, lying there. I saw my comrades jumping out and running, heard explosions and gunfire all around. The only thought in my mind was that I had to get out of the vehicle if I wanted to survive.

As I tried to stand and jump out of the vehicle, a huge explosion occurred and I was thrown down, feeling like my entire body had been torn into a thousand pieces. That was the second disaster. I believe it was a shell from a recoilless rifle that exploded nearby. At the moment of the blast, I felt as though my whole body had been beaten with a giant club and torn apart. Terrified, I screamed and cried as death rushed toward me. I was consumed by fear. My body was riddled with shrapnel, soaked in blood, and in agonizing pain. I couldn’t even move. I lay on the ground and cried out desperately, "Oh God! Oh God!" I don't think even my upbringing in a Christian household or my status as a seminary student had ever made me call on God so desperately as I did then.

After some time, my consciousness returned, though I was still in great pain. Explosions and gunfire continued around me, bullets flying past. I feared that if I stayed there, I'd be riddled with bullets. Fortunately, the mistaken crossfire eventually ceased, and things began to settle down. I looked around—bodies of comrades were scattered everywhere, some with their bones exposed.

Among the dead was a sergeant from another company who had boasted to me just that morning about stabbing twenty of "them" the night before.

I was still lying on the ground, gasping for breath, unable to move—only barely able to shift my right arm. I started to feel a problem with my breathing. Suddenly I couldn’t breathe. Like a dying fish, I opened my mouth toward the sky, gasping for air. I thought for sure: this is it, I’m dying. Fear gripped me once again. I continued to cry out in my heart to God, begging to be saved. Perhaps because God took pity on me, my breathing slowly returned, and I was finally able to assess what had happened to me. I turned my head to examine my body. My right elbow was bleeding and embedded with shrapnel; I couldn’t move it. My left side, between my armpit and heart, was soaked in blood. Blood ran down my forehead as well, and my left leg was completely drenched in it. The pain was unbearable, and I couldn’t move at all.

Only my right arm could move a little. I was parched with thirst. Carefully, I took out my canteen and sipped a bit of water—it helped me regain some awareness. Despite everything, it seemed I might survive, since the bullets and shrapnel hadn’t pierced any vital organs. When my body was engulfed by the explosion, I had felt as if heavenly wings were shielding me. Perhaps God had taken pity on me and protected me. If so, what of those who had to die so cruelly in that hellish battlefield? I wonder now where my mind truly was at that moment. After I came to, I was eventually found by my comrades. I was stripped of my clothes and transported to a hospital. During that time, I prayed to God, thanking Him for sparing my life, while also cursing and crying out, “Damn it! Did I come to the army just to die like this?” I directed my anger at the unknown powers that had thrown me into such undesired misery.

As far as I know, that incident resulted in the deaths of nine soldiers on the spot. Two more died later in the hospital. Over forty soldiers were seriously or critically injured. Some soldiers, overwhelmed by the deaths and injuries of their comrades, reportedly stormed into nearby villages and—driven by blind rage—committed atrocities, shooting and killing local youths and livestock. What did the peaceful villagers in those remote rural areas have to do with soldiers mistakenly firing on each other? I believe some of the soldiers who committed these acts were so indoctrinated with the idea that “all Gwangju people are the enemy” that they justified such senseless violence.

I didn’t mention this earlier, but when a soldier in our unit was killed by an armored vehicle near the provincial government building, a sergeant who had been close to him claimed he had taken revenge by firing indiscriminately at demonstrators, boasting about it afterward.

The military's ideological education—or more accurately, brainwashing—that constantly branded student protesters as leftist or pro-North Korea sympathizers had deeply affected soldiers like us. It’s terrifying how such indoctrination can make people commit unspeakable acts.

I know several superiors from my unit who committed such acts without hesitation. I wonder: do they now regret what they did? What kind of memory does that "glorious excursion" leave them with today?

When the armored vehicle was destroyed, six soldiers inside were affected. Three died, and the battalion commander and two others were seriously injured. One of the dead was just ten days away from being discharged—how incredibly unlucky. One of the seriously injured officers had a calm and pleasant personality but was notorious for violently treating both his subordinates and protestors. Another was our battalion commander, a Catholic known in the unit for his solid leadership and strong sense of duty. He lost his left arm in the incident.

Dozens of helicopters were urgently dispatched, and in order of the severity of injuries I was transported on the second helicopter to the Kwangju Armed Forces Integrated Hospital. Just before being evacuated, I saw a sergeant I had normally been close with who had suffered a gunshot wound through the abdomen and was bleeding heavily. His helmet was filled with blood, and as he struggled for breath he pleaded for someone to save him. He was a man of gentle character who ordinarily got along well even with lower-ranking men within the unit. Tragically, he died during surgery at the hospital.

After receiving emergency treatment, I collapsed into a deep sleep from exhaustion. When I woke up, it was already the following afternoon, around 4 p.m. on May 25. I had slept for nearly 24 hours. I still can’t forget the sound of the radio I heard while lying in that hospital bed, half-asleep. It had interrupted regular programming and was repeatedly broadcasting marching music while urging protestors to surrender. The sound filled me with dread, as if it were warning me of more terrible events to come.

At the hospital, student and civilian protesters who had been injured during the demonstrations were being treated in a separate ward. I met a senior psychology major from Chosun University who had been shot in the back and was lying down. What she told me was horrifying. She said she joined the protest after seeing the corpses of people who had been beaten to death by soldiers. According to her, she saw the body of someone who had been sprayed with paint from a flame thrower, as if their corpse had been battered in tempura flour. It left her in shock.

At the time, the military had a plan to shoot paint from flame throwers to mark key protest leaders for arrest. That victim was probably one of those targeted by that cruel strategy.

My recollections of Gwangju end here. After the uprising was suppressed, I was transferred to a military hospital in Daejeon near my hometown. I left Gwangju and spent nearly nine months in and out of hospitals. After returning to my unit, I occasionally heard stories from fellow soldiers who had participated in the final operation on May 27, which ended the Gwangju Uprising. But I cannot speak in detail about that horrific event.

All I can say with certainty is that I feel immense sympathy and sorrow for the demonstrators—young students and ordinary citizens who, armed only with righteous anger and patriotism, stood against elite airborne troops with the latest weaponry. It was never a fair fight. They knew they were risking death. It was an act of defiance, not survival. To hear anyone from the special forces boast about their “victory” during the operation on May 27 is truly absurd.

From what I’ve heard, when the troops entered the city on that final day, many of the young protestors hesitated to even fire their weapons.

If you visit the Seoul National Cemetery and walk toward the final burial section on the left, you will find the graves of about 20 soldiers who died in Gwangju. Right next to them are the graves of South Korean officers who died during the Korean War, including my uncle, who was killed in Uijeongbu on June 26, 1950. Every Memorial Day, my family and I visit his grave, and we also pay respects to the soldiers buried nearby who died in Gwangju.

During the 5th and 6th Republics, there were veterans’ groups that took pride in the fact that these soldiers had “defended the nation.” But after the military regime fell, and as the truth about their atrocities was revealed, those gatherings faded away. Now only the bereaved families mourn quietly at those graves. The gravestones show that the privates were promoted to corporals and the sergeants to staff sergeants posthumously, but can those honorary promotions compensate for the senseless deaths of young men who were just following orders? Can they heal the lifelong grief of their families?

Twenty years have passed since the tragic events in Gwangju. What was once condemned as a “riot” is now recognized as a democratic movement. Those who died have been vindicated, and their reputations restored. Some of the men who were imprisoned for “plotting rebellion” now lead the country, while the military leaders who suppressed the uprising have been punished for their crimes and corruption.

So, can we say that the tragedy of Gwangju is truly over?

Every year, when May comes around, I hear Gwangju calling to me. For nearly twenty years, I’ve listened to that voice in my heart but have never been able to bring myself to return. This year was no different.

But someday, I absolutely want to return to Gwangju in May. I want to stand again in that place where cries of anguish once echoed through the sky—cries like those of the righteous Abel and the prophet Zechariah, whose blood called out from the ground. I want to hear the sorrowful voices of the dead that still seem to ring out from the heavens and the earth.

And I don’t want to go alone. I want to go with my aging parents, who sent their beloved son into the pit of death and endured unimaginable grief. I want to go with my beloved wife and children. And there, I want to teach my wise children not only about the pain of Gwangju, but also about the truth of those who died, and about the dangers of corrupt power.

Finally, I want to offer a word to the likes of Chun Doo-hwan and the other figures of the Fifth Republic, who still cling to their delusions of the past: “Be thankful you are still alive in this country. Show some remorse and stay quiet.”

Lee Gyeong-nam

At the time of the 1980 Gwangju People's Uprising, he was a soldier in the 11th Airborne Brigade, 63rd Battalion, 9th Company. He is now a Methodist pastor serving in Hoengseong, Gangwon Province. This article was written by Pastor Lee Gyeong-nam and first published in 1999 in Dangdae Bipyeong [Contemporary Critique].

*******

One thing to note is that his description of them getting bonuses in late 1979 accords with an April 21, 1980 US Defense Intelligence Agency report, excerpted below:

Activities of Lieutenant General Chon Tu Hwan - An Opposing View
[...]
8A. (U) Details: [3 lines redacted, likely about source.] He is among the most reliable sources available to this office and provided the following information concerning LTG Chon Tu Hwan during wide-ranging conversations 18 and 19 April 1980.
(a) For several years LTG Chon has had a widespread loyal following within the ROK Army which has been carefully cultivated. Among the techniques Chon uses to insure loyalty are his own persuasiveness, KMA class ties, assignment of supporters to key positions, and the payment of substantial sums of money to loyal subordinates. Source stated that while he was a subordinate commander under Chon in the 1st ROK Infantry Division, he received a minimum of 100,000 won each month for operating expenses. This money was received directly from then MG Chon, or from one of his trusted subordinates. All other subordinate commanders also received similar payments, with the amount dependent on their respective positions. Following the events of 12-13 December 1979, Chon reportedly authorized the payment of 500,000,000 won to members of the Tactical Operations Center (TOC), Capital Security Command, who he considered to have played a key role in supporting him at that time. Source was unsure where the money for these payments came from, but expressed the opinion it was from certain unspecified businessmen who traditionally lent financial support to influential persons both within and outside of the military.
[Line redacted] The payment of “reimbursement” or “expense” funds within the ROK Army is not unusual. However, the amounts involved here are substantially larger than is normally the case. LTG Chon appears to have access to seemingly unlimited funds. He reportedly has spent large amounts of money in recent months during his campaign to generate support from segments of Korean society outside the military and justify the 12 December and subsequent actions.

Another thing to note is that (and I'm 99% sure on this - neither General Wickham's book or James Young's book mention it) the threat level in Korea during May 1980 was not raised to DEFCON 3 (though according to this, the ROK Army's designation was raised to Jindogae 1 in the Honam area), nor was Combined Forces Command (CFC) ever in charge of operations. As well, all troops involved in Gwangju were either never under CFC Operational Control (OPCON) or were removed from OPCON before May 18. (Some units were removed from OPCON after May 21 but were never sent to Gwangju.)

Also, he mentions being sent to Dongguk University where some soldiers were "sent to apprehend protesting students inside the campus," which accords with a story told to me a few days ago by someone who walked by that campus on the morning of May 18 and smelled tear gas. This speaks to the incorrect belief that protests only happened in Gwangju and not in Seoul. The suppression at Dongguk University - and a handful of other mentions in US Embassy cables - suggest that protests were planned and even attempted but they were stopped before they could really start by the troops stationed on campuses and circulating in trucks around the city (which was intended to intimidate the citizenry). For example, on May 18 the US Embassy reported that "Small groups [of students] are gathering in front of some college gates but troops are dispersing them. We have heard no report of clashes or injuries," while on the afternoon of May 20, the Embassy reported that "Two demonstrations have occurred in the last 24 hours, both small and both dispersed quickly. One...occurred evening of May 19 at Seoul Station; the other, mid afternoon on the 20th, at a movie theater about five blocks east of the Plaza Hotel." As Ambassador Gleysteen reported on May 27, "In Seoul the city was calm, but the atmosphere was – to put it bluntly – one of military occupation."

I'll likely post the 3rd Brigade account - which also describes the unit's suppression of the October 1979 Busan protests - next.

The 66th anniversary of the April 19, 1960 student revolution

noreply@blogger.com (matt) — Mon, 20 Apr 2026 08:08:00 +0000

Yesterday was the 66th anniversary of the April 19, 1960 student revolution. I'd never visited the 4.19 Cemetery before, but with a friend staying in the area, we decided to visit.

Outside the entrance were banners reading "Commemoration: The 66th anniversary of the 4.19 revolution. We will forever remember the spirit of 4.19."

Inside the cemetery setting up had begun for a large event the next day (which, I later learned, was attended by President Lee). Saturday also saw a large number of students - certainly some of them Korea University students - who gathered en masse in the mid afternoon.

This graphic posted at the entrance to the space where the commemoration ceremony was to take place lays out the human cost of 4.19:

Overall Figures

Total injured: 6,259 people

Hospitalized (including injured and dead): 1,802 people

Total deaths: 186 people

Injured by Gender

Men: 1,641

Women: 127

Unspecified: 34

Injured by Age Group

Under 10: 9

Teens: 632

20s: 779

30s: 190

40s: 88

50+: 31

Unknown: 73

Deaths by Region

Seoul: 144

Outside Seoul: 42

Deaths by Social Status / Group

General public: 96

University students: 24

High school students: 39

Middle school students: 21

Elementary students: 6

Deaths by Cause

Shot (gunfire): 165

Traffic accidents: 10

Protest formation accidents: 5

Beaten by police: 3

Other: 3

Tombs here are both for those killed during 4.19 and the injured who have died since.

A closer look at the tombs reveals (on the back) when and how they died and their ages:

Tomb of An Bu-ja

Chungcheongnam-do

Born Aug. 3, 1945, in Seosan, Chungnam.

Shot while protesting in front of City Hall on April 21, 1960

Died April 24, 1960 at Capital Army Hospital (14 years old)

Tomb of Im Dong-seong

Jongam Elementary School

Born Sept. 17, 1950, in Seoul. Attended Jongam Elementary School [near Anam Rotary].

Died April 19, 1960 from a gunshot wound while among the protesters. (9 years old)

Inside the portrait hall.

I decided to go for a walk along Uicheon since it was such a nice day.

Three birds: magpie on the shore at left, Mandarin duck in the middle, and a bulbul on the branch at right. There were lots of waterfowl on certain stretches of the stream, as well as an egret or two.

Mallards and ducklings.

I reached the street Line 4 runs under near Suyu Station and decided to make my way there, but then discovered a street - which turned out to be the same street in the first photo above that runs to the 4.19 Cemetery - that had been closed to traffic for a 2-day 4.19 Revolution Citizens' Cultural Festival, complete with booths and parades and lots of activities for kids and adults alike.

4.19 seems to me to be rather understudied today. There is a ton of information about the Gwangju Uprising in English and Korean. I'm left wondering if there is a good narrative-history book out there in Korean that could be translated so that the chronology and scope of events could be made clearer. (For example, I know a witness who told me he saw police shooting in front of Seoul Station; I'd had no idea there were protests there.)

For the lead up to the protests and the cultural / social background, on the other hand, Charles Kim's Youth For Nation: Culture and Protest in Cold War South Korea is well worth reading.

Recovering family prestige: The inscriptions on the Pungsan Sim family tombs on Gaehwasan.

noreply@blogger.com (matt) — Fri, 17 Apr 2026 02:55:00 +0000

The tomb of Sim Jeong.

A few weeks ago I wrote about the history of Gaehwasan and the Pungsan Sim family in the Korea Times ahead of a historical walk on the mountain for RAS Korea.

While I've led that walk several times over 12 years (and lived near the mountain for 11 years), my knowledge about the Pungsan Sim family, whose tombs dot the eastern side of the mountain, was limited to the basic outline of their lives. The first family members to be buried on the mountain also had the most dramatic lives. They are:

Sim Jeong (沈貞, 1471–1531)

Sim Sa-son (沈思遜, 1493–1528)

Sim Sa-sun (沈思順, 149_–1531)

Sim Su-gyeong (沈守慶, 1516–1599)

With the discovery of this blog post, which includes transcriptions of three of the tombs' epitaphs, and the judicious use of ChatGPT to translate them and to transcribe and translate a more recent tombstone, as well as to render dates in the Gregorian calendar, I was able to learn a great deal more about the dramatic lives and deaths of these men, as well as to understand the 'rectification of history' the epitaphs represent. What follows is an historical overview and transcriptions of the epitaphs, with a bit of commentary.

Historical overview:

Sim Jeong’s ancestors had served Joseon’s kings since the time of Taejong (r. 1400-1418) and Sim was part of the Hun'gu ‘old guard’ faction who deposed King Yeonsan-gun and enthroned his half brother Jungjong in 1506 and was made a ‘meritorious subject’ as a result. He rose through the ranks of government along with his sons, Sa-son and Sa-sun.

Jo Gwang-jo was the leader of the Sarim ‘scholar forest’ faction who challenged the Hun'gu, tried to strip them of their ‘meritorious subject’ status, and had Sim Jeong and Sim Sa-son removed from their positions.

With concubine Park Gyeongbin’s help, Sim Jeong was one of the Hun'gu who conspired to bring down Jo Gwang-jo and purge the Sarim faction in 1519, resulting in Jo’s execution.

Sim Jeong rose to new heights within the government (reaching the second-highest position) and in 1527 he saw to the exile of a new challenger, Kim An-ro (whose daughter married one of King Jungjong's sons). That same year he took part in condemning and causing the exile of the concubine Park Gyeongbin for her part in the ‘rat incident’ (which involved mutilated rats appearing around the palace, seen as a traitorous curse upon the crown prince).

In 1528, Sim Jeong's son Sa-son was killed by Jurchen raiders on the northern border.

In 1530, Kim An-ro returned to court and by 1531 had brought about the exile of Sim Jeong by spreading rumors that he had previously had an affair with the traitorous concubine Park Gyeongbin.

In 1531, his son Sa-sun was framed by an ally of Kim An-ro and died during interrogation. Soon after, Sim Jeong’s execution was ordered by the king.

Kim An-ro eventually rose and fell in a similar manner, and after his execution in 1537, Sa-sun was rehabilitated and seen as a victim of factionalism.

Attempts to rehabilitate Sim Jeong failed, however, because the Sarim faction eventually regained power and held it (as they splintered into multiple factions) for the rest of the Joseon era, and they never forgave Sim Jeong for his role in the death of their mentor, Jo Gwang-jo.

Because Sim Jeong's son Sa-son had been killed on the border while loyally serving the country, his legacy was untainted, and Sa-son’s son Su-gyeong was able to rise to the highest ranks of government. He is particularly known for organizing righteous army units during the Japanese Imjin invasions (1592-98).

While the date of Sa-sun’s gravestone (the current stone is very new) is uncertain, the tombstones of Sim Jeong and Sim Sa-son were erected in 1580 and were written or commissioned by Sim Su-gyeong when he was at the height of his prestige, and his own tombstone’s epitaph was written by himself and erected 2 years after his death, in 1601. As a result, the epitaphs on these tombstones should be viewed as Sim Su-gyeong’s attempts to restore his family’s honor.

Tomb Inscriptions:

Note: Korean dates mentioned in the epitaphs refer to the year (of the 60 year zodiac cycle) and the era (Ming Emperor’s reign).

The tomb of Sim Jeong (1471–1531), erected 1580, with 4 statues of civil officials (muninseok).

The faded epitaph engraved on the back of Sim Jeong's tombstone.

Tombstone Inscription for Sim Jeong (1471–1531)

Tomb of Lord Sim Jeong of Pungsan, Grand Supreme Pillar of State (Daegwang Boguk Sungnok Daebu) and Left State Councillor;
his consort, Lady Heo of Hayang, of the rank Jeonggyeong-buin, is buried to the left.

Epitaph for Lord Sim, Meritorious Subject of State Restoration of Joseon under the Great Ming.

The lord’s name was Jeong, his courtesy name Jeongji, and his clan origin Pungsan. His great-grandfather, Gwiryeong, assisted our King Taejong in suppressing internal rebellion, became a meritorious subject, and was enfeoffed as Lord of Pungsan. He rose to the rank of Jeongheon Daebu and served as Director of Military Provisions, and his posthumous title was Jeongyang. His grandfather, Chi, served as magistrate of Namwon with the rank of Gaseon Daebu. His father, Eung, was a meritorious subject who held the rank of Gaeui Daebu and was enfeoffed as Lord of Pungsan, receiving the posthumous title Yangho. When the lord rose to high office, his grandfather was posthumously promoted to Minister of Taxation, and his father to Chief State Councillor. His mother, Lady Seo, of the rank Jeonggyeong-buin, was the daughter of Munhan, Vice Director of the Royal Granary.

The lord was born on the 25th day of the intercalary ninth month of the Sinmyo year of the Chenghua era. In the Imja year of the Hongzhi era he passed the lower civil examination, and in the Imsul year he passed the higher examination and was appointed to the Office of Diplomatic Documents. He then moved to the Office of the Inspector-General as an inspector, and in the Gyehae year entered the Hongmun-gwan as Assistant Editor, being promoted through Editor, Deputy Director, Director, and Deputy Chief. The following year, the Gapja year, he observed mourning for his father. In the Byeongin year of the Zhengde era he became a meritorious subject of state restoration; in the Jeongmyo year he was appointed Chief Lecturer and rose to senior rank, later being promoted to Gaseon Daebu and enfeoffed as Lord of Hwachon. He served as Right Magistrate of the capital, Governor of Hwanghae Province, Vice Minister in the Ministries of Taxation, Justice, and Personnel, and Magistrate of Gaeseong; in the Jeongchuk year he was specially promoted to Jaheon Daebu and became Minister of Justice.

The lord judged cases sincerely and swiftly, so that prisoners did not accumulate and the prisons were emptied, for which he was commended. He then served as Vice Councillor of the State Council, Minister of Personnel, Mayor of the capital, Left Vice Councillor concurrently Director of the Office of Royal Investigation, and Commander of the Capital Garrison; in the Imo year of the Jiajing era he rose to Sungjeong Daebu and became Right State Councillor. In the Gyemi year he observed mourning for his mother, and in the Eulyu year he was appointed Minister of Rites, thereafter serving as Chief Inspector-General and Minister of Justice.

In the Jeonghae year, in spring he was appointed Right State Councillor and in winter rose to Left State Councillor. The treacherous Kim An-ro, who had earlier been exiled, secretly sought reinstatement during the Gyeongin years. At that time the lord served in the State Council, and his son Sasun was Deputy Director of the Hongmun-gwan; when both the State Council and Hongmun-gwan reported opposition, An-ro believed the father and son had led the effort and bore deep resentment. When An-ro was restored to office, he incited his followers among the censors to impeach the lord on false charges, resulting in his exile.

In the Sinmyo year, Chae Mu-taek, a partisan of An-ro, posted an anonymous placard criticizing the government; the censors accused Sasun and demanded interrogation. Sasun did not yield and died under torture, and ultimately disaster extended to the lord as well, who died in exile in Gangseo, causing the people of the whole country to feel deep injustice. This occurred on the 3rd day of the 12th month of that year (late January 1532), when the lord was 61 years old. In the 2nd month of the following year (March–April 1532), he was buried at Gaehwa-ri, west of Yangcheon.

His wife, Lady Heo, daughter of Dang, who held the post of Samang, possessed high virtue; however, after the family suffered calamity she fell ill from grief and died on the 19th day of the 4th month of the Gap-o year (June 1534) at the age of 67. In the 6th month she was buried together with the lord.

[A lengthy recounting of his descendants follows.]

Erected on the 3rd day of the 3rd month of the Gimyo year, the 7th year of Wanli (1601). Written by grandson Su-gyeong and inscribed by great-grandson Il-chwi.

Sim Su-gyeong would have been at the height of his career in 1580 when he wrote this epitaph for his grandfather. Since Kim An-ro was himself eventually executed in 1537, he could be described openly as “treacherous” and Sa-sun, who “died under torture,” was later exonerated. Attempts to rehabilitate Sim Jeong, however, ultimately failed because the Sarim faction returned to power and held it for the rest of the Joseon era, and refused to forgive Sim for his involvement in the downfall of their mentor, Jo Gwang-jo, in 1519. As a result, the text of Sim’s tombstone can only vaguely state that “disaster extended to the lord as well…causing the people of the whole country to feel deep injustice.”

The tombs of Sim Sa-son (1493-1528) and his wife, Lady Yi (1493-1578) flanked by 2 stone civil officials and 2 stone pillars (mangjuseok).

Spirit road stele (sindobi) of Sim Sa-son, erected 1580, flanked by stone civil official and pillar.

Text on Sin Sa-son's spirit road stele.

Sindobi (Spirit-road Stele) Inscription for Sim Sa-son (1493-1528)

Epitaph inscription for the spirit-road stele of Lord Sim, who in Great Ming Joseon was posthumously granted the rank of Jaheon Daebu, Minister of Rites, concurrently Director of the Royal Lectures, the Annals Office, and Sungkyunkwan, Chief Scholar of the Hongmun-gwan and the Office of Royal Decrees; who in office served as Jeolchung Janggun, Senior Guard of the Chungmu Guard, and Commander of Manpo Garrison.

Composed by Hong Seom, Grand Supreme Pillar of State, Chief State Councillor, concurrently Director of the Royal Lectures, Hongmun-gwan, Office of Royal Decrees, Annals Office, and Directorate of Astronomy.
Calligraphy by Song In, Heon Daebu, Lord of Yeoseong.
Seal script heading by Han Jun, Tongjeong Daebu, Magistrate of Onseong.

The Pungsan Sim clan produced many notable figures over generations. Gwiryeong assisted our King Taejong in suppressing internal rebellion, was recorded as a meritorious subject, and was enfeoffed as Lord of Pungsan; he rose to the rank of Jeongheon Daebu and served as Director of Military Provisions, with the posthumous title Jeongyang. His son Chi served as magistrate of Namwon with the rank of Gaseon Daebu. The magistrate’s son was Eung, who was recorded as a meritorious subject and, as Gaeui Daebu, was enfeoffed as Lord of Pungsan, with the posthumous title Yangho. Yangho-gong’s son was Jeong, who became a meritorious subject of state restoration and rose to Left State Councillor, though he was eventually dismissed due to an incident. He married the daughter of Heo Dang of the prominent Hayang clan, and on the 25th day of the 12th month of the Gyechuk year of the Hongzhi era, the lord was born.

The lord’s name was Sason, courtesy name Yanggyeong. He possessed a loyal and generous character and excelled in many talents. Though he did not delve narrowly into scholarship, he attained deep understanding. He delighted in careful and far-reaching thought, often surpassing others’ expectations, and did not engage in shallow, opportunistic behavior like “morning three, evening four.” In all matters he sought to accomplish things through diligence and prudence, without the slightest hesitation. Thus he repeatedly undertook tasks that others found difficult—this was the principle he upheld throughout his life.

At eight or nine years old, his filial piety, fraternal affection, loyalty, and sincerity were already evident, setting him apart from ordinary children; by the age of twenty, he was tall and striking in appearance, with distinct features and a heroic bearing that clearly distinguished him from his peers—one could tell what lay within him simply by seeing him. In the Gyeyu year of the Zhengde era he passed the sama examination, and in the Jeongchuk year he passed the higher civil examination and entered the Office of Diplomatic Documents. He was then recommended to the Office of Royal Decrees and served for a long time as a historiographer, never once compromising the integrity of his brush. He entered the Royal Secretariat as a Juseo, and shortly thereafter was appointed Assistant Section Chief in the Ministry of Rites, then transferred as a censor in the Office of the Censor-General, and was promoted from Assistant Section Chief to Section Chief in the Ministry of War. Studying military affairs, he responded skillfully to the needs of the time; important and major matters were always entrusted to him, and he in turn exerted himself to realize his ambitions. For this reason, while serving in military office, there was hardly a day of rest, and it is said that even seasoned generals of the time could not match his ingenious strategies and foresight. He entered the Hongmun-gwan as Suchan and rose to Eunggyo. He firmly upheld upright principles without wavering, so that his colleagues relied on and respected him. He repeatedly undertook remonstrance duties, widely establishing discipline, and whenever he presented forthright arguments, all who heard them admired him. In the Eulyu year he entered the State Council as Sain, was appointed Jibui in the Office of the Inspector-General, moved to the Hongmun-gwan as Jeonhan, and then rose to Jikjehak.

At that time, as northern frontier tribes stirred, King Jungjong considered carefully and judged that only someone combining civil and military abilities could defend Manpo, the western gateway; thus he selected the lord from among his close attendants, specially elevated him to Dang-sang rank, and appointed him Manpo cheomjeoljesa. Deeply moved by royal favor, the lord resolved to devote his life to the state and, upon taking up his post, exerted himself to the utmost. Carefully observing the situation of the frontier peoples, he applied both authority and benevolence appropriately, so that both the garrison troops and the frontier tribes called him “grandfather.” As he remained long at Manpo, he came to understand all aspects of frontier conditions and, whenever there were hardships among the people or soldiers, he found ways to eliminate them. Learning that firewood was scarce in the garrison, he led troops across the Amnok River and personally supervised its collection; when suddenly attacked by barbarians, he attempted to withdraw across the river, but his horse fell, and he was ultimately killed. This occurred on the 23rd day of the 1st month of the Muja year, when he was only 36 years old. When news of this spread, the entire country was shocked and grieved, and King Jungjong, lamenting the loss of a worthy minister, rolled up his sleeves wishing to avenge the disgrace at once, and for several days was unable to take his meals at the proper time. Alas! It was not that he lacked talent, nor that his aspirations were not great, nor that he failed to meet his time—why, then, was his fate so ill-starred? In the 3rd month of that year, on the 11th day, he was buried on a southeast-facing site on the northwestern slope of Gaehwa Mountain, west of Yangcheon County.

The lady was of the Yi clan, a distinguished family of Gyeongju. She was the great-granddaughter of Yeon-son, a Vice Minister, and the granddaughter of Gyeon, a Cheomjeong; her father was Ye-jang. Her mother, of the Kim clan, was the daughter of Su-mal, who was posthumously promoted to Yeongjungchu and had served as Sadosi jeong; she was born on the 15th day of the 2nd month of the Gyechuk year of the Hongzhi era (1493). Having lost her parents at an early age, she was raised by her maternal aunt, the Lady of Sangsan-bu, wife of Prince Je-an. The Lady of Sangsan-bu loved her dearly and educated her well, so that although she remained deep within the inner quarters, her good name became widely known. At eighteen she married into the Sim family; she served her parents-in-law with filial devotion and lived harmoniously with her sisters-in-law, so that all relatives praised her as a virtuous person. When news of the lord’s death arrived, she nearly died herself but revived, and always lamented that she had not been able to follow him in death. Her son, the Minister (panseo-gong), was only thirteen at the time, but despite many hardships she raised and educated him well and saw him grow into distinction. When her son rose to the high office of Minister, the lord was posthumously promoted to Minister of Rites, and she became a government lady (jeongbuin). She passed away at home, having lived out her natural span, on the 1st day of the 4th month of the Muin year of Wanli [1578], at the age of eighty-six. The Minister served as provincial governor of the Eight Provinces, receiving great honor and the utmost filial support; with descendants flourishing to more than eighty persons, she enjoyed rare blessings and prosperity. On the 10th day of the 6th month of that year, she was buried beside the lord’s tomb in a separate grave.

She had three sons and two daughters. The eldest son was the Minister (panseo-gong), whose name was Sugyeong. He took first place in the higher civil examination in the Byeongo year and held numerous important offices, and is now Minister of Taxation. The second was Suyak, Jikjang of the Sadosi; the third was Sujun, Bongsa of the Saongwon. The eldest daughter married Magistrate Yi Ui-chung, and the second daughter married Yu Dae-eop. The Minister married the daughter of Magistrate Sin Pa and had two sons: the eldest, Iljang, is Sageun chalbang, and the second, Ilchwi, is a Dosa of the Uigeumbu; he also had five daughters—the first married Jeong Yeon, the second Hong Gi-yeong, holder of the Saui post, the third Jeon Hong-guk, the fourth Jo Gyeong-in, and the fifth Seong Rip. By a concubine he had Ilmae, Jikjang of the Gwansanggam, and three daughters. Suyak married the daughter of O Chung-hak and had two daughters: the eldest married Manho Yi I, and the second married An Gyeong-hui. He remarried the daughter of Magistrate Hwang Mong-jeong, and had two sons, Ileom and Ilgang, and three daughters, who are still young. Sujun married the daughter of Yi Gyeong-pil, a Jubu, and had two sons, Ilsin and Ilje, and two daughters: the eldest married Seol Ham, and the second Yi Eung-nam. He remarried the daughter of Yun Eom, an overseer, and had two sons, Ilja and Ilgeun, and one young daughter. Yi Ui-chung’s son was Hong-gi, and his daughter married Yi Gyeong-ham. Yu Dae-eop’s son Ji-yeong passed the military examination and became a Jubu of the Military Supply Office; he had two daughters, the eldest married Min Geon, and the second Sin Geuk-seong. There were seven great-grandsons—Gwan, Gon, Ran, Byeok, and the rest still young—and eight great-granddaughters.

After some time had passed following the lady’s burial, the Minister [Sim Su-gyeong] brought the complete family genealogy and requested of me [Hong Seom], saying, “If you do not write this, we cannot teach later generations the achievements of our ancestors.” Alas! Before I entered official life, I heard that the lord had met an untimely calamity at the hands of barbarians, and I wept with concern for the country. Now, being related by marriage to the Minister, how could I refuse on the grounds that my writing is unworthy to be inscribed on the spirit-road stele? Thus I compose the following inscription:

Heaven sent down a worthy man, as if to aid me.
He was to be made my minister, yet met with such grievous misfortune.
Was it only he who suffered calamity?
Heaven was imperiled and the state disgraced.
Yet Heaven has washed away his resentment; the Way of Heaven turns again.
An extraordinary and heroic man—his descendants will not cease.
On the hill of Gaehwa gathers pure energy; the river flows grandly encircling the tomb.
Here stands a lofty stele, by which one may behold his virtue.

Erected on the 1st day of the 5th month of the Gyeongjin year of Wanli (1580).

In the spring of the Eulyu year of Wanli (1585), when the Minister [Sim Su-gyeong] rose to Right State Councillor, the lord was again posthumously promoted to Left Councillor, and the lady was posthumously granted the title Jeonggyeong-buin. In the spring of the Gyeongin year (1590), when the Councillor rose to Right State Councillor, thereby the lord was… (illegible due to wear).

Sim Su-gyeong would have been at the height of his career when his mother died in 1578. The text of this Sindobi stele detailing the lives of his parents was written by Hong Seom (whose son married Sim Su-gyeong’s daughter), at Sim’s request and erected in 1580, the same year Sim himself wrote the epitaph and erected the tombstone for his grandfather, Sim Jeong. The final paragraph was added after the stele was erected to reflect Sa-son's posthumous promotions, which were based on the rank of his son, Su-gyeong.

A few meters down the hill from Sim Jeong's tomb is that of his son, Sim Sa-sun, with a much newer tombstone.

Tombstone Inscription for Sim Sa-sun (149_-1531)

Tomb of Sim Sa-sun, an official who served as Vice Director of the Hongmungwan and a lecturer for the Royal Lectures.

Grave of Lady Lee of the Deoksu Lee clan.

Among the worthy officials of the great Joseon state, there was one whose endowment of loyalty and filial devotion was abundant, whose learning was upright and whose conduct was pure. This was the late gentleman of the Pungsan Sim clan.

From early on he showed unusual seriousness and integrity. His disposition was firm and resolute, and he devoted himself to study, taking righteousness as his guiding principle. He did not seek adornment in empty words but grounded himself in substance, and those who knew him recognized his sincerity and strength of character.

[Genealogy follows]

In due course he passed the civil service examinations and entered official life. He served in offices of remonstrance and counsel, where it was his duty to speak directly to the throne and correct what was amiss. In deliberations on state affairs, he held fast to what was right and did not bend to the opinions of others. When he perceived error, he spoke without concealment, even when this brought resentment upon him.

His nature was such that he would not compromise for the sake of advancement, nor adjust his words to please those in power. Thus, although he was respected by those who valued principle, he also drew the enmity of those who preferred expediency.

At a time when the court was unsettled and factional strife intensified, accusations arose and spread. Though he had committed no wrongdoing, he was implicated and brought under investigation. Those in authority pressed him harshly, seeking to force admissions and construct a case against him.

He was subjected to repeated interrogations and severe treatment, yet he would not distort the truth nor falsely confess. Holding fast to his integrity, he endured suffering without yielding. In the end, his body succumbed, but his resolve did not break.

Alas, that a man of such uprightness should meet his end in this way. Those who knew him mourn deeply, and even those who hear of his fate from afar are moved to grief. His spirit, firm as metal and stone, remains unshaken, and though his life was cut short, his righteousness cannot be extinguished.

The calamity did not end with him alone, but extended further, bringing sorrow upon those connected with him. Yet even so, his conduct stands as a model, and his name endures as something that cannot be obscured.

He left descendants to continue the family line, and though he is gone, the trace of his virtue remains. In quiet reflection, one cannot but sigh at the injustice of his fate, and at the same time revere the constancy with which he upheld what was right.

Therefore, this account is set down, so that those who come after may know the truth of his life, and that his integrity and righteousness may be made manifest for all time.

The current tombstone is very new, perhaps replacing an older one. There is no date noting when the stone was originally erected, but the text was certainly written after Sim Sa-sun was rehabilitated following Kim An-ro’s downfall. This is a defensive and vindicating epitaph, which presents Sim Sa-sun as a righteous official destroyed by factional politics who died rather than betray the truth.

The tomb of Sim Su-gyeong (1516-1599) and Lady Sin, erected 1601. The stone civil officials are smaller in stature than the ones he erected for his father and grandfather.

Tombstone Inscription for Sim Su-gyeong (1516-1599)

Tomb of Lord Sim, Grand Supreme Pillar of State (Daegwang Boguk Sungnok Daebu), Right State Councillor of the State Council, concurrently Director of the Royal Lectures and Supervisor of the Annals Office, retired from office;
and the tomb of his consort, Lady Sin, of the rank Jeonggyeong-buin.

Tomb tablet of Lord Sim, retired Right State Councillor.

Of Great Ming Joseon … (illegible due to wear) … retired Lord Sim’s tomb tablet.

The lord’s name was Su-gyeong, his courtesy name Hui-an, and his clan origin Pungsan. His fifth-generation ancestor Gwiryeong was a meritorious subject who assisted the throne and held the rank of Jeongheon Daebu as Lord of Pungsan. His great-grandfather Eung was a meritorious subject who held the rank of Gaeui Daebu and was also Lord of Pungsan. His grandfather Jeong was a meritorious subject of state restoration and rose to Left State Councillor, but was dismissed in connection with an incident (the affair of Consort Park’s cursing of the Crown Prince). His father, Sason, served as Jikjehak of the Hongmun-gwan and, by special royal command, was appointed Military Commander of Manpo; he was posthumously promoted to Chief State Councillor. His mother, Lady Yi of the rank Jeonggyeong-buin, was the daughter of Ye-jang, a Mugongnang.

The lord was born on the 20th day of the 12th month of the Byeongja year of the Zhengde era (1516). In the Gyemyo year of the Jiajing era he passed both the saengwon and jinsa examinations, and in the Byeongo year he took first place in the higher civil examination. This was the year after King Myeongjong ascended the throne.

Among the offices he held in the capital were: Assistant Section Chief, Vice Minister, and Minister of the Ministry of Works; Vice Minister and Minister of Justice; Assistant Section Chief, Associate Director, Vice Minister, and Minister of War; Assistant Section Chief and Minister of Rites; Assistant Section Chief, Associate Director, Vice Minister, and Minister of Taxation; Assistant Section Chief and Section Chief of Personnel; Inspector and Counsellor of the State Council, Left and Right Vice Councillors and Chief Councillors, and Right State Councillor; Remonstrator and Senior Remonstrator of the Office of Censors; Inspector and Chief Inspector of the Office of the Inspector-General; and within the Hongmun-gwan he served as Deputy Editor, Deputy Chief Lecturer, Director of Publications, Jikjehak, and Chief Scholar. In the Royal Secretariat he served as various Royal Secretaries up to Chief Secretary. While serving in the Hongmun-gwan and Royal Secretariat, he concurrently held posts in the Royal Lectures, Annals Office, and Sungkyunkwan, including Registrar, Chief Instructor, and Associate Director. He also served as Right and Left Magistrate and Mayor of the capital; Judicial Commissioner of the Court of Review; Associate Director, Director, and Chief Director of the Office of Royal Investigation; Associate Director, Director, Chief Director, and Senior Councillor of the Privy Council; Vice Commander and Commander of the Capital Garrison; Commander of the Five Guards; Assistant Director of the Bureau of Armaments; and Director of the Court Music Bureau.

In provincial posts, he served as magistrate of Bupyeong and Anbyeon; governor of Gangwon, Chungcheong, Jeolla, Gyeongsang, Hamgyeong, and Gyeonggi Provinces; military commander of Pyeongan and South Hamgyeong; and Governor of Gaeseong. As a civil official, he was selected for special royal reading privilege and for drafting royal edicts, gaining renown for his literary ability; yet he was also chosen for posts usually held by military officials, such as Royal Guard officer, circuit inspector, staff officer, and positions within the Border Defense Council.

In the leap 4th month, 20th day of the Gihae year of the Wanli era (1599), he died of illness at the age of 84. On the 25th day of the 7th month of that year, he was buried in the family burial ground at Gaehwa-ri, Seo-myeon, Yangcheon County, in a paired grave with his wife, Lady Sin. He lost his father at thirteen, but through his mother’s instruction rose to prominence and honored her with his success; she died at the age of 86.

Though he long desired to retire from office, repeatedly requesting resignation after the age of seventy, this was not granted; instead, he spent his later years composing poetry, drinking wine, and passing time with archery and board games among village elders. At last, at the age of eighty-one, his resignation was accepted and he returned home. He often told his children: “Though I have undeservedly held the highest rank, and a spirit-road stele should be erected, when I reflect, there is nothing worthy of record—do not do so.” Therefore, this brief record is inscribed on a tablet stone.

His wife, Lady Sin, was the daughter of Sin Pa, an official of the Bureau of Armaments. She died fifteen years before him. They had two sons and three daughters…

[Extensive genealogy of descendants follows.]

His late father did not delight in self-praise, and personally composed this tomb inscription, writing at its end: “In later days, do not alter what I have written.” His words were so stern that not a single character could be added; nor could a full stele inscription be commissioned to praise his achievements—how could the sorrow of his descendants ever be exhausted? His loyalty, filial piety, integrity, learning, and virtue are briefly recorded in the royal edict issued upon his retirement.

The stone was erected on a day in the 5th month of the Sinchuk year, Wanli 29 (1601).
Respectfully written by his second son, Il-chwi.

Like the epitaphs for his father and grandfather, which Sim Su-gyeong either wrote himself or commissioned, Sim wrote his own epitaph, but refused to allow a Sindobi stele to be raised. Sim rose to the height of power but died peacefully of illness after retirement, unlike his father and grandfather. Having reached the peak of power unscathed, he had recovered his family’s honor. As a result, his epitaph displays his restraint and explicit rejection of self-glorification, while ironically still recording a career filled with immense prestige.

Below is a map showing the locations of the tombs and the routes to them from Banghwa Station at the end of Line 5. Two tombs are along the main road up the mountain (the green route), but Sim Jeong's is not, and is best approached by going through Neuti Park (which contains zelkova and gingko trees that are nearly 500 years old) and then heading north up the hill (the blue route). The valley to the southeast of Sim Su-gyeong's tomb also has a number of tombs and statues.

Unearthing the bloody history that lies beneath the tranquility of Gaehwasan's flowers

noreply@blogger.com (matt) — Mon, 30 Mar 2026 08:12:00 +0000

My latest Korea Times article is about Gaehwasan, the mountain I lived next to for 11 years, and the relics, tombs, and Korean War memorials that can be found on it. I'll be leading a walk there for RAS Korea on April 11, and the article lays out the highlights of the walk.

I've done quite a bit of research on the Pungsan Sim family members who were buried on the mountain - needless to say, trying to climb to the height of power in the factionalism-ridden 1500s was a tough gig - very Game of Thrones-esque.

The Tomb of Sim Jeong, who helped overthrow Yonsan-gun and purge Jo Gwang-go and his faction before falling victim to a purge himself.

In addition to the stories and historical relics, there will be lots of opportunities to take in views of the Han River and surrounding area and enjoy what nature has to offer.

For more information about the RAS walk, or to sign up, see here.

Vindication for teacher who convinced students to speak out against sexual harassment, then reported her school when it violated their rights and was transferred as punishment

noreply@blogger.com (matt) — Mon, 02 Feb 2026 07:22:00 +0000

The story below is infuriating but predictable in many ways, unfortunately. I first learned of it by reading this article:

The Seoul Administrative Court erupted in applause Thursday after a judge ruled in favor of teacher Ji Hye-bok, nullifying a transfer order issued by the Seoul Metropolitan Office of Education’s Jungbu District Office and reinstating her as an instructor.
Ji played a crucial role in publicizing mass sexual violence and harassment against the majority female students at her school in 2023, for which male students were held responsible. She applied for relief from a violation of student rights with the Seoul education office, and the following investigation led to written apologies from the perpetrating students.
However, the education office subsequently issued a transfer order for Ji in December 2023, effective from March 2024, citing the need to reduce teaching staff due to a declining student population. Ji argued that the move was retaliation for her whistleblowing and, from January 2024, staged a one-person protest in front of the Seoul education office.
She was later dismissed from her post in September 2024 for taking multiple unauthorized absences.
The court ruled Thursday that “Ji’s complaint constitutes public-interest whistleblowing.” [...]

Ji’s attorney said that if the education office does not appeal, the ruling will be finalized and Ji will be able to return to her school; the Seoul Metropolitan Office of Education confirmed Friday that it would not appeal the court’s decision.

That second paragraph is so convoluted and murky that I was curious to dig around and find more information about what happened. As it turns out, while what the boys did was nowhere near as horrible as what happened in Miryang in 2005, these cases are similar in that the identities of the students who spoke out were made known to their harassers, which led to them being re-targeted. The actions of the school administration are pretty unbelievable, but, perhaps, predictable considering the collision of enduring attitudes and the perceived need to protect "the school's reputation," along with the those of the administrators. Below is a video from May 22, 2024 featuring an interview with Ji Hye-bok, followed by a translation of the transcript (done with AI and quite a bit of editing based on the video's embedded subtitles; sentences in quotation marks are statements by Ji unless otherwise stated):

For several months now, there has been a teacher holding a one-person protest in front of the Seoul Metropolitan Office of Education. What could have driven a veteran teacher with over 30 years of experience to stand in the street holding a placard?

“My total teaching career spans a little over 30 years. I worked for four years at the school I most wish I could return to, and up until now I have continued working as a social studies teacher [at the school I have been transferred to].”

[Note that public school teachers typically spend five years at a school before being transferred to a new school; she therefore had one more year to go at the school where she was a whistleblower.]

Last spring [2023], through conversations with her students, she came to learn that sexual violence against female students had been occurring at the school for a long time, repeatedly and continuously.

“I first heard about it in late May of last year while counseling female students. It was not a one-time incident. From their first year through their second year—over the course of two years—there were numerous cases of persistent and repeated sexual harassment and sexual misconduct.”

[A supporter speaking at a protest]: “‘Why did you take off your mask? You’re ugly. Put your mask back on.’ ‘Your breasts are big.’ ‘Your face is ugly.’”

“Do you consider this to be words exchanged jokingly among close students? Absolutely not. This was something a male student said to a female student with whom he was not even particularly close. That female student was absent from school for several days afterward.”

— Statement from a parent (Issued April 2, 2024)

Even prior to this, some male students had directed remarks toward female students such as comments about whether their breasts were large or small, saying their faces were ugly, whispering in their ears that they wanted to have sex, and even asking a temporary (contract) teacher whether she had sex with her boyfriend, or saying that her teeth were yellow and asking whether she smoked—all of which constitute sexually harassing and sexually violent remarks.

Support for the Struggle Against an Unjust Transfer
— Statement from a parent (Issued April 2, 2024)

[A supporter speaking at the protest]: “Because it was difficult to identify specific individuals, these were incidents that were sometimes covered up and passed over, that did not surface publicly, and for which no special measures were taken.”

“I asked other teachers for help and also went to the student guidance department, but most cases were handled with verbal warnings only. Because the issues were not properly resolved, the students’ behavior continued. That was the result.”

“When I first heard the students’ stories, I immediately told them how sorry I was. As a teacher, I was deeply sorry that for two years I had not fully known what was happening and that I had not stepped up more actively to resolve it. I told them, ‘I’m truly sorry. But from now on, let’s work together to try to resolve this.’”

“After that, I made an initial report together with the principal and vice principal. Then we discussed how to proceed. Under a teacher’s duty, once such a matter is learned of, it must be reported within 48 hours. But to report it properly, we needed to understand exactly what was happening and how to describe it.”

“So we conducted an anonymous survey of female students. They were told to write exactly what had happened, including incidents they had heard about. According to the results, about three quarters of the female students had experienced sexual harassment or non-consensual touching over a two-year period. We judged the matter to be serious, and the principal and vice principal decided to compile the report quickly and file it.”

The teacher moved forward in order to resolve a sexual violence problem that had been occurring routinely over a long period of time. However, during the investigation process, the identities of the victimized students were exposed, and the teacher in charge arbitrarily downplayed the case. After the school violence report was filed, even more problems arose.

The investigation process was conducted in a way that seriously violated students’ human rights. Because the initial reporting, which took the form of a brief survey, was anonymous, the names of the students who reported could not be included. As a result, the teacher who was in charge of the investigation at the time said that reports had to be submitted with the student’s name clearly written and limited to a description only of what they themselves had experienced. If you look at the Ministry of Education’s sexual violence manual, eyewitness accounts are also considered important evidence. This is also true more broadly in society, because when cases of sexual violence occur, eyewitness testimony is always included. I think that, at that first stage, the case was already being minimized.”

“As a result, about six students—those who were more courageous and who had long recognized the seriousness of the situation—expressed their intention to report. At first, their confident expressions and attitudes—saying, ‘I’ll do it’—moved me deeply. Seeing second-year middle school students take such an active, self-directed stance toward resolving the problem gave me hope. I felt proud, thinking that if these students grew up with this mindset, many problems in society could gradually be resolved.”

“So, the students wrote factual statements together, and I collected what was written and submitted to the vice principal, who was the chair of the school violence committee. I submitted the six students’ factual statements, the parents’ confirmation letters, and requests for separation measures that three students had asked for. This was around June 13.”

“From that point, I felt a sense of relief. After the School MeToo movement, I believed that our society had put in place fairly concrete and relatively thorough measures for responding to cases of sexual violence when they occur in schools. And because the school principal, the vice principal, and the teacher who was responsible for the investigation within the school violence committee all promised that they would handle the subsequent process properly, I trusted them and had expectations going forward.”

“At that time, the principal told me that from this point on, the school violence committee would take over and that I should completely step away from the matter. I said I would do so, except for one thing: ‘The identities of the victimized students who made reports must be strictly protected,’ and ‘Secondary harm must not occur.’ But then the school violence committee said they would investigate the victim students. And not only that—they said the investigation would be conducted publicly, by calling them into the Student Guidance Department. I told them that this could not be done because there was a risk that the students’ identities would be exposed. Then the teacher in charge of the investigation said, ‘The students identified as perpetrators could be unfairly harmed. We need to call them in and investigate to verify the facts,’ and ‘I looked at the fact-checking statements the students wrote, and stalking is not sexual violence.’”

“So I said, ‘This is extremely dangerous. We must not make such judgments lightly.’ If the students were called publicly to the Student Guidance Department, there was a real possibility that their identities would be exposed, so I said, ‘I am absolutely opposed to calling the students to the Student Guidance Department.’ It was an open space where many students and teachers pass through. If interviews were conducted there, exposure would be inevitable.”

After that, Ji Hye-bok sought advice from the Seoul Metropolitan Office of Education’s Gender Equality Team, the Jungbu District Office Integrated Support Center, and the school violence supervising officer.

“I was advised that the school should submit the students’ original factual statements as is—without alteration—to the district office, where professionals on the review committee would determine the facts. Victims, alleged perpetrators, and parents would all have opportunities to testify there. The school should not make arbitrary judgments. I was also told repeatedly that protecting the identities of victimized students must be the top priority throughout the investigation. I conveyed all of this—three times—to the principal, vice principal, and the investigating teacher.”

Nevertheless, identity exposure and secondary victimization occurred almost immediately.

“On the very day the statements were submitted, three female students—two who knew the details very well and one student who had made a report—ran to me in shock. Near the school, there is a small park. They said that a student accused as a perpetrator had gone to the student guidance office and came out knowing exactly who reported whom and what had been written. That student then verbally attacked and insulted the reporting student in front of others. When the three girls passed by, they too were pulled in and subjected to an angry outburst. The students asked me, "How could a teacher in charge, in the Student Guidance Department, disclose things like that at all?"

[Interviewer]: “From their perspective, they had written and submitted their own experiences, only to have their identities exposed immediately.”

“That's right. That same evening, Instagram posts targeting the students began appearing. The next morning, many male students gathered in the hallways, went to the classrooms where reporting students were concentrated, kicked desks, and kicked chairs during lunch. They mocked the situation, saying things like, ‘Is this sexual harassment too?’”

“It became painfully clear that students had not received proper sexual violence prevention education. They did not even understand why what they said could constitute sexual harassment. “So the students who had been identified as perpetrators were full of anger. According to testimony given by parents just beforehand, there were students who went around classroom to classroom dragging a box cutter and saying, ‘Just try writing my name.’ I only heard about that later, but at the point when the statements of fact were being written, the names of the students who had made those threats were all left out. And because they were told, ‘Only write what you personally experienced,’ eyewitness accounts were also excluded, so the case had already been significantly scaled down during that process.”

“On top of that, secondary victimization became extremely severe. On the day in question, the entire corridor where the second-year classrooms were was filled every break time with male students gathering separately, forming what they called a ‘task force,’ meeting in the stands on the school playground and chanting together. Female students kept coming to me during every break, saying, ‘Teacher, what should we do…,’ telling me they were terrified.”

“What was happening did not resemble the step-by-step procedures laid out in the manuals that were supposedly in place; instead, it was unfolding in the most serious and alarming direction I had feared. Eventually, about three times, all of the victimized students were called to the Student Guidance Department. According to the reporting victims, when they were called, they didn’t go at first. In the students’ own words, they were ‘too scared.’ Because they didn’t go, the teacher in charge of the school violence investigation came to them during class time. Then, in front of other students, that teacher called out the three reporting victims and said things like, ‘Why aren’t you coming?’ Forced by the situation, they went.”

“Their interviews were recorded. The teacher told them the recording was necessary because they might face disadvantages. According to the Ministry of Education’s manual, when victimized students are questioned, a parent or legal guardian must be present to prevent fear or distress. None of this was followed.”

“I only learned later—after the investigation was over—how severe the human rights violations had been. When I met the students again after school, I felt overwhelming anger. Despite repeatedly emphasizing that protecting students’ rights was the most important thing, procedures had been carried out in reverse. I could not accept what appeared to be attempts to minimize or conceal the issue. Parents were furious as well, and complaints were filed to prevent such violations from happening again.”

Ji Hye-bok reported the human rights violations in the school’s internal investigation to higher authorities, including the Seoul Metropolitan Office of Education and the Jungbu District Office.

“I received a call from the head of the Jungbu District Office in charge of school violence. He was shocked. ‘How could this situation be handled this way?’ He seriously considered the matter and promised, ‘We will take all necessary steps.’”

The Jungbu District Office said it appeared to be a problematic situation and that they would investigate, so Ji waited. In the end, however, the Jungbu District Office concluded that there was no problem.

“They came once at the end of August and stayed for about two hours, apparently sitting in the principal’s office before leaving. When I asked whom they had met, I was told they met four people: two teachers from the student guidance department, the homeroom teacher whose students had repeatedly requested that this issue be resolved, and the head teacher of that grade. Under those circumstances, how could that investigation possibly be considered objective?”

“I then called the supervisor in charge of school violence at the district office. The day I called was September 2, but as of September 1 the person in charge had already been replaced. The new person said they had only read the documents and found no major issues, that they had listened to the school’s explanation and found no procedural violations, and that there were no problems with the investigation process. I felt utterly deflated.”

“They said ‘Matters involving human rights during the investigation are not our responsibility.’ Their role, they said, was only to convene the School Violence Review Committee once the school submitted its findings.”

In the meantime, the School Violence Review Committee was held. Measures for the three perpetrators were concluded as follows: written apologies and dismissal for lack of evidence.

“The day the committee met was also the day when the school sports day was being held. Some of the students [the victims] were participating as athletes, and the committee was held at 2pm, a time when the students could not attend. The students later expressed complaints to me about this as well.”

“Because the parents of the victimized students were already deeply disappointed with the Jungbu District Office, not a single one of them attended the School Violence Review Committee. In the end, the student whose sexual harassment had been particularly severe was told to write a written apology and do five days of volunteer service in the school. The second student was told to write a written apology. The third student was found not guilty due to insufficient evidence. This outcome once again caused great disappointment to the victimized student and their parents.”

Even the written apologies were not properly carried out.

“One student wrote the names of several victims at the top, then wrote a single handwritten apology below. That apology was photocopied and distributed to the other students. The victimized students brought it to me and showed it, saying, ‘This is what they gave us.’ How can that be considered a sincere apology? The second student who was supposed to submit a written apology did not apologize at all.”

“I met with the superintendent of the Jungbu District Office, the head of the Integrated Support Center, and the supervisor in charge of school violence. When I explained how the matter had been handled within the school, I was told that a written apology was a recommendation, not mandatory.”

As the case remained unresolved, a dangerous misconception spread—that even sexual violence would go unpunished.

“Students who had committed very serious acts were not properly guided, and many other students were excluded from the process altogether. As a result, sexual violence continued. I raised this issue with the vice principal and stated that a solution was necessary.”

“The vice principal responded by saying that in order to resolve the issue, once again ‘The names of the victimized students are required.’ When asked, the students said, ‘I’m afraid and don’t want my identity exposed,’ and ‘I’d rather just endure it.’ This situation continued. Recently, I heard from parents who came forward that one student who had suffered sexual harassment was considering dropping out of school, and another had stopped attending school altogether.”

Ji Hye-bok requested a reinvestigation by the Seoul Metropolitan Office of Education’s Student Human Rights Education Center.

“Because the students feared exposure of their identities, they met separately and secretly—almost like a covert operation—at places like a bakery, and then met together with the center director and investigators. At those meetings, the students gave testimony and expressed their demands. The parents of the victimized students were also met separately. This process continued until mid-October.”

After a long investigation, eight months after the incident occurred, the Student Human Rights Education Center issued a recommendation stating that violations of the victimized students’ human rights had occurred during the investigation process.

“The recommendation included detailed findings of fact, an apology from the school principal and the teacher who conducted the investigation to the victimized students and their parents, comprehensive sexual violence prevention education for students, parents, and teachers, and the establishment of broad, systemic measures to address the issue. I felt relieved.”

Ji Hye-bok attempted to share the school notice and request implementation of the recommendations. However, as she was about to do so at the end of December, she was notified of an involuntary transfer.

“From the perspective of the principal and vice principal, how uncomfortable must it have been for me to be there? If the recommendations had been publicly announced and implementation required, I would have demanded compliance on site and monitored it. Anyone could predict that removing me from the school would be considered necessary.”

The official reason given for the transfer was seniority-based reassignment. However, at Ji Hye-bok’s school there were three history teachers and two social studies teachers, meaning history teachers were in surplus. Transferring a social studies teacher like herself would result in a shortage. Nevertheless, the school claimed that history and social studies were integrated subjects and transferred her against her will.

“In reality, according to the plans for the 2024 school year, the school needed two social studies teachers and two history teachers. There were not three history teachers. The school combined history and social studies and applied a rule based on who had been at the school longest, saying ‘The person who is set to transfer earliest must leave [now].’ At first, I thought that if such a standard had been agreed upon in a faculty meeting, perhaps it had to be followed.”

“But history and social studies are independent subjects. Their instructional hours differ, their textbooks differ, their exams differ, and their curriculum plans are separate. After 2010, world history, which was previously included in social studies textbooks, was merged with national history, making history a completely independent subject from social studies. Teaching licenses are also issued separately, as clearly stated in education law.”

“From the standpoint of students’ right to education, guaranteed by the Constitution and the Framework Act on Education, it is a basic principle that subjects should be taught by teachers who are licensed in that subject. Otherwise, one would be saying that social studies teachers can arbitrarily teach history and history teachers can arbitrarily teach social studies. That does not make sense.”

[Interviewer]: “The content is different, and so are the areas of specialization, and from the students’ perspective, they cannot properly learn under such conditions?”

“That’s right. I concluded that this was neither reasonable nor principled.”

The basis the middle school used for the transfer was a document titled the “2014 Middle School Teacher Transfer Plan.” According to Ji, this document was an arbitrary internal guideline created merely to assist transfer administration. It has no legal force and violates higher-level regulations.

“When one looks at the Seoul Metropolitan Office of Education’s guidelines for middle school curriculum organization and operation, social studies and history are clearly separated, with distinct operational guidelines. That document is an officially promulgated administrative notice with legal force. There is also the Seoul Metropolitan Office of Education’s Secondary Teacher Personnel Principles, which state that the first criterion for transfer is subject-specific supply and demand. This too is an officially announced document. According to all legal grounds, social studies teachers and history teachers should have been selected separately for transfer.”

“Up until 2023, even the Jungbu District Office issued transfer appointments for social studies and history as separate subjects. Other district offices did the same. But then, suddenly, on December 29, 2023, they combined the two subjects. I checked the websites of all other district offices. All of them still separate the subjects—western, eastern, southern districts alike. I have also served as a committee member for over ten years in consultations related to Jungbu District Office information, and until 2023, transfers were always conducted separately. Yet suddenly, in 2024, only Jungbu combined them.”

Ji Hye-bok is now awaiting the result of her appeal regarding this unjust transfer. What she truly wants is for victimized students to no longer be hurt, and for them not to regret having had the courage to speak out about sexual violence.

“There is a Teachers’ Appeals Review Committee. If I win, I will return to my previous school. If I lose, I will proceed with an administrative lawsuit. However, rather than waiting for legal judgment—which takes too long—I am demanding that the Seoul Metropolitan Office of Education, as the appointing authority, resolve this immediately and allow me to return as soon as possible.”

“Waiting for a court ruling takes time, and the students are now in their third year and will soon graduate. A parent told me that the students are worried that what they started may have caused harm to the teacher instead. Hearing that broke my heart. I want to tell the students face to face that this was not their fault, that they did what they needed to do, and that it was wrong for adults to cover it up and avoid resolving it. By my return, I want them to see that things were set right—that justice still exists in our society. I want to return quickly and work to ensure that the recommended measures are properly implemented. The students showed remarkable courage in trying to resolve this issue themselves. But if, during the resolution process, they become discouraged, thinking, ‘We’ll never report again,’ and graduate in a state of resignation, then I will never have the chance to speak to them, nor show them that things can be corrected within the school. I want to remain a teacher to whom students can come—even quietly—to share the harm they have endured.”

[Woman speaking at a protest; unclear if these are her words or Ji’s]: “I will make this struggle a victory and return dignity, courage, gender equality, and justice to children who suffered in silence after being victimized. I will give back to survivors of sexual violence the courage and will to change the world, and I will help create safe, gender-equal schools. I ask for your solidarity and support. Thank you. Tujaeng!”

* * * * * *

The Kyunghyang Shinmun reported on Ji's court victory and some of the other issues surrounding her case:

At the time, the Seoul Metropolitan Office of Education also did not recognize Ji Hye-bok as a public-interest whistleblower. In response to Ms. Ji’s request to withdraw her transfer, the Seoul Metropolitan Office of Education sent her an official notice in March 2024 stating that it was “difficult to definitively regard her as a public-interest whistleblower.” At the time, the Office of Education judged that it was difficult to view Ms. Ji as a public-interest whistleblower based on the Anti-Corruption Act rather than the Public Interest Whistleblower Protection Act. However, in this ruling, the court applied the Public Interest Whistleblower Protection Act and determined that the transfer constituted a disadvantageous measure.

In response, Ms. Ji refused to report to work and appealed the unfairness of the situation through a one-person protest. The school dismissed her, citing unauthorized absence. It took two years for a ruling to be issued. During Ms. Ji’s protest, civic groups formed a joint countermeasures committee, and after the December 3, 2024 illegal martial law incident, she received support and encouragement from the so-called “Wasp Comrades” (citizens who quickly rush to sites of struggle, like the “Wasp Man” who appeared on a variety show). Victimized students and parents also submitted petitions to the court to support Ms. Ji.

This case left both hope and limitations in terms of protecting public-interest whistleblowers. After the sentencing, Ms. Ji stated in front of the courthouse, “I want teachers who, like me, suffered and left their schools after raising problems within schools to be fully protected,” and added, “I hope today’s ruling gives them courage.” As she said, this ruling confirmed that legitimate public-interest reporting is protected by law.

The problem is that it took more than two years of raising her voice in the cold streets before Ms. Ji was recognized as a public-interest whistleblower. In a Kyunghyang Shinmun interview last March, Ms. Ji reflected on the words “Please win, no matter what,” spoken by the Wasp Comrades as they shared their own experiences of victimization during their student years. Thinking of students who had suffered sexual violence, she said she felt she could not give up. Without the solidarity and support of civil society, this may have been impossible.

Ms. Ji’s arduous struggle stemmed from the fact that she was placed in a legal blind spot immediately after making her public-interest report. The Public Interest Whistleblower Protection Act stipulates punishment of up to three years’ imprisonment for those who disadvantage whistleblowers. Yet, as in Ms. Ji’s case, once a whistleblower is subjected to a transfer or dismissal, they are forced to endure the harm until they are officially recognized as a public-interest whistleblower. Even when whistleblowers apply for protective measures, only 7.3 percent of cases have been accepted by the Anti-Corruption and Civil Rights Commission over the past five years. [...]

Resolving the core issue of the case—sexual violence within schools—also remains a challenge. Ms. Ji said, “If sexual violence was blatant before School MeToo, now it has simply gone underground,” adding, “When a teacher steps forward to address a sexual violence case, they become isolated. They are subjected to criticism and attacks from the offending students, their parents, and fellow teachers.” Analyses pointing to the intensification of anti-feminist and far-right sentiments among teenagers in recent years only deepen these concerns.

* * * * * *

This Reddit post notes the name of the school, and when I looked it up, I suddenly remembered a story told to me by someone I know. She moved a bunch of her daughter's things to her brother's house in order to convince her daughter's school that that was her address (there was an inspection) ahead of her graduation from elementary school. This was because, she said, based on her own address, her daughter was likely to be sent to a co-ed middle school full of boys, and she wanted her to go to a girl's middle school instead. Seeing the location of the offending school, I realized that it was likely that school in particular she was trying to avoid.

It's unfortunate Ji was unable to be there for her second-grade students' final year and graduation, though the last article suggest she remains in touch with them. There are several elements of the system, most notably those at ground level in the school, that terribly failed the girls who spoke out and the teacher, while others did their job as they were supposed to, like the SMOE Student Human Rights Education Center, though that only succeeded by contacting it secretly. At least SMOE isn't appealing the ruling, but that's a pretty low bar when you consider she was holding a sit-in in front of its main office for two years and they could have done the right thing at any time.

Encouraging Outrage: The Inculcation of Anti-Japanese Feeling in South Korea

noreply@blogger.com (matt) — Thu, 22 Jan 2026 05:21:00 +0000

Almost ten years ago, in the summer of 2016, I wrote this post (titled "Comfort Women, nationalism, and the inculcation of anti-Japanese feeling") that focused mainly on an exhibition of comics about the comfort women that I had seen two years earlier. Not long after posting it I was asked if I could write a piece for another website based on the post, which I did eventually (I was busy doing my MA at the time), adding more background on how the comics came to be made, but it never got published. It popped into my mind the other day and, I realized it was still gathering dust in my draft posts, so I decided I might as well publish it (with updated links and some cosmetic revisions). Relations between the ROK and Japan have since worsened (2019 was a pretty dire year, though nothing compared to 1974; a story for another day) and then more recently improved to their best in years, but I don't think these attitudes have gone that far away, at least for those over the age of 30. I've been meaning to look through the newest elementary school history books to see how they portray the colonial period, but that's a project for another day.

* * * * *

In 2007, while working at an English hagwon in Seoul, I asked a class of grade five and grade six students where (or rather, when) they would go if they had a time machine. One boy did not hesitate to give an answer: "To Hiroshima in 1945 to see Japan get nuked." While one can profess shock at hearing an eleven-year-old express bitterness toward Japan with such intensity, the mere fact of such an expression is not surprising considering the pervasiveness of anti-Japanese sentiment in South Korea.

Relations between South Korea and Japan have long had their ups and downs, but controversies rooted in the colonial period, such as the comfort women issue and the territorial dispute over Dokdo / Takeshima, have worked to raise tensions over the past two decades. While attention has been directed to the omissions of Japanese history textbooks, the depiction of Japan within South Korea's education system is also worthy of scrutiny. The portrayal of the colonial period in South Korea has long highlighted the brutality and rapacity of Japan and the victimization of Korea, punctuated by the heroic deeds of independence fighters, As a study of depictions of World War II East Asian and American history textbooks by Daniel Sneider describes it,

The narrative of the wartime period offered to South Korean students is focused almost entirely on the oppressive experience of Koreans under Japanese colonial rule and on tales of Korean resistance to their overlords. The larger wartime context for Japan’s increasingly desperate and forced mobilization of Koreans for the war effort—namely the quagmire of the war in China and the mounting retaliatory assault of the Americans after 1942—is not provided. South Korean textbooks barely mention the outbreak of war in China in 1937 or the attack on Pearl Harbor, and in the case of the main textbook published by the government there is no mention at all of the atomic bombing of Hiroshima and Nagasaki.

Considering these omissions, it is less difficult to be surprised by textbooks (which I've examined but was first informed about by Scott Burgeson) which make assertions such as "the steadily unfolding independence movement at home and abroad formed the basis of liberation," or, "Ultimately, liberation was the fruit of our nation's independence struggle, which constantly fought the Japanese empire at home and abroad." The focus on homegrown resistance to Japanese oppression is not only found at the middle or high school level, however. Similar messages are aimed at young children, and one of the primary means of encouraging historical bitterness is tied to the need to defend South Korea's sovereignty over the Dokdo islets. At the elementary school in Seoul I taught at in the early 2010s, Dokdo Day (October 25) was, in the words of the vice-principal, "a day to sing a Dokdo song and impress upon the children once again that Dokdo is our land." While not an official holiday, the military has, in the past, greeted the day with military maneuvers around the islets. It was approached in a softer manner for children, who were encouraged to sing songs like "Dokdo Is Our Friend":

From ancient times Dokdo has been our friend
From the days of my ancestors Dokdo has been our friend
A place where white seagulls go to rest
A place where waves beckon
A place where fluffy clouds sing
A place where love dreams
Don't be lonely, we are there,
Our precious friend
We'll be together forever
Friend of the nation

In addition to this, Dokdo Studies is a part of the curriculum, while at the sports day held every other year, where entire grades took part in choreographed mass dances, grade two students performed a flag dance to the song "Dokdo is Our Land." Some schools have "Dokdo learning centers" featuring various maps, displays, and even scale models of the islets.

The school I worked at, after years without one, opted for a "Dokdo video learning center" which featured a television screen set to a special KBS channel which broadcasts live video of the islets, offering students a constant reminder of the islets' existence.

That schools (in some cases constantly) "impress upon the children" from a young age "that Dokdo is our land" may help explain why there is such an emotional component to this territorial dispute in Korea.

In addition to material critical of Japan within the education system, well-known children's book publisher Nobelgwa Gaemi has a series of books titled Hanguk Uiin Jeonjip (Complete Series of Great Korean People) with books focusing on different Korean heroes such as Kim Ku or Yu Gwan-sun. In addition to biographical information and photos, the books contain illustrations of events in Korean history designed to make an impression upon a young audience. One such event is the murder of Queen Min by Japanese assassins;

Another is the torture of Yu Gwan-sun by Japanese police;

The suppression of the Samil protests by Japanese police;

The assassination of D.W. Stevens in 1908;

The assassination of Ito Hirobumi in 1909;

In fact, An Jung-geun's assassination of Ito has been depicted numerous times, such as at the Independence Hall of Korea:

This illustration aimed at children depicts the assassination at an exhibit on An Jung-geun held at the Seoul Museum of Contemporary History in 2015.

The captions transform an image which, devoid of context, would resemble a thug shooting an elderly man into a "noble soul" and great patriot.

In addition to violent acts against Korean victims or by Korean patriots, far more controversial topics related to the colonial era have been depicted in sequential art that would appeal to children. In February 2014, a South Korean exhibit about the comfort women, entitled "Flowers that Never Wilt," was held at the Angouleme International Comics Festival in western France, where 17,000 visitors attended the exhibit. South Korea's Gender Equality and Family Minister Cho yoon-sun attended the opening, though festival director Franck Bondoux said that "The subject was proposed by the South Korean government but the artists were completely free to evoke the subject independently," Not everyone was happy with this exhibit:

Japan's ambassador to France, Yoichi Suzuki, said he "deeply regrets that this exhibition is taking place," saying it promoted "a mistaken point of view that further complicates relations between South Korea and Japan."

In addition, according to the Joongang Daily, extremist Japanese civilian organizations sent a petition to the local press signed by 16,000 people calling for the exhibition's cancellation. The event organizers also "shut down a Japanese publishing booth, which displayed a banner that read, 'Comfort women do not exist,' claiming the booth was politicizing the event." As a KBS article described it,

the special exhibition of Korean comic strips and cartoons about the wartime sex slaves told their heartbreaking stories and exposed the ruthless savagery of the Japanese military to the world. Koreans are still angered by the fact that young, innocent Korean women were taken from their homes and forced to satisfy the sexual urges of Japanese troops. However, this heinous incident is little known outside of Korea. [...]

At the special exhibition the stories of Korean comfort women took the forms of comic strips, cartoons, installation artwork, animated films and documentaries. Seventeen comic works, four videos and three installations displayed at the 41st Angouleme International Comics Festival were so revealing and heart-wrenching that visitors were outraged at the extent of cruelty inflicted on innocent people during the war.

As comics artist Kim Gwang-seong described it,

"The reactions were hotter than I expected. People left so many encouraging messages, telling us how outraged they were. The reason they were so shocked and infuriated is that teenage girls were dragged from their homes and forced into sexual servitude for years.[...] I was surprised to see older French women get teary as they saw our comics."

Much like high school textbooks that omit the international dimensions of World War II and obscure how Korea's liberation was achieved in order to highlight Korean heroism and Japanese repression, the description of teenage girls being "dragged from their homes and forced into sexual servitude" obscures the role Koreans played in facilitating this comfort women system and in enforcing their silence for over four decades.

This exhibition did not only appear in France, however. Encore exhibitions "testifying to the barbarity of the Japanese Army's comfort women" system, as the Donga Ilbo put it, have been held throughout Korea since, in places such as the Korean Comics Museum in Bucheon. the Incheon Korean Literature Museum, Seoul's Seodaemun Prison Museum, Daejeon Artists' House, the Wonju Hanji Museum, and the National Memorial Museum of Forced Mobilization under Japanese Occupation in Busan, among others; it has also been shown in the US, China, Germany, and Algeria. As well, a statue and permanent installation related to this exhibition were installed in Ahn Jung-geun Park in Bucheon in 2016.

In the spring of 2014 I visited the Museum of Korean Modern Literature in Incheon and came across this exhibit on the first floor, where each page of the comics was printed as a poster affixed in order along the walls. One, below, was titled '70-year-long nightmare':

The comic above tells the story of a former comfort woman in a symbolic way, but also reduces it to an overly simplistic tale beginning with a happy-go-lucky innocent child picking flowers before history overtakes her. This is common to many popular Korean historical films of the first decade of the twenty-first century, such as Taegukki or May 18, which portray innocents happily going about their lives before the events of the Korean War and the Kwangju Uprising, respectively, wash over them like a force of nature. This lack of political commentary stands in comparison to many films of the 1990s which examined the roles the Korean state or ordinary people played in the tragedies of the twentieth century. In Park Kwang-su's To the Starry Island (1994), for example, internal village squabbles contribute to a massacre during the Korean War. Park Kwang-hyun's Welcome to Dongmakgol (2006), on the other hand, depicts a village as a utopia untainted by division which faces destruction at the hands of outsiders, in this case the American military.

While the above comic made use of symbolism and refrained from depicting the sufferings of the comfort women in a graphic manner, other artists were not so reticent, as excerpts from another comic, titled "Where are we going?" reveal:

While the above comic also uses symbolism to articulate the way in which these girls were stripped of their youthful innocence, it also is far more graphic in depicting the exact nature of their sexual exploitation and rape. Beyond encouraging bitter feelings regarding the colonial era and Japan, these depictions of female suffering are in accord with gendered representations of the colonial era in Korea. According to this nationalist division of labor, women such as Queen Min, Yu Gwan-sun, or the comfort women are victims:

Men, on the other hand, are heroes who actively stand up to Japan:

The division between these spheres of remembrance can be defended quite vigorously. In 2008, when it was suggested by the Korean Council for the Women Drafted for Military Sexual Slavery by Japan that a museum devoted to the comfort women be built in Independence Park (the location of Seodaemun Prison History Hall), former independence fighters and their descendants harshly denounced these plans:

"The proposed museum denigrates the independence movement and the men who gave their lives as patriotic martyrs for the liberation of Korea," said Kim Yeong-il, the [Korea Liberation] Association’s president, at the Nov. 3 press conference. "The museum will surely create a false image about our history by highlighting our suffering rather than our many military achievements," Kim added.

This is all quite ironic, considering that the Seodaemun Prison History Hall at the time featured wall-sized photos of mutilated people and depictions of torture featuring animatronic mannequins accompanied by screams on an endless loop. A guide map described one of the highlights of the exhibition: "Torture Room (experiencing nail picking and tortures with boxes and electricity)." Though the museum has since been changed, for over a decade countless students were guided through these exhibits.

One wonders if Sheila Miyoshi Jager's description (in Narratives of Nation Building in Korea : A Genealogy of Patriotism (2003), pgs 71-72) of reactions to the plight of sex workers who served American soldiers could also be applied to the comfort women. She describes them as "both pitied and despised...[and] thus [they] became the symbol of the nation's shame as well as the rallying point for national resistance." That they are a source of "national shame" may explain why descendants of independence fighters would feel the presence of a museum for the comfort women would "denigrate" the memory of the (mostly male) independence fighters, It may also explain in part why these women were rarely spoken of in Korea for over forty years.

This was also highlighted by an unnamed prominent expert on prostitution, interviewed by Michael Breen, who described (off the record) the comfort women issue as "Pure hypocrisy":

We all know Japan was guilty of terrible things up to 1945, but, she said, this chauvinistic focus on justice for a historical matter is popular with Koreans because it conveniently distracts us from the real issue and our own continued guilt. The real issue is the attitude in Korea of men towards women and human trafficking in the sex industry that operates on the scale it does as a consequence of that attitude.

These gendered attitudes have revealed themselves in other ways, such as when Kim Seon-il, a Korean contractor in Iraq, was beheaded in 2004 and the Korean government went to great lengths to ensure the video could not be seen in Korea. While this may have been intended to prevent political criticism of the Korean government's decision to send Korean troops to Iraq, Kim-Yun Eun-mi, writing in Ilda, perceived other reasons. The government's suppression of the video stood in contrast to the display of photos by anti-American protesters of the mutilated bodies of Yun Geum-i, a sex worker killed by an American soldier in 1992, and "Mi-seon and Ho-sun," two middle school girls who were crushed by an American bridge layer in an accident north of Seoul in 2002. Wondering why the photos of these women and Kim Seon-il's beheading video were treated so differently, Kim-Yun wrote:

No matter how you think about it, there is no other conclusion than that this situation reflects the social gaze upon women's bodies. If you look Yun Geum-i's photo, it causes resentment in men whose nationalistic sensibilities have been stimulated. If you are a woman, most look at the photo and feel fear and pain wondering if they could suffer such violence, not react like men thinking "We must protect our sisters."

Furthermore, the effect aroused by Yun Geum-i's photo and internet porn with a rape motif have something in common. They both aim to arouse an intense impression of violence inflicted upon women's bodies.

The same can be said for images like this, in which the artists were depicting the women's suffering perhaps a little too enthusiastically.

In fact, other comics went even further:

What follows (I chose not to photograph it) is the graphic depiction of the rape of a child. That she was a child was made clear by the size of her breasts and lack of pubic hair (which were on display in the images), but while it might seem surprising that illustrations of this nature were on display for people of all ages to view at the museum, in Korea posting photos, some of them gruesome, of colonial-era Japanese repression in public places like subway stations is not unknown. As well, large images of the bodies of Shim Mi-seon and Shin Ho-sun, the two middle school girls crushed by an American bridge layer, were common sights in subway stations in 2002. Judging by this YTN report, it appears the above final, graphic image of "Where are we going?" and the comic described above were not displayed at the French festival at all.

The fact that some of the most outrageous images were for Korean eyes (and ire) only suggests that B.R. Myers' description of inner and outer tracks of propaganda in North Korea, with the former seen only by Koreans but the latter accessible to outsiders, may also be applicable to South Korea as well. A visit to the Seodaemun Prison History Museum, for example, reveals exhibits that are only partly, or not at all, translated into English and Japanese.

If adults in France felt "outrage" when viewing the comfort women comics, one wonders what effect seeing them - without the self-censorship practiced overseas - would have on Korean children, who most certainly made up a portion of the audience at the exhibitions in Korea. A Korea Times columnist criticizing President Obama for his visit to Hiroshima may have unwittingly provided an answer when he wrote that in Korea "memories of Japan's brutal occupation remain fresh even after the passage of 70 years." Popular culture, media, and the education system work to refresh these bitter memories on a regular basis, suggesting that aspiring to victim status at the hands of Japan (or the U.S., depending on one's political leanings or geographical position in relation to the 38th parallel) is an important element of Korea's national self conception. While sites such as the Seodaemun Prison History Museum have toned down the visual and auditory assaults on visitors in recent years, the depictions of suffering in the comfort women comics reveal that the cultivation of outrage still has a role to play in cultivating anti-Japanese sentiment, which, judging by the degree to which Korean history textbooks dwell on resistance to Japanese imperialism, plays an incredibly important role in modern Korean national identity.

An insistence in Korea on allowing displays like these to portray the nation as a historical victim may encourage a nationalist belief in Korea's moral superiority or, more cynically, serve to distract the populace from more pressing issues, but despite these short-term benefits (if they can be called that), considering its geopolitical position and the fact that the Korean Gordian Knot - its division, and all of the complications associated with it - will remain in place for some time to come, it would seem that inculcating such historical bitterness is something that could prove to be counterproductive in the long term.

The career of artist Lee Ik-tae (and his profile in a 1970 weekly magazine)

noreply@blogger.com (matt) — Wed, 31 Dec 2025 14:30:00 +0000

I learned from Hahn Dae Soo that his friend Lee Ik-tae (Rhee Iktae), an artist, director, and actor he first met in Seoul in 1974 whom he remembered as a “fun-loving deep thinker,” had passed away. Having been working on an article for RAS Korea’s Transactions 99 about the rise and fall of ‘happening’-based experimental artists in Korea between 1967 and 1970 and their influence on the first crackdown on men with long hair in August 1970 (a topic I lectured on here), I recognized Lee Ik-tae’s name immediately, as he directed and acted in Korea’s first independent feature film, “Between Morning and Night,” in 1970, and later that year joined The Fourth Group, the short-lived collective of experimental artists that provoked the 1970 crackdown on youth culture.

A search in the Naver News Archive reveals that he worked in a variety of media. In the spring of 1973 he directed the play “Le Voyage de Monsieur Perrichon” (by Eugène Labiche, which premiered in 1860) performed by French literature students from various Seoul universities, in the summer he screened his short films “The Whereabouts of Light” (빛의 행방) and “A Trivial Afternoon” (시시한 오후) (more on the former here), and in the fall he put on a watercolor exhibition. In 1974 he won an honorable mention for his scenario “The Vacation When No One Was There” (아무도 없었던 휴가) in the Dong-A Ilbo's New Spring Literary Contest, and the next year he received an honorable mention for his scenario “Requiem” (진혼곡).

This article reveals more about his later career, one that was similar to many of the prominent experimental artists of the late 1960s in that he moved to the US after Park Chung-hee’s Yusin dictatorship grew harsher. Arriving in the US in 1977, he turned to painting and then founded the performance group Theater 1981, “where he performed plays and experimental performances focusing on sound and visuals.” A number of performances in the 1980s in L.A. were based on the Gwangju Uprising, while another was inspired by the shooting down of KAL 007. As well, he commemorated the first anniversary of the L.A. riots with a large-scale installation art and performance titled ‘Volcano Island.’ After returning to Korea, his performances (including the "Ice Wall" series that featured massive ice blocks stacked on the Unification Bridge and Seogang Bridge) focused on the division of North and South Korea. Living for years in Muju, and later Seoul, he focused on a calligraphy style of painting on hanji, or Korean traditional paper.

I first encountered his name in the February 4, 1970 issue of Weekly Kyunghyang, which published an article about rebellious youth on the cutting edge and presented portraits of playwright Bang Tae-su, artist Kim Kulim, go-go dancer Hong Hyeon-ju, Bees vocalist Lee Sang-man, and experimental filmmaker Lee Ik-tae. Below is a translation of the profile of him in that magazine:

These Rebellious Youths: The Leading Figures on the Cutting Edge in 1970

The Current State of the Bizarre Art in Which the Abnormal Has Become Normal

Lee Ik-tae [center], the leader of "Film 70," who sparked rebellion against commercialized, established films and became the first in Korea to produce

private films. He even appears in a heated bed scene.

Lee Ik-tae, who rebels against established films.

‘Film 70’ and Lee Ik-tae

The trend of underground cinema has landed in our country as well. Last year, a group called Film 69 made a 40-minute film titled Between Morning and Night, which became, in a sense, the first spark of true underground cinema in Korea. The leader of this group is a young man named Lee Ik-tae, who gives off a somewhat eccentric impression and is very monastic in manner. He not only handles the megaphone but also appears in the film himself. He even performed nude in Between Morning and Night, taking on the role with intense dedication.

This film has virtually no plot. No - having no plot is only natural. That is because the world that Film 69, a group of young filmmakers, sought to pursue was one that boldly destroyed all the existing conventions of cinema.

A film without a plot

It is a film that captures, through imagery, the inner psychological landscape of a young man as he wanders from morning until night. At times he enjoys sex, at times he strolls along desolate railroad tracks, at times he has meaningless conversations with unfamiliar women… and these dull incidents unfold dully within dull hours, becoming visualized and given form. It is what one might call a private film. The very act of making a film with no consideration at all for commercial success is, in itself, a remarkably admirable undertaking.

After graduating from S University, Lee Ik-tae entered the film world with a certain sense of purpose. He worked as an assistant director, chasing after sets and locations. But what he gained from the ready-made film industry was nothing but disillusionment. Cinema, corrupted into a one-track commercialism concerned only with box office results… Lee Ik-tae wanted to discover new images—images freshly charged, blazing like sparks.

A solitary task

Thus, a group of like-minded but unknown young filmmakers formed Film 69. Now that the year has become 1970, it has, in a sense, been automatically renamed Film 70. The direction Film 70 pursues can be summarized in a single phrase: the private film.

“Hasn’t that so-called ‘fountain-pen film theory’ been around for nearly ten years now? Cinema should long ago have been liberated from commercial trickery. In Korea, the world I am trying to pursue still feels like a solitary task. There’s no one who feels any sense of connection with my work,” he says, smiling a lonely smile. Because a private film is like an act of self-expression carried out from a place shut out beyond any system or structure, loneliness, in a sense, is inevitable.

Film 70 seeks to uncover the sincere truth hidden deep within the interior of everyday life, as was expressed in Between Morning and Night. Whereas hippies and the Beat Generation often attempt rebellion against the everyday, Lee Ik-tae clings instead to everydayness.

Cinema is a rite in darkness

“The established order must be destroyed”

There are times when the films they make depict sex scenes quite bluntly. Of course, this may be possible precisely because these works are extremely private, like poets sharing mimeographed chapbooks, viewed and critiqued only within the group called Film 70.

But the dense sex scenes they depict are not sex scenes for the sake of sex. Just as the notion of “man separated from sex” cannot exist, they aim to reveal, exactly as it is, the image of sex hidden deep within the veil of everyday life.

It is said that in the United States, especially around New York on the East Coast, many underground filmmakers work in this way. In other words, the term underground cinema arose from the idea of rejecting the conventions of society - the surface, the system, the organization - and slipping down into the underground.

“Isn’t cinema, in its essence, a kind of ritual in darkness? It’s not something sunlit, like a sport held in open daylight. In the dark movie theater… there, an intimate dialogue takes place between each individual viewer and the screen. It’s an image that belongs to the dark, the underground, rather than the bright world above.”

Always describing film as something underground, Lee Ik-tae argues that only private film is truly essential cinema.

'This bill is rather urgent': ROK-US relations and the 1970 and 1975 marijuana crackdowns

noreply@blogger.com (matt) — Wed, 31 Dec 2025 02:21:00 +0000

My article "'This bill is rather urgent': ROK-US relations and the 1970 and 1975 marijuana crackdowns" from Transactions 98 summarizes a substantial portion of the research I did for my MA, about the criminalization of marijuana in South Korea in 1970 and its influence on the better-known marijuana crackdown of 1975. One of the more surprising findings was that – contrary to current attitudes – the ROK government showed little concern about rising marijuana use among American soldiers in the late 1960s and largely ignored USFK requests to enforce existing laws – an approach that continued until Nixon Doctrine troop withdrawals were publicly announced in June 1970.

The day after that announcement, Korean-language newspapers suddenly declared that marijuana use had become a serious social problem, with some reporting that university students were using it (though, oddly, days earlier only English-language papers like The Korea Times and Stars and Stripes had reported a story about high school students smoking it in Incheon). Equally revealing were National Assembly committee minutes from deliberations on the Habit-Forming Drug Control Bill passed the following month, in which the deputy minister of health acknowledged that marijuana was “not a big problem at this point in Korea” – which contradicted the alarmist tone of news reports at the time.

The dormant Habit Forming Drugs Bill sleeps atop the National Assembly while users openly smoke marijuana. This cartoon, published in The Korea Times June 10, 1970, is the only political cartoon about the 1970 marijuana 'scare' that I've found.

Reflections on Korea and Australia's longstanding ties

noreply@blogger.com (matt) — Fri, 05 Dec 2025 07:30:00 +0000

Australian Ambassador Jeff Robinson gave an interesting lecture for RAS Korea this week in which he spoke without notes about his 40+ year engagement with Korea (first coming as a student in 1984) and reflected on the more than 130-year connection between Australia and Korea. I'd had no idea about Australia's role in helping establish POSCO, nor did I know POSCO is Australia's #1 commercial customer. I summarized his lecture here.

One set of stories not included in his talk are of the Australians who survived POW camps in Korea. The first group were POWs captured in Singapore by the Japanese who were interned in Seoul and Heungnam from 1942 to 1945; I drew on the memoir of Australian Eric Harrison in particular when writing the article "To make Koreans positively realize the true might of our empire": The use of Allied POWs for propaganda purposes in Korea during World War II (Transactions, Volume 97).

During the Korean War, Australian missionary Philip Crosbie was interned with other civilians at the beginning of the war and spent three years in an internment camp, surviving the death march of 1950 that claimed around 100 lives. According to Larry Zellers, in his book In Enemy Hands, it was Crosbie who spearheaded an effort to confer with other internees and arrive at the sequence of events and dates related to their imprisonment (Crosbie also convinced Zellers to write a memoir as well). Crosbie's memoir - copied twice - was seized before he was freed, so he rewrote it immediately after he was freed and published it as Pencilling Prisoner in 1954.

Hahn Dae Soo's (rare) appearances in Korean magazines, 1968-71

noreply@blogger.com (matt) — Mon, 01 Dec 2025 12:29:00 +0000

The other day, Hahn Dae Soo posted on his Facebook wall a link to this blog post about his September 1969 concert at the Drama Center on Namsan. I remembered an interview with him in Sunday Seoul from that time about the upcoming show, and posted a photo from it in a comment to his post, and before long I was posting the entire article and a translation, and then a few more articles...mostly because there was actually very little published about him back in the late 60s and early 70s.

I realized this five years ago after Jon Dunbar, who was planning to interview Hahn for The Korea Times, asked if I wanted to join (my response was brief: "Yes."). Having gone through years of weekly magazines from that time, I was surprised as I did some research beforehand to realize that Hahn was not really in them. I would eventually learn why while speaking with him. But one article I found was from fall 1968, right after he returned to Korea from New York City after years away. The background of that report can be found in the article I wrote based on our interview, which explains his time in NYC, his return to Korea, his visit to a dabang, a single show at the music room C'est Si Bon, his appearance on TV, and his interview by the Weekly Joongang. It was actually only we when were chatting after the interview that I realized that all of these events occurred in the space of about ten days. He was pretty shocked when I pulled out a printout of the 1968 article:

Jon: I’m sure this must be the era when people referred to you as Korea’s first hippie.
Matt: Um..
Jon: You have something about that?
Hahn: Hee hee hee hee – Matt has something. Oh my god.

Matt: I've gone through pretty much every weekly magazine from 1968 to 1976…
Hahn: Oh my god.
Matt: And maybe there have been more [articles], but that’s when you first came back in 1968.
Hahn: Oh wow, you’re right! That was a controversial – I remember that – that was a controversial interview. People went crazy: “What is this guy? Who is this, you know, long haired…” They considered me as demented.
Matt: I love the scare font: “HIPPIIIIE” It’s a monster…
Hahn on the picture: It’s a shot of a be-in or happening. And people sleeping together. That’s precious
Matt: You can have it… the part under the photo…
Hahn (laughs while reading in Korean): He didn’t have LSD because it was hard to get, but smoked marijuana – oh my god, that’s [perfect].

Here is the article (followed by a handful of others), from the September 15, 1968 issue of 주간중앙 (Weekly Joongang; translated by ChatGPT with corrections):

A Korean Hippie Returns from America

According to the authentic [hippie] Hahn Dae Soo

Eat, play, and sleep to your heart’s content

“Is someone a hippie just because they took their clothes off? They say it’s an ideology.”

Their ultimate goal is a “new religion”

Modern society “does not keep God’s word”

Greets his homeland with songs he composed himself

It is not a “pseudo hippie” who, with hair grown long and wearing strange, peculiar clothing, proudly roams the streets of Seoul, but a genuine hippie who has landed in Korea. Hahn Dae-soo, age 21.

Hahn says he could not try LSD because it was hard to obtain, but that he has used “marijuana.”

His father went to New York, obtained permanent residency, and is running an offset printing business, and his mother lives in Jeonhwa-dong. She remarried to another man. At age ten he went to America, lived three years under his father’s care, returned to Korea to live three more years under his mother, then returned to the U.S. again and survived on his own for four years before returning on the 28th of last month. This is the abbreviated résumé of Hahn Dae Soo, the first “hippie” to take root in Korea.

A Baekjo [swan] cigarette hangs from the tips of his fingers. Cigarette smoke rises from the long, unkempt hair that covers his ears and neck. There is no vacancy in his eyes, and every word he speaks is logical and coherent.

Not a denial of society

He avoids talking about matters like Korea’s position on the Vietnam War or his own personal opinions. When gently asked why, he gave as a reason certain aspects of Korea’s unique international situation, which make hippie ideology unable to take root in Korea.

“There are societies where hippies can be tolerated and societies where they cannot. Korea, you could say, is a society where hippies cannot be accepted. Even if something called ‘hippies’ were to appear here, it would only be an outward form. For example, even if someone walked the streets naked, that would just be an external display - it wouldn’t be behavior emerging from hippie ideology. Hippie thought, in short, is something you can only attain if you are prepared to stake your entire life on it.”

Greetings are kisses and ‘peace’

This spring at the Golden Gate Bridge in San Francisco, more than fifty men and women appeared nude to welcome the spring in a festival called the “Celebration of Spring.” In London, the so-called “hippie dress”—strips of paper tape wrapped around a naked body—is in vogue. In April, a 17-year-old boy named Terry Kenney walked through downtown San Francisco stark naked, deep in thought. These are the images of “hippies.” They do not deny society; they live within it, working when they want to, eating when they want to, playing whenever they wish. That is the “hippie society.”

“In New York’s ‘hippie society,’ they sometimes rent out Central Park and, for a whole evening, do everything they want to do. They dance naked, sing, and even engage in sexual relations. Lately, because of charges of public indecency, when hippies rent the place the police come to monitor them, so sexual relations can no longer occur openly.”

In the hippie society the greeting is “Peace! Peace, brother!” and then a kiss. And they exchange “drugs” as well.

Floating away on hallucinogens

LSD, marijuana, opium, speed—these drugs, used by hippies, are also said to be a form of rebellion against society. Taking these drugs makes everything look, sound, and feel more vivid.

“But not every hippie habitually uses these drugs. It’s the same as with alcohol -there are people who like it, and there are people who can’t take it at all, right? In my case, LSD was hard to find so I couldn’t try it, but I’ve used most of the others. Once I smoked marijuana and listened to music, music I usually listened to all the time, it felt completely new. Thanks to marijuana I could find the ‘vision’ in that music that I could not usually find.”

Melody charged with stimulation

Since music came up, I asked about “hippie music.” Known as “underground” music, hippie music can trace its roots to the Beatles. Based on the conviction that rock-and-roll could have more depth than classical music, they attempted a new musical revolution; this too is “hippie.” These days “acid rock” is in fashion, in which both the singer and the listener take drugs together and enjoy the songs. One clear feature of hippie music is that its lyrics often criticize U.S. government policy.

“The melodies are very stimulating, and the lyrics strike directly at LBJ (President Johnson). These songs can’t be played on radio or TV, but among the public they are wildly popular. The hippies like McCarthy, but they dislike President Johnson, Vice President Humphrey, and candidate Nixon all the same.”

So they completely rejected the recent U.S. presidential election as well and instead elected a new president of the ‘Hippie Society.’

Undressing and sleeping on the floor

To live the life of a hippie, one must leave home. And one must enter a crash pad, a place where only hippies gather. The crash pads are financially supported by an organization called the “Digger,” formed from hippies who have achieved economic success. Therefore, hippies in crash pads do not work: they play and eat.

“I lived in one too. It’s filthy. A room has several wooden bunks, and if you miss your turn, you just sleep on the floor. There is no distinction between men and women. People throw off their clothes wherever… it’s chaos.”

Girls who frequently run away from home and mix in here, at the crash pads in New York’s “East Village,” the gathering place of “hippies.”

Even in such circumstances, he said, new ideas continually sprout. One especially noteworthy fact is how deeply Oriental elements have penetrated the “hippie society” - particularly Eastern religions such as Buddhism and Eastern music such as Ravi Shankar’s sitar.

Enshrining Buddha statues, studying the East

“In the hippie society, the prevailing view is that Christianity has failed as a religion. For example, commandments like ‘Do not steal’ or ‘If someone strikes your cheek, offer the other’ are, they say, considered impossible to observe in our society. So they looked elsewhere for a religion and arrived at Buddhism. It is not that they plan to continue believing in Buddhism, but that after widely studying many religions, the ultimate goal is for the hippie society to have its own new religion. Some hippie friends even enshrine Buddha statues and incense burners and seriously study Buddhism.”

A firm resolve to return home

Hahn’s highest education is one year in the agriculture department at the University of New Hampshire, which he left. After that he studied photography for a year at the New York Institute of Photography. He has published works such as photos of the New York Peace Rally in Ramparts and other magazines. He said that his return this time came after a major resolution.

“I have been singing for a long time. Composing, writing lyrics, singing, performing… I want to express my thoughts among young people through my songs. When I feel that purpose has been completely achieved, I will disappear on my own.”

Laughs at the word “hippie”

On September 4 he appeared at C’est Si Bon and performed songs he himself wrote, and many university students gave him an enthusiastic welcome. He said it gave him confidence. As for what ideas are contained in his songs, he keeps his mouth firmly shut. “Hippie?” He laughs. One more lingering question: Having left the “hippie society,” can he truly abandon hippie ideology?

For the time being, with his mother

For the time being he will stay in “his mother’s house.” Until he settles again, he says he has no other choice. Still, although he is used to sleeping on the floor, this hippie Hahn does not eat breakfast. We will watch carefully to see how he will live in this society.

—Jeong Ran-ung

As Hahn told me, he was basically "tricked" by the reporter, who asked him all kinds of questions about hippies in the US and then wove his answers into a sensationalist article.

Hahn: This [newspaper story] had a great impact [. ...] So my mother reads this – at that time, this was a big article. Most articles are [small], but this is almost a full page. So she’s in tears, she doesn’t know what to do. So eventually, I didn’t last at the house more than a year – I got kicked out.

He went on to rent a small room and make money by teaching English and guitar. Photos of him in his room were taken and appeared in articles the next fall when he announced his first headlining performance, to be held at the Drama Center near Namsan.

Completed in 1961, the Drama Center - which hosted a number of folk music performances in the late 1960s and early 1970s - still stands today.

Here is an article from Sunday Seoul, August 31, 1969:

Highlight:

Writing lyrics, composing, and performing all by himself

Expressing the emotions of people in their twenties in his own way

A hippie singer giving his first recital since returning to Korea

Hahn Dae Soo (21), who returned from the United States last August with long hair and flamboyant clothes and acquired the label of “hippie singer,” is holding a recital. It is the “Hahn Dae Soo Singer-Songwriter Recital,” which will take place at 7 p.m. on September 19 and 20 at the Drama Center. Though it is a small-scale recital with a total production cost of 150,000 won, it is the first “recital” since his return to Korea by this 22-year-old composer-performer who writes lyrics, composes, performs, and sings all by himself.

In a “program” lasting more than two hours, Hahn Dae Soo plans to present what he calls “the most experimental music in Korea.” After hearing it, people will either like it insanely, hurl curses, or else be left utterly bewildered. He intends to synthesize “guitar,” “harmonica,” jing [traditional gong], other possible sound effects, and his own voice. “If people sympathize with my expression, there is no greater honor, and even if they cannot and everyone gets angry and walks out, there is nothing I can do - such is this concert.” From both the performer’s perspective and the audience’s, it is clearly experimental.

For this performance, Hahn Dae Soo began intensive practice three months ago. “His practice space was a small boarding-house room in Myeongnyun-dong. He ‘gathered up’ lyrics as they came to him, and prepared fifteen songs composed just as they suddenly occurred to him while walking or while sleeping. To introduce one of them, the lyrics of a piece titled “The Last Dream”: “It rains, it snows, the sun sets, the sun rises. Last evening there was a fire. A shack on the mountain, look out the window, let’s watch an amusing film, you live, I live, let’s work hard and become rich, I hear a voice from the grave, Kim Satgat’s laughter, someone who has not yet gone, listen to this sound.”

—What does it mean?

“It is a scene of the human world as seen from a window. Suddenly it struck me that the sight of humans wriggling like insects was, somehow, amusing like watching a movie.”

—Do you think you yourself are merely a spectator, not included among the wriggling humans?

“I felt something like that last winter. An old man was crawling up a snow-covered slope, and it struck me that he was myself, and I felt an intense sense of righteousness. Isn’t the world bound to change anyway, and isn’t everyone going somewhere?”

—Do you like the title “hippie singer”?

“I absolutely hate it. The past is the past, and the person I am now is not a ‘hippie.’ When I returned, people strangely attached the label ‘hippie,’ but is everyone with long hair a ‘hippie’?”

He seems to have changed quite a bit. When he returned last year, he walked the streets of Jongno blowing a piri [fife], with loosely disheveled long hair and peculiar clothing. Even now his hair hangs down long. But unlike then, it is neatly groomed, and he dresses fairly smartly. “When I first returned to Korea, I planned to wander across the whole country with a guitar like Kim Satgat. But these days I want a stable life. A life where I can settle inside the music I love.”

His thinking seems to have changed a lot as well.

Around him now is a group of about thirty young people who form a like-minded “group.” “Group” does not mean any formal structure, but a free gathering of people who meet whenever they can to enjoy music. This recital too, he says, has been arranged by these friends.

The expectations he has for this recital are not small.

“You may say my music isn’t even music, and that’s fine. But since I’ve expressed the emotions of people in their twenties in my own way, young people will sympathize with it. In our country, there is no creative work by young people. It’s hard for a writer in their fifties to express the emotions of someone in their twenties exactly. I’m giving it a try. Even if it’s bad, it will at least be a starting point for progress.”

Two weeks later, 주간여성 (Weekly Woman) published a short interview with him on September 17, ahead of his performance:

A Singer Who Isn’t a “Hippie” but Has a Hippie Style

Hahn Dae Soo, holding a Lyric-Writing and Composing Recital, on the 19th

“Why am I a hippie? I’m not. I’m just me, you know.”

With a smile on his lips, the 21-year-old Hahn Dae Soo answers a question with a question when asked, “Do you have any thoughts about the buzzword ‘hippie’?”

His hair is long - over 30 centimeters, probably even longer. You almost never see him deliberately comb or smooth the hair that hangs loosely down to his shoulders.

From the outside, the only clear feature is the long hair; otherwise he is simply an ordinary, tall young man (about 174 cm). He makes music - unusual music that most people do not readily attempt.

“My music doesn’t follow any particular form. It’s not psychedelic. I just put it together as it comes out of me.”

If one insisted on comparing it to existing musical patterns, it would be somewhat like folk-song.

He mostly sings while playing the harmonica and guitar, but he also uses a saw, a gong, and tape-recorded sound effects. It’s also a bit removed from what people call “avant-garde music.” He simply expresses what he feels through music—that is what he is doing.

He previously studied animal husbandry in the United States, but it didn’t go well, so he attended a photography academy. To earn tuition, he played guitar and sang in the evenings at a salon, and from that he began to study music in earnest. Hahn Dae Soo will present that kind of music in a recital held on the 19th and 20th at 7 p.m. at the Drama Center - a showcase of his own lyrics and compositions. “Twin Folio” and Kim Hong-cheol (the yodel singer) will make special appearances, and Lee Baek-cheon will serve as MC.

“Aside from music, I don’t really have any special skills or distinguishing traits,” Hahn says. These days he spends nearly all his time practicing in a small room with just his guitar, microphone, gong, a pipe, some cigarettes, matches, and an ashtray—doing little else.

–How do you manage your living expenses when your income can’t be much?

‘It’s still okay. Well, I don’t eat very much, so… I just get by.’

On October 1, 주간여성 (Weekly Woman) was the only magazine to write about and show a photo of the performance (the first line of the title is cut off, and lyrics for 'To the Happy Land' follow; the rest uses some guesswork at the missing words):

[...] Clutching his guitar... Hahn Dae Soo recital

Pull back the curtain,

With my narrow eyes

Let me see more of this world.

Open the window,

So I can once again feel

The dancing breeze.

On the evening of September 19, at the Drama Center, there was a rare 'happening.'

"What on earth… this is strange…. At times it feels like a shaman, and at other times like the sound of someone starving and going into a fit; anyway, in some way it seems mad…" - that was Hahn Dae Soo’s Singer-Songwriter Recital, his debut concert. With the audience erupting in cheers, the singer clutched his guitar.

When he howled like a beast to the rhythm of poetry, he [expressed] all of this and the world with his whole body.

As the folk music scene began to expand, solo singers were joined by male-female duos, which became quite popular (Toi et Moi had a top ten hit with '약속 (Promise)' in mid-1970), but Hahn was in the Navy during the early 1970s and missed out on these developments, though Kim Min-ki included a cover of Hahn's '바람과 나 (The wind and I)' on his debut LP (soon banned), and Yang Hee-eun, who sang many of Kim's songs and scored a Number 1 hit with '아침이슬 (Morning Dew)' in 1972, also covered 'Land of Happiness.'

Despite Hahn recording two albums in 1974 and 1975, at the height of 1970s youth culture, I have not found any appearances in weekly magazines after the articles in 1969, with the exception of this commentary article (part 8 in a series on folk singers, then rising in popularity) in 일간 스포츠 (Daily Sports) on June 11, 1971.

Korea’s Folk Stars (8)

Too original a realm, leaving a distance from their fans

Prefer melodies over lyrics

Do not imitate foreign folk styles as they are

Singing only self-written songs...

Hahn Dae Soo・Kim Min Ki

Because the overseas pop scene is so vast, there are all sorts of people, but the common point that folk singers of star status share is that the lyrics of the songs they sing deal with themes that can give universal sympathy to all and thus are global in scope.

In the case of Bob Dylan (born 1941), who was introduced and debuted at the 3rd Newport Folk Festival in 1961 by the female folk star Joan Baez, the one song of his own - Blowin’ in the Wind, which lamented, “How many wars must a man go through before he regains peace, and how many years must pass before a person becomes truly human?” - was enough for him to become a standard-bearer of modern folk singers.

He not only used acoustic guitar but even attempted accompaniment with electric guitar, spearheaded the emergence of folk rock, and though recently he has focused quite a bit on love songs, in any work whatsoever Bob Dylan sings his own thoughts through lyrics that anyone can sympathize with, and thus reigns as a star.

Among domestic singers, however, there are many who, having become infatuated with the profound realm of these overseas folk stars, imitate them poorly(?) and, despite their high musical talent, they are unfortunate because they fall too deeply into a highly individual realm and thus cannot gain much sympathy from others—.

Hahn Dae Soo (27), who was once a topic of conversation as a “hippie singer,” and new face Kim Min Ki (20), are representative cases. Of course, there are also many fans who, valuing their musical level highly, prefer the songs rather than the lyrics.

In Hahn’s case, it is only that his lyrics are quite difficult because he assigns his own meaning to clusters of abstract words like “sea,” “wind,” “justice,” and so on. Rather than saying he was poorly influenced by overseas pop stars, it seems more accurate to say that he is forming an independent music of his own, just as modern jazz does.

Having lived in America for a long time and associated with hippies, and even after returning home three years ago maintaining his own style of life despite others’ scorn, his representative songs such as ‘내사랑아 (My Love)’ and ‘The Wind and I’ exude Hahn Dae Soo’s unique charm in their melodies and accompaniment, whatever the lyrics may be. Particularly, his original piece ‘과부타령 (Widow’s ballad, apparently an early version of 고무신),’ written in English employing his extensive English ability, well contains his “eccentric” artistry. Because his music is too unique, perhaps it cannot become a profession; singing is his side job, and advertising photography is currently his occupation.

Folk singer Hahn Dae Soo, who is showing even the realm of jazz

Kim Min Ki—having graduated from Gyeonggi High School and presently in his second year in the Western painting department at Seoul National University’s College of Fine Arts—initially debuted as a duo called “Dobidu,” but became a solo singer starting early this year.

He is highly popular among female students, and he makes it a point to sing only his roughly twenty self-written songs such as ‘아하 누가 그렇게 (Aha, Someone, in that way)’ and ‘Morning Dew.’ Judging only by his musical “appearance,” he is the most reminiscent of Bob Dylan and a promising talent. His guitar skill and compositional level are extremely high, but because he tries to put his unorganized thoughts into his songs, they become complex works that fail to narrow the distance with the public. ‘귀하에게 (To You),’ which depicts a thieves’ village, is a fairly successful protest song, but his other songs sound overly complicated in their lyrics, perhaps because he tries too hard to write them in his own difficult way.

Kim Min-ki

There is of course the case of the unknown American folk singer John [SIC Tom] Paxton*, who took the lead in the antiwar movement with the ironic expression “Teach Me How to Kill,” but the lyrics dealt with by most modern folk songs generally make it a principle to contain unvarnished life, higher-level philosophy, or love, rather than short-sighted political opinions. The song itself is the purpose, and once it reaches a realm where it can be used as a means for some social movement, it is no longer a song.

Among domestic folk singers as well, there are at times those who, having misunderstood this difference in concept, receive resistance from fans - an error characteristic of the early folk-song era.

【Reporter Kim Yu-saeng】

Well, that closing sentence was the reporter's opinion, but it's pretty clear which folk singers from the early 1970s have stood the test of time.

* Tom Paxton is best known for his anti-Vietnam War song "I Got A Letter From LBJ." Ironically, going through 1960s and 1970s Korean magazines isn't a bad way to learn about more obscure or forgotten Western music from that time.

Exploring traces of the Japanese empire around Namsan

noreply@blogger.com (matt) — Sun, 30 Nov 2025 10:45:00 +0000

A few weeks ago, ahead of a walk for the RAS, I wrote this article for the Korea Times about the traces of the Japanese Empire in the Namsan area. There was already the 국치길 (path of national humiliation) - not how I would brand it, but then I don't work for the city government - which 'opened' in 2018 and runs southeast from the former site of the Joseon (Shinto) Shrine to the former site of the Japanese legation, but I wanted to visit the site of the 호국신사 (Defense-of-Nation Shrine) that opened in 1943 and has only its stairs still standing, which meant starting at Sukmyeong Women's University Station, next to which was the 1920s-built Namyeong Arcade.

How the 108 stairs to the Defense-of-Nation Shrine looked in 2013, before the funicular elevator was installed.

I then realized the 1923 shootout between Kim Sang-ok and Japanese police took place not far from the Shrine, and worked out a route from there. Funnily enough, the last half of that Korea Times article is about the history of Jangchung-dan and Bakmunsa (the temple to Ito Hirobumi, seen here in 1955), the latter of which, much like nearby Dongguk University, hosted a piece of Gyeonghui Palace, but with 30 people on the walk, we never managed to get there (the first time doing a walk is when you get to figure out if what you planned is doable or not). I'll likely create another walk beginning near City Hall that heads through Myeong-dong and Chungmu-ro before ending at the Jangchung-dan area.

I did a lot of online research to learn about these remains (and disappeared buildings), but in terms of storytelling was helped immensely by Todd Henry's book Assimilating Seoul, which made me realize that a space south of Cheongnyangni Station that appears as a site of rail yards in a 1947 aerial photo was in fact the site of the 조선대박람회 (Chōsen Grand Exposition), images (and the exact location) of which can be seen here.

A look at the filming of Inchon in Korea in 1979, Dongdaemun Market's history, and Useful Databases

noreply@blogger.com (matt) — Sun, 19 Oct 2025 13:33:00 +0000

For my latest Korea Times article, ahead of the historical walk in Itaewon I’m giving next weekend, I look at the filming of ‘Inchon,’ one of the biggest flops in film history, in Korea in 1979 through the eyes of Paul Courtright and Ben Bryan, two Peace Corps Volunteers who spent a day on set as extras, and Tom Casey, owner of Sportsman’s Club in Itaewon, where cast members spent many nights. Many thanks to Paul, Ben, and Tom for sharing their stories.

A previous article (sorry, I've been pretty delinquent in posting here) reviewed the book Five Nations, One Life: The Extraordinary Journey of Dr. Kyoung-jin Kim, while another focused on the history of the Dongdaemun area.

In the cases of the articles about neighbourhoods in Seoul (and many others), I've researched their history using a variety of databases.

One of the easiest ways to see when a building was registered is with this 3D map, which has buildings colour coded by decade, and if you click on the building it will tell you the year it was registered (unless it is grey, which means there’s no information). Of course, the date registered and the date built don't always align, but they do often enough. It allows you to see at a glance the age of buildings in a neighbourhood. A less user-friendly property history site (with more information) is here.

The Seoul Museum of History has old maps of Seoul (and other places) that can be downloaded. As well, the Museum has published several books about specific neighbourhoods you can read online (for example, Itaewon or Dongdaemun Market).

This government site has aerial photos going back to 1947 (for some neighbourhoods), though it only becomes consistent and of high quality from 1972). Just search for a 동 and, after confirming the correct location, the 항공사진 option should appear on the menu that appears. You can narrow the selection to a certain year or set of years, and can download full size photos if you sign up to the site.

A British POW's account of Korea's liberation in 1945

noreply@blogger.com (matt) — Fri, 15 Aug 2025 00:00:00 +0000

Back in June, I gave a lecture for Royal Asiatic Society Korea about Allied POWs in Korea during WWII, which can be watched here:

While researching this presentation (a topic I've been interested in for almost 15 years), I made use of material generously given to me by Chris Sullivan, whose grandfather was a POW in Seoul, including a copy of the excellent book You Must Endure: The Lancashire Loyals in Japanese captivity, 1942–1945. as well as his scans of Nor Iron Bars, a magazine made by Loyals officers while in captivity, and the Diary of Capt. John Lever. Lever's observations about the end of his captivity - and the advent of liberation for Korea - make for interesting reading, particularly on the 80th anniversary of Liberation:

Diary of Capt. John Lever, Lancashire Loyals

August 15th

The air raid warning has just sounded (1.5 pm). This is the third day in succession. On the 12th we saw about 30-40 planes (American) that dropped no bombs on Keijo but yesterday I heard a few bumps which I judged to be about 10 bombs dropped about 10 miles S.E.. Ushihara, the interpreter, who lived in America in his happier days, said they had brought 2 down and that the Americans had stooped to the base trick of imitating Japanese markings on their planes. Things have hotted up since the rescript.[?]

5 officers arrived here this morning from the civil jail - Kershaw, Collinson, Jacobs, Woods, Butler. They have completed the savage 2 years sentence they were awarded for letting Joe Moore and Sgt Bosworth have money for their attempted escape. Unfortunately Mullins has still a year to do and Sgt Bosworth 4 years. Pigott has rather more than a year as his sentence was held over whilst he was in the hospital. So they are not here yet.

Friday August 17th

So much has happened since I wrote the above, two days ago. I couldn't keep pace with it if I were writing in shorthand all the time. Pigott, Mullins, Sgt Bosworth, Sergeant Griffiths and Broyghton walked in this morning under their own steam. They just walked out of the civil jail, the Koreans were storming round the place all night. All of our Korean guards went about midnight, couldn't sleep last night, it's the excitement of waiting to be reborn. We should be out again in the wide wicked world with all its temptations. Hold us back! Our resistance is low. A Yankee airman was brought in yesterday afternoon about 4:00 p.m. in handcuffs. We were able to tell him the war was over, he didn't know.

Wednesday afternoon we were having our usual game of Mah Jong when the gardeners [officers who were allowed to tend a garden that was likely on the present day Yongsan Garrison] came back and said they felt sure the show must be over. We accepted it with reservations, fearful to give full credence to it in case there was any mistake. Yesterday afternoon the news was unrefutable. We had it translated from a paper. Korean flags were flying. There is one outside this morning that has been altered and adapted out of a Jap flag. The original crimson circle on a white background is now the peculiar looking Chosenese flag.

Harry Varge gave me the story as it struck a gardener yesterday. They left camp in the morning looking for indications that the show was over but there were very few people in the streets and nothing to indicate a change. Most of the gardeners felt down, as, so far as they could see, it might be a false alarm. By noon there were indications. Koreans were rushing up to the fence shouting “Tomodachi,” meaning you and me pals, and giving the thumbs up sign.

On the way back odd Koreans were trying to be demonstrative but were being chased off by the sentries. Gradually as they progressed into the more populated parts this got more and more out of hand, the sentries were mopping their brows and finally had to cave in in a muck sweat. [As the POW Camp was next to the train tracks, they could see that] Trains had been commandeered and were packed tight and oozing over with wildly cheering Koreans waiting flags. They were getting in the way flinging their arms up and shouting “Banzai,” “Japanese Koto” ([Kofuku?] surrendered) and all sorts of things, rushing amongst our fellows shaking hands with them and generally flowing over with bonhomie. They are deliriously happy Japan is beaten. Nobody loves the Japanese, especially a government produced Japanese.

August 26th

Yesterday morning a message from the office to place P.W. in yellow letters on a black background in the middle of the square so that one of our planes could drop supplies (food and medical). This was done in 20 ft letters. A plane started to hover around at about midday at about 30,000 ft but after an hour or so went away without coming any lower.

August 27th

A plane was round again yesterday up to the same trick, but went away without coming down low at all. The same happened again this morning. We have P.W. in large letters in the square and a Union Jack on the canteen roof and we are still patiently waiting. We are still getting Japanese papers daily and having the bits we want translated into English. This was going on for a long time before the Nips packed in but I never dare to mention it in these notes in case the Nips did a search and found it. There would probably have been a lot of trouble all around if we had been found out. The last bit of news we got officially was about a fortnight after the landing on the continent in June last year just before Tojo ceased to be Premier. We had one Red Cross parcel each still to be issued on the 14th when hostilities ceased. This was issued on the 19th. Had the war going on until next spring I think we should have had a very thin time this coming winter and it would have been most improbable that we should have received any further Red Cross supplies. The natives would have gone as hungry as ourselves, but they are more accustomed to bad treatment having been under Japanese control since 1910.

We read that MacArthur and 7,200 troops are to land in Tokyo tomorrow (Aug. 28th), Landings on Kyushu to take place on September 1st. 32,000 prisoners and civilian internees to be taken to Manila as soon as possible where they will get relief. It can't happen too soon for us. We are speculating which way we shall go home. Most of us would like to go via America but I'm afraid we shall be going home via Suez. Our food is somewhat unbalanced but I feel better and more mentally alert since the pack up, since when we have had more bread and less rice. We have also eaten 4 of our pigs and several rabbits, a few chickens, more potatoes and beans and more tinned food from our parcels.

The last fortnight has been the hottest for 10 years so it is not the weather for feeling hungry. I'm having about three cold baths a day. We use mosquito nets at night. There is one suspected case of malaria in the camp.

The day after Dallas Yergain, the American pilot of the P-47, was brought in, a friend of his was brought in also. He was one of the parties searching for Yergain and he was brought down whilst on the job. According to the Japanese paper 12 American planes were brought down with no loss to themselves. According to [William] MacDaniel (the 2nd American), 12 Japs were brought down and 2 American. McDaniels’ squadron leader brought 5 down himself. There are seven P-38 just landed on the aerodrome. I've just been out watching them circling around. May be we shall have a visitor in camp today.

August 29th Wednesday

Those P38s mustn't have landed, they disappeared low behind the trees and we didn't see them again, but they must have crept away again, they must have just inspected the aerodrome.

It is now 15 days since hostilities ceased and nothing has happened as far as we are concerned except for some pamphlets dropped. The wording showed they were printed before Japan packed in. Then there was the message to hurry up and stick the letters P.W. on the ground so that supplies could be dropped. This was done hurriedly 5 days ago. The C.O. sent a message to be broadcast from Tokyo which said we are all in good enough health and gave the names of all of us in the camp. Pigott has become seriously ill since then, there's no hope of his recovery. He will probably die before we are relieved.

Kinloch, in charge of prisoners in Konan, is having a tough time. The Russians are there and he can't keep the fellows in the camp. Apart from about five officers, they are all other ranks who have been working in a place making carbide. I am told the works and factories cover a tremendous area about 6 miles around. Kinloch rang up the C.O. yesterday and said he had 46 men missing. When nothing whatever happens in a fortnight it is only natural that the men get restive. No one has ever sent us a postcard. We've had no incidence here yet with the Japanese but this sort of thing cannot go on indefinitely if we have no communications whatsoever.

I went to the cemetery yesterday. The last time I was there was December 1942 when Jackie Whiteing and Colonel Dyson's ashes were put in the ground. After looking at the graves and a short prayer we walked up to the top of the hill which looks over a large area including half of Keijo, the view was excellent, but to hell with Keijo, we want a view of Manila.

The Japanese are still officially in charge here though naturally we relaxed considerably when we got news of the wrap up. We started to smoke wherever we liked and put lights on whenever we liked without asking permission. We've had one or two concerts, we look out of windows whenever we like and in our own cookhouse the last two days and so the Nips have begun to regain their poise a bit and [Capt. E.W. ‘Jiminy’] Paque the adjutant seems to have had continuous arguments about not setting the place on fire with our cigarettes, and not waving to Koreans out of the windows.

If they don't pipe down and we don't keep control of ourselves there will be a bust up. They probably have been bust ups in less orderly camps. We had a very amusing race meeting the other evening with sweepstakes, token bookies and everything. There were five races and six horses in each race, they were moved up on the throw of the dice. The horses had comic names such as Major O'Donnell's RICE-BALL by WANGLED out of FENNEY. Apparently Tim O'Donnell has been wangling an extra bit of rice out of Fenney who is one of the cooks. Capt. F.K. Beattie’s PATCH of HAIR out of PLACE. Frankie Beattie’s hair has been falling out lately and he has a bald patch on one side of his head. I lost steadily until the last race when I picked Major Holohan’s ANTIQUARIAN and won everything back and a few yen. Bill Fugham? backed No.2 horse in each race and all he got was a good run for his money as No.2 was second in each race oddly enough.

Aug 31st Fri

I left off writing on Wednesday to dash out and see a B-29 circling round. They finally concentrated on us and flew over the camp several times quite low we could read on the wings PW SUPPLIES. They had a long look-see as I didn't expect they had thought our square that they had to drop the supplies on would be so small and so hemmed in by slums finally just after 12:30 they flew over at a few hundred feet with the traps open underneath, did another circle round, then flying in from E[ast] to W[est] let the supplies go. They missed our packet handkerchief of a square (maybe deliberately). A lot of the stuff dropped in a plowed field about a hundred yards beyond. A number of the parachutes failed to open properly before the stuff landed. Several hovels and houses were damaged, some of the canisters going clean through the roof of one or two of the houses. One woman was killed almost instantly, a canister taking off her leg when it dropped through into her house. I was surprised when I saw the battered canisters brought into camp, they were made from 40 gallon oil drums welded together. They dropped a considerable amount of stuff, a lot of which has since been dished out. Boots, socks, underpants and vests, shirts, trousers, jackets, hats. Chocolate, tobacco cigarettes, matches, tinned food, cocoa and syrup. The food is mostly M[eat]&V[egetable] soups, tinned fruit, C rations and K rations. It is rather sloppy food, which is as well, as we couldn't suddenly switch on to good solid food too rapidly after the rubbishy food we have had for the last 3 ½ years. I don't feel hungry now, I'm eating to capacity, keeping in the borderline of indigestion. It was in July that the Emperor proclaimed that the Japanese could get all the nourishment they required from ground fishes heads and sweet potato leaves as they had no fear of being starved into submission. This was soon followed by a drastic cut in the rice ration. Thank goodness the Nips have packed it in and we haven't another winter to face.

Pigott died at 6:30 p.m. on Wed. 29th Aug. with Tubercular Meningitis. We had a funeral service the following morning at 9:00 a.m. All [nine of] the Russian [POW]s attended and the two Americans. I went to the cremation later in the morning with a few more of his friends.

On Thursday afternoon another B-29 arrived and with less preamble than on the previous day dropped more supplies. It was an impressive sight. They dropped the stuff from a slightly greater height and the parachutes opened better but very little actually dropped in the camp.

Sept 3rd Mon

Just got back from the trip into the country. We went out in trucks at 1:00 p.m. and got back about 5:00 p.m. It was most amusing, a good time was had by all.

We went right through the town and out into the country on the other side and de-bussed at a spot near the river. We had about 2 hours to roam around, the whole thing was organized with Japanese efficiency, we were free to roam along until we reached a Jap soldier and we must not walk any further than that. I walked along with Geoffrey Barnes and we came to a Jap soldier almost at once. We walked across the sand down to the river, got a small boat and rowed the half mile or so across to the other shore, then wandered about at will. The chaps had failed to cover their flanks. We met one of the other fellows who had brought some money out with him, the only currency I had was 2 bars of chocolate and 1 yam, so we bought a little fruit then went to a house and had some SHAMSHU [likely makgeolli]. It’s whiteish like milk and tastes like a distant poor relative of champagne. Geoffrey and I then strolled along till we came to a small Korean cottage, making ourselves welcome, we walked in [and] were invited to sit in the porch [and] admired the baby and gave the boy (about 10 years old) some chewing gum. The Koreans seem very fond of chewing gum. I think the Allies could have conquered this country with chewing gum if they had known. We got a lot of chewing gum with the supplies that were dropped. I don't use it personally so I keep some with me when I go out and want to get friendly.

Tomorrow morning at 8 we are going to the old Emperor's palace and shall be back at noon.

On the way home the natives were all very friendly, waving and cheering as we went by. I'm feeling rather tired now, the comfortable tired feeling after fresh air, maybe the drink has helped the tired feeling, for in our stroll this afternoon we wandered along exchanging greetings with the locals till we came to a small village. We went into a small sort of barber’s shop and a pleasant young fellow there asked us to have a drink. He had a very friendly smile and a nice looking little daughter about 5 years old. I gave her a bar of chocolate. Our host produced a sort of small teapot. I was afraid for a moment we were going to have a cup of tea, [but] my fears were unfounded [as] it was sake. After a little while we found it best to keep hold of the cup, as he kept filling it every time we put it down. We handed round our American cigarettes and after a pleasant little interlude said goodbye to most of the village who by that time were trying to congregate into the shop.

We have had a visitor tonight, a R.C. priest named Quinlan.

So ends Lever's diary. Thomas Quinlan, a missionary from Ireland, was appointed Prefect of Shunsen (Chuncheon) Dec. 8, 1940 and resigned Feb. 9, 1942 (after the outbreak of the Pacific War). “Quinlan was placed under house arrest and survived as a prisoner until the Americans' victory in the Pacific in 1945.” He was later held prisoner in North Korea during the Korean War and survived the ‘Tiger death march’ in late 1950. Here is a photo of him upon his release:

The March 1945 revolt of Korean forced labourers against Japanese on Mili Atoll

noreply@blogger.com (matt) — Mon, 16 Jun 2025 05:31:00 +0000

[Update at bottom, June 16.]

Recent news reports have brought up forced mobilization of Koreans in the South Pacific during WWII, with Yasuto Takeuchi, a Japanese expert on the topic, giving a talk in Gwangju in which he said most sent to the Marshall Islands (635 of the 640) were from Jeollanam-do. (This differs from numbers he gave a week earlier, as reported in the Hankyoreh.) What most caught my eye was this reference to Mili Atoll:

Mili Atoll is where the Japanese military forcibly mobilized 800 Koreans as military personnel in 1942 to build military bases, including an airfield. Takeuchi said last year that 213 of 218 Koreans who died in Mili Atoll at that time were residents of South Jeolla.

Not mentioned in that Korea Times article (but described in the Hankyoreh article) is something reported much earlier in the Korea Times. In 2010, an ROK government committee announced the results of its three-year probe of Japan's forced mobilization of Koreans during WWII which found that "As many as 100 Koreans, who were forcibly mobilized by Japan to build military facilities on the Marshall Islands, were indiscriminately killed in a rebellion that appears to have started after they were forced to eat human flesh" which had been "disguised as ‘whale meat' after the Japanese forces ran out of food."

My ears perked up as I read this because the name sounded familiar, and a search through materials I scanned while doing my MA proved me right. At that time, I scanned a few pages of the fascinating newspaper (or newsletter) “The Voice of Korea” which was published in Washington DC during WWII (and after) and reprinted and collected into a bound book at the UW library. The full, 2-page story of the Korean rebellion on Mili Atoll, and the attempts by the US military to rescue islanders and Koreans from the grip of the Japanese is a fascinating one, complete with photos of the rescue operation. (Note that there are no mentions of cannibalism, perhaps because it was considered to 'strong' a topic for readers at the time.)

Worth noting is the fact that if not for the US Marines' timing, there might have been no survivors.

The following is from The Voice of Korea, Nov. 5, 1945:

KOREANS BATTLED JAPS ON MILLE

By Technical Sergeant Theron J. Rice, U.S.M.C. Combat Correspondent

WASHINGTON, DC, August 31-(Delayed) They were a pitiful lot who struggled through the pounding surf, straining for that last hit of energy which would mean safety at long last.

In pairs they helped each other swim when the tiny rubber boats sent in for them were filled. Then with death-like grips they grasped outstretched hands ex tended to hoist them aboard the LCI.

Their muddy brown skin, racked by disease, was stretched taut over fleshless bones. Their eyes shone deep in their glistening skulls. Their necks were drawn tight, giving them a gaunt appearance. And their hair, stiff and dry, was like that of some dead animal.

They were the 67 survivors of the only recorded revolt by Korean laborers against the Japanese in the annals of the Pacific war.

The story they had to tell of life under the rule of hopelessly cut-off Jap troops on Mille Atoll was one of oppression, humiliation and starvation. Until the final surrender it could not be told, for the sake of the safety of Korean laborers at various bypassed outposts.

But the formal capitulation of Mille to the destroyer escort Levy on August 22 (east longitude time) has lifted the veil of secrecy on one of the strangest stories to come out of the Pacific war.

Mili Atoll is at bottom right, and is over 500 km from Kwajalein at top left.

Mille Bypassed Early in War

As the southernmost of four Jap outposts in the Marshalls, Mille was heavily reinforced in November, 1943, following the fall of Tarawa and Makin.

But Marine amphibious troops, in the first of seven operations that swept them across the Pacific, next landed at Kwajalein instead. From that time forward, Mille joined Wotje, Jaluit and Maloelap as bypassed atolls instead of formidable barriers on the road to Tokyo.

The Fourth Marine Aircraft Wing was assigned the tedious and painstaking job of pulverizing these enemy bases. Seventh Air Force bombers also helped blast the Jap positions before moving on to forward bases and more important targets. Soon, cameras showed the islands to be little more than pitted chalky earth, twisted guns, gutted blockhouses and fire blackened remnants of enemy aircraft. Stripped of the camouflage and protection of thousands of palm trees, now shredded and torn from their roots, the Jap garrisons were going underground.

In June, 1944, naval vessels under cover of darkness, slipped into the lagoon at Wotje, where nearly 700 Marshallese natives quietly climbed aboard outriggers, attached them to the rescue vessels, and were towed ten miles across the lagoon to Erikub Island and safety.

In January of this year, after repeated Jap threats to exterminate them, 450 Marshallese were taken off Maloelap Atoll while Fourth Wing planes bombed and strafed enemy positions on either side of the narrow evacuation beach.

Next on the list was Mille Atoll, so Military Government officers began sending in Marshallese scouts by night to gather information and to plan, under the very noses of the Japanese, the evacuation of natives and Koreans trapped with them.

Half a dozen natives, carefully chosen for their intelligence and ability to speak several languages, were given these assignments, and spent countless hours memorizing their instructions.

First Operation Failed

Despite the elaborate plans and perfect timing, the operation was unsuccessful. When LCIs beached several minutes after dawn, no one was waiting to come aboard. Only at Knox Atoll, two miles off the southeast tip of Mille, did the evacuation go as planned. Natives there had jumped their guards during the night, driven them off, and seized one prisoner.

The lone Jap spoke some English and told crew members he was 19 years old and drove a taxicab in Yokohama before the war. When given a cigarette, he smoked it until it burned his fingers. "This is the first real cigarette I've had in more than two years," he said.

During the week that followed the abortive evacuation, Military Government officers tried to figure out a way in which they might still remove the natives and Koreans from Mille before it was too late. While they were doing so, a Corsair pilot returned from a patrol flight and excitedly told how a large group of persons had frantically waved many improvised white flags at him when be swooped low over the atoll. Just what this signified – possibly a desire to surrender after all – was not known, but two LCIs with heavily armed crews were dispatched to the scene immediately.

Shortly before dawn on Sunday, March 18, the rescue vessels made their way along the southern side of the atoll. While one of the boats stopped to take aboard a number of natives who came out to meet it, the other, directed by a patrol plane, proceeded to Chiribun Island where a large group awaited rescue.

From the first few Koreans taken aboard, native interpreters learned the full details of the entire week of momentous developments. The Japs had sensed that the first evacuation attempt was imminent, and doubled their guard to prevent its success. Thus, when the LCIs beached, it meant almost certain death for anyone who heeded the call of loudspeakers to, "Come on out and we'll cover you."

Brutal Jap Retaliation

In retaliation for the attempted escape, a firing squad of five Japanese troops blindfolded eight native men and three women, stabbed them and then shot them with revolvers. One of the women, the 24-year-old wife of one of the few natives who managed to escape, was accused – in company with the others – of concealing a plot against the Japanese.

All conversation between the natives and Koreans was forbidden. Violation of that order meant punishment through starvation. But the Japs had made their big mistake in executing the 11 Marshallese.

That act of brutality aroused the resentment of the already bitter Marshallese and Koreans, so a group of the latter who had long planned to escape at the first opportunity made hasty final preparations for a full scale revolt.

During the early morning hours of March 17, figures moved silently through the darkness on Chiribun. Then out of the night came the revengeful cries of the Koreans as they jumped the 13-man Jap garrison there. Seizing their rifles, the Koreans killed a number of the enemy, but several [Japanese] managed to make their way across a reef toward Lukonor Island, where the main Jap garrison force lived.

As soon as the action ended, more than 150 Koreans gathered from their hiding places. Hand grenades and dynamite, pro-cured from the Japs ostensibly for fishing or in trade for food, appeared from countless places of concealment. Some of the explosives had been hoarded for more than six months in preparation for the inevitable day of revenge the Koreans knew would come.

Within a matter of minutes previously arranged plans went into effect. In a makeshift defense line, the Koreans scattered themselves across the center of the island. Then they dug in to await the certain return of heavily-armed Jap troops.

Japs Stormed Korean Positions

With the first light of dawn a force of more than 300 Japs was spotted heading toward Chiribun, armed with rifles, light machine guns, and hand grenades. In suicidal fashion they stormed the Korean positions, despite a shower of grenades, and the fighting soon became hand-to-hand.

The Koreans resisted valiantly and killed an undetermined number of Japs. But the odds against them were overwhelming and they soon were forced to give ground. Adopting guerilla tactics, they were able to harass the Japs throughout the day. It was during this stage of the battle that the Corsair patrol plans had appeared overhead, and their frantic flag waving was for help.

Between 20 and 30 Koreans and many natives were killed outright by the first Japanese onslaught. In accordance with a prearranged plan, which involved suicide rather than sub-mitting to capture by the Japs, an estimated 100 wounded Koreans killed themselves with hand grenades or dynamite. To save ammunition, most of which was used to hold off the Japs, three or four wounded would gather in a tiny circle and destroy themselves with one grenade.

Meanwhile, the Japanese, having spotted the Corsair, feared an ambush after dark or the return of more planes, so they seized a number of hostages and hurriedly returned to Lukonor. Those natives and Koreans who had survived fled to nearby islets to hide until help came.

Of approximately 190 Koreans who took part in the revolt, only 67 survived to be rescued by the American vessels. Indicative of their anxiety to leave the island was the fact that 13 persons piled into a seven-passenger rubber boat for one of the shore to ship trips.

Three Japs on tiny islets near Chiribun decided they had had enough, and heeded a promise of "good food and fair treatment" from the LCI. Stripped of their tattered clothes before coming aboard, they were in far worse physical condition than that of any Korean or native.

After a hearty meal of white rice – the first they had eaten in more than two years – the Koreans were given medical attention and then questioned.

Jap Garrison Was Starving

They revealed that the remnants of the Japanese garrison on Mille had been starving to death at the rate of as many as ten a day during recent weeks. Of an original garrison of five to seven thousand men, they estimated about 1,500 remained. (Approximately 2,400 troops were on the island when it surrendered to the USS Levy.) Their testimony disputed the widely-circulated contention that the Japanese were able to bear hardships on a par with the native population.

The Koreans cited the heavy Nipponese death rate, as compared to the few if any losses from malnutrition suffered by the Marshallese, as sufficient evidence of that fact. This they attributed to their more adaptable constitutions, a better mental attitude, and a willingness to share what little they had for the good of all.

Intelligence officers also learned that not only had rice, salmon and other Japanese food supplies been used up, but even native staples such as coconut, breadfruit and taro were practically exhausted.

So desperate was the food situation that groups of famished Japanese were sent out regularly to search for whatever food they could find. Acute malnutrition caused the death of many of these men, who often dropped in their tracks while at some far corner of the atoll. When they were fortunate enough to find food, they fought among themselves for it.

They even traded grenades or dynamite to the Koreans for anything edible. In this manner the Koreans were able to build up a supply of explosives with which to stage their revolt. They were compelled to furnish the Japs with a certain amount of food each week, but natives, fishing in their primitive style, fulfilled that requirement for them.

Blockade Kept Out Supplies

Medicine was a thing of the past and the supply of sake had long since disappeared. However, the Japs would sacrifice almost anything for "jukru", a powerful native Marshallese drink made from coconut tree sap.

Loin cloths had replaced practically all uniforms and most of the troops lived in dusty bomb craters or thatched huts. The commanding officer of the Jap garrison was said to be living in a deluxe dugout, furnished with items stolen from anyone and everyone, but was described as "short, fat and hungry just like us."

No mail had reached the island since December, 1943, and no planes nor ships nor submarines had dared the air blockade to bring them supplies since early in 1944.

Bombing and strafing attacks were said to have killed many of the enemy, but severe malnutrition had been the leading cause of death during the past six months.

During their long stay on Mille-since the spring of 1942-the Koreans were paid an average of six dollars monthly. But they were abused even more than were the Marshallese, and they had little use for the money they earned.

-----------------

[Update]

One study is summarized here. On this site about forced labourers, there are two US Government photos related to this (one of which is above). The other can be seen more clearly at Reddit here:

"A group from the 68 survivors of an original 193 Korean slave labors who revolted against Japanese on Mille Atoll are shown here consuming Yank K-rations aboard an LCI off Majuro Atoll, Marshall Is. They are Navy prisoners of War."

RAS Korea lecture and excursion this week

noreply@blogger.com (matt) — Tue, 10 Jun 2025 19:02:00 +0000

With the "reboot" of Royal Asiatic Society Korea I've been tasked with organizing lectures and excursions, and am thankful to people like Jacco Zwetsloot, Olga Fedorenko, and Jack Greenberg who stepped up and quickly agreed to give lectures. As this Korea Times article notes, short notice and scheduling snafus made it difficult to find a lecturer for June, so I've stepped up to give this talk today (speaking of short notice):

I'll also be leading this excursion this weekend, which is essentially a sequel to last year's Sindang-dong excursion:

More excursions for June and July can be read about here.

It's great that RAS Korea was able to secure funding to continue its operations after a hiatus, though it's operating as a skeleton crew at the moment. Anyone willing to volunteer to help out should feel free to contact us!

"Tiger Season: A Novel of Korea," by Gojan Nikolich

noreply@blogger.com (matt) — Thu, 22 May 2025 06:17:00 +0000

My latest Korea Times article is a review of "Tiger Season: A Novel of Korea," as well as an interview with the author, Gojan Nikolich, who was kind enough to answer a series of questions. I really enjoyed the novel. There have been a small number of novels by former US soldiers about the world of US base camp towns in Korea in the 1960s and 1970s, but Tiger Season stands out above the others. Another I remember was an engaging-enough story, if featuring too much of the 'soldier and sex worker with a heart of gold' for my tastes, but ultimately was incredibly disappointing due to its abrupt ending. That's most certainly not the case for Tiger Season, which is very carefully constructed, as I note in my article.

Below are the (lightly-edited) original responses to my questions. Many thanks to Gojan Nikolich for allowing me to post these:

"When I Was There:

I served my Korea tour as an E5 Sergeant with the 2nd Infantry Division in 1970-71 at Camp Howze (Bongilchon) and Camp Casey (Dongducheon), where I worked as a military journalist/public affairs specialist and as editor of the 2nd ID newspaper. I traveled frequently on army reporting assignments and also as a stringer for the Tokyo office of Pacific Stars & Stripes, where the division newspaper was composed and printed. I wrote about and attended meetings at Panmunjom as part of my public affairs job, so that’s where I gathered some of my personal impressions for the book. This was during a busy period of DMZ/North Korean activity following the 1968 release of the Pueblo crew.

Personal Experience:

It wasn’t difficult to take advantage of my own history for a book like this, but I hope it’s been adequately disguised. The fiction of probability is often truer than the truth.

In 1970 I was involved in a patrol jeep incident along the DMZ that was similar to the one depicted in the book — both the crash off the cliff and the injuries of the main character. After spending several months in hospitals in Seoul and Busan, I too searched for the mystery farmer/guardian angel who mysteriously happened to call in a rescue helicopter. Sadly, I was never able to thank him. I’ve had a big soft spot in my heart for Koreans ever since.

During my hospital rehab, with nothing else to do, I scribbled my thoughts about Korea’s strange camp town world into a notebook that ended up packed away and forgotten for 50+ years in a box that I didn’t discover until a few years ago when I was cleaning out my garage. Those notes sparked memories, so I used the fictional vehicle of Eddie Profar, Jia the courtesan, Yevgeny Lee and the tiger to tell the story.

I’m glad I was an old geezer before I wrote about Korea. The younger version of me couldn’t have done it properly.

Research:

My research for this project was selective and based on what would drive the narrative and the plot, so a scholar I am not. I used creative license to put certain historical facts into perspective and tried to be aware of Korea’s evolving attitude regarding the history of US military camp towns. Until a few years ago, the subject of sanctioned post-war brothels along the DMZ was largely ignored by the US public and media, although the Korea Times has written about the military border town controversy quite extensively. Much of my research was to get a sense of Korea’s refugee crisis during those early months of the war and to explain how this was affected by the US Army’s “Pusan Perimeter” during the late summer of 1950. This is the time when Jia and her family attempted to flee south from their village.

Why 1968:

I set the book in 1968 because that was the height of the so-called “Little Korean War” (1966-69), and this seemed to provide me with all the ingredients needed to introduce the reader to the neglected tension of those times. This was also the height of Korea’s camp town era. I wanted to tell that tale and relate it to the controversial (and under-reported) Cold War aftermath of the Korean War itself. I also felt that someone should talk about the refugee and orphan history of many of the women who were recruited involuntarily into the kijichon world.

True Or Not:

• To my knowledge, nobody who negotiated at Panmunjom ever wore a catheter, although many of us discussed how this might offer a certain advantage during long summer arguments with the North Koreans, who always seemed reluctant to get up and use the bathroom during their marathon Panmunjom meetings.

• Yep, I once attended a mandatory lecture and graphic slide show during which we were told about the consequences of catching VD.

• The outdoor DMZ propaganda broadcasts were introduced by the Park Chung Hee government and the DJs at AFKN did occasionally contribute parody musical stunts, though this wasn’t encouraged and didn’t happen with the frequency that I suggest in the book.

• Soldiers on duty at night on the DMZ loved to bullshit each other, so I’d heard about ghost-story talk of a roaming tiger loose out on the ice of the Imjin River. I imagined how this would put a little extra jump in your step while working at night along the fence.

* The vibe at the camp’s nightclub was as described in the book.

* The train trip from Busan to Seoul, including the Korean family that shows kindness to Eddie and gives him food…that was true and I made the same trip after I was released from the hospital.

Writers I Like:

I’ll read anything from the most trashy, pulpy thriller or cowboy western to the best of all the 19th century Russians to Faulkner and Hemingway. Charles Portis is a favorite. Anything by Cormac McCarthy, Vonnegut and Don DeLillo. Murakami is another. I actually read much more non-fiction than fiction and keep re-reading the writers I’ve always liked."

As a follow-up to his answers I asked about a few more topics, and wondered if the 2ID newspaper he worked for was the Indianhead, to which he answered, Yes, and included some clippings, "along with the Indianhead newspaper masthead, just to give you a sense of the general vibe of what was being written at the time":

"The Army brass pretty much left us alone, though they would occasionally insist on a positive PR twist to a story that might favor official military policy. This was to be expected. However, being in our early twenties, we’d play a cat and mouse game and sneak in reporting with subtle references that GIs would fully understand. For some unknown reason, they allowed me to write a free-form opinion column (“Smoke Signals”) that sometimes got me into trouble. I once mocked the 2nd Div commanding general for building an expensive duck pond and pet duck shelter behind the HQ building. The company CO called me on the carpet and ripped into me to never write something like that again…or else.

"A few months later they gave me a medal for writing exactly that kind of stuff, much of it pretty amateurish in hindsight. The US Army operates in mysterious ways.

I recall that there was a cooperative back-and-forth story pickup arrangement with Stars & Stripes in which some soldiers were attached as staffers out of Tokyo or 8th Army in Yongsan. My stringer stuff got used, bylined and not, and sometimes the Indianhead would contribute reporting as part of a S&S compilation story. The wire services and Army Times would also use our material, especially photos. I’d re-write and edit certain reporting to submit to S&S while I was in Tokyo every two weeks to lay out and print the division newspaper.

Regarding The 1971 Race Riot:

Yes, I remember that event but was traveling out of the area when it happened. I went into the hospital in late January 1971 following my injury, so was out of the entire news loop for a few months.

Yes, the GI clubs seemed to be generally divided based on the category of music they played, by race, and according to the unwritten rules and preferences of the “business women” and the bar owners. There were many exceptions, however. Some clubs catered to older NCOs, some skewed toward officers. Some to African Americans. I remember one club that only played country music and so attracted those customers accordingly.

The Army often put clubs off-limits for a variety of reasons, including for discriminating against black soldiers. Mostly it was because a club had too many drug use reports from the MPs or if their bar workers exceeded accepted VD rates. The newspaper would announce off-limit clubs. I remember a general feeling of underlying tension that prevailed some nights in the village outside of Camp Casey — Tongduchon, known as “TDC” and now spelled “Dongducheon.” TDC was the largest camp town along the DMZ at that time. Most of the streets were barely paved. This was the tail-end of the 1960s civil rights era in the US, so most everyone was aware of the racial issues at hand since we’d already experienced the same unrest back home, especially if you came from a large city. On a one-on-one basis, I had the sense that the races worked together routinely well on the DMZ itself (at guard posts, together on patrols, etc) and I don’t recall individual conflicts other than when there were organized public events like the Yongiugol “rally.” Again, that’s my general memory of things. I think if something dramatically stood out that I would recall it with more clarity.

Regarding Marijuana:

I don’t remember anything ever tightening up regarding the smoking of weed, though it was officially verboten. You could easily get a big fat paper bag of grass for about $10 from any number of sources: a Korean houseboy at the barracks, a shop owner outside the front gate at Camp Casey or directly from one of the girls at a club, who would expect a tip for the convenient middle man service. The main hard drugs used at the time seemed to be Meth and Seconal.

Itaewon:

I personally never visited Itaewon, which was a long and inconvenient bus ride away. The DMZ area, though only about 40 miles from Seoul, was considered to be in the boonies and anyone stationed in or near Yongsan was thought to have a cushy Korea tour assignment. Whatever I knew of Itaewon came from someone else’s stories. I do remember it being considered more expensive than the local village club district. I believe that all the camp town club districts operated under similar un-written rules of conduct for GIs. The camp town culture was similar everywhere and had been honed and perfected since the 1950s.

Below is an answer to a question for those who have read the book, since it's certainly a spoiler.

Eddie’s Final Phone Call:

Yes, the young woman who return’s Eddie’s call was his daughter. I kept it vague and left it up to the reader to speculate if he realized this or not as he stood in front of the bathroom mirror having his heart attack while the phone rang. I like to believe that yes, he knew…but it was too late, of course. His daughter is among the visitors at the hospice.

When Park Chung-hee and the US Ambassador visited Gayang-dong for Farming Encouragement Day

noreply@blogger.com (matt) — Mon, 19 May 2025 05:44:00 +0000

For over a decade I've done tours for the RAS of western Seoul, particularly the area around Gaehwasan and Gungsan / Yangcheon Hyanggyo. I was visiting the area with friends on the weekend and walked by a section of street (across from the Botanical Garden in Magok) with posts marking the sights of the 'history and culture street' that had a stone monument I'd never seen (Kakao Map street view tells me it wasn't there a year ago). I had no idea what 권농일 was and we were on the move, so I snapped a photo to look it up later.

As it turns out, it's a monument to the 17th National Farming Encouragement Day (권농일), when in 1965 Park Chung-hee (and others, as we'll see below) held a commemorative ceremony at Yangcheon Elementary School. This school was established in 1900, which makes it rather old (I was made aware of this when I taught a student who attended the school in 2005, and she told me it was her school's 105th anniversary). Since the president was there, I figured it must have been covered in the news, and indeed, the June 10, 1965 Kyunghyang Shinmun even has a photo of Park planting rice:

Industrialization Must Be Preceded by Agricultural Modernization – Emphasized in President Park’s Address

On the Occasion of the 17th National Farming Encouragement Day

June 10 marked the 17th National Farming Encouragement Day (권농일), and with a severe drought — the worst in 60 years — both farmers and city dwellers met the day with uncharacteristically somber expressions.

The Meteorological Office forecasted that it was unlikely to rain before the end of June, when rice transplanting would be at its peak. Authorities responded by establishing emergency drought countermeasures, aiming to uphold the significance of this year’s Farming Encouragement Day.

At 10 a.m. that day, a commemorative ceremony for the 17th Farming Encouragement Day was held at Yangcheon Elementary School along the Yeongdeungpo–Gimpo road, with many domestic and foreign dignitaries in attendance. These included President Park Chung Hee, Chairman Kwon of the National Assembly’s Agriculture and Forestry Committee, Minister of Agriculture Cha; other government ministers, U.S. Ambassador Brown; and members of the diplomatic corps.

Following a commemorative speech by Mr. Go, president of the National Agricultural Federation, President Park delivered an address in which he emphasized that “Farming Encouragement Day must not be limited to merely encouraging agriculture, but should become a new opportunity for the entire nation to revere agriculture and value farmers.”

He further stated, “We must abandon the dangerous mindset that national modernization refers only to urban-centered industrialization. The modernization of agricultural production, which can resolve the rice problem, must be achieved before industrialization.”

After the ceremony, the three branches of government and the diplomatic corps participated in a symbolic rice planting with the farmers.

◇After the Farming Encouragement Day Ceremony, President Park and other guests are planting rice seedlings. (In Gimpo)

I was surprised to learn the American ambassador was there. Unlike the photo caption above, the Dong-A Ilbo that day reported that the planting took place near the school (perhaps the Kyunghyang Shinmun had forgotten the area - formerly part of Gimpo - had been incorporated into Seoul in 1963):

Commemorative Rice Planting by President Park in Gayang-dong, Yeongdeungpo

On the morning of June 10, at 10 a.m., the 17th National Farming Encouragement Day commemorative event was held in Gayang-dong, Yeongdeungpo District, Seoul. The ceremony took place in the schoolyard of Yangcheon Elementary School and was attended by about 200 people, including President Park Chung Hee, government officials, members of the diplomatic corps, and officials from the Ministry of Agriculture and the Seoul city government.

In his commemorative address, President Park said, “The Meteorological Office has forecast no rain for the next month, so we must anticipate continued drought through mid-July. Let the entire nation unite to overcome this drought together.”

Following the ceremony, President Park personally participated in a commemorative rice planting in a paddy field in front of the school, setting an example through action.

The event, hosted by the Land Improvement Association, was carried out under tight security unlike previous years, and as a result, local farmers were not permitted to participate in the event.

I have doubts that photo was taken that day, considering the security precautions. Why there was "tight security," I'm not sure, but the signing of the controversial ROK-Japan Normalization Treaty was less than two weeks away (June 22), so that may have been the reason.

The 45th Anniversary of the Gwangju Uprising

noreply@blogger.com (matt) — Sun, 18 May 2025 14:59:00 +0000

Today marks the 45th anniversary of the beginning of the Gwangju Uprising. I've written about this event on this blog many times (an index is here), an RAS Transactions article ("'Tell the World what is Happening': The Americans who Witnessed the Kwangju Uprising," which can be read here), and co-authored the memoir of David Dolinger, a former Peace Corps Volunteer who was a witness to and participant in the uprising This week he was granted Gwangju honorary citizenship for his role, along with missionary Arnold Peterson (posthumously) and Jennifer Huntley.

The Hankyoreh also covered the fascinating stories of the military officers / police officials who refused orders to fire on protesters during the uprising. I'd known the story of Police Chief Ahn Byeong-ha, but not the others. At least one of the stories shared adds evidence to the assertion that the chain of command was being violated and orders were being sent to officers on the ground directly from martial law command in Seoul.

And, of course, it wouldn't be this time of year without some conservative politician making questionable choices, in this case when the People's Power Party appointed Chung Ho-yong - who commanded Special Forces during 5.18 and was, along with Roh Tae-woo, one of Chun Doo-hwan's main co-conspirators - as a senior advisor to Kim Moon-soo’s presidential campaign, only to quickly reverse this decision amid public backlash. What were they thinking? Needless to say, he wasn't invited to any memorial ceremonies.

How Park Chung-hee exploited the fall of Saigon to justify a ban on all dissent

noreply@blogger.com (matt) — Tue, 13 May 2025 10:36:00 +0000

On this day 50 years ago, Park Chung-hee’s efforts to suppress challenges to his rule by pro-democracy clergy, students, and journalists culminated in the promulgation of Emergency Measure 9, which banned all dissent and decreed sentences ranging from one year in prison to the death penalty. The reason he felt there was a consensus supporting this authoritarian measure was due to the way he and the Yusin state exploited the fall of South Vietnam, arguing that dissent needed to be suppressed lest North Korea take advantage of the divisions in the South to launch a new war. In addition to ‘encouraging’ various groups in society to show their support for the ROK government via street demonstrations and newspaper ads, the authorities also mobilized newly-arrived refugees from Vietnam to speak to audiences, particularly students, nationwide.

This is the story my latest Korea Times article tells.

I couldn't include these in the article since they are from the Korea Herald, which was then a government-run newspaper, but it printed numerous photos of these pro-government demonstrations in early May 1975. Seen below are banners like 'Overthrow Kim Il-sung,' 'Smash the communist party,' and 'Defend Seoul to the death.'

A "massive rally" held in Yeongdeungpo, Korea Herald, May 8, 1975.

Rally by entertainers, "including comedians,"Korea Herald, May 6, 1975.

From the Korea Herald, May 7, 1975.

A rally by the Construction Association of Korea, Korea Herald, May 10, 1975.

Korea University rally, Korea Herald, May 10, 1975.

The rally of 1.4 million citizens in Yeouido, Korea Herald, May 11, 1975.

Beyond digging through contemporary Korea Times and Korea Herald articles (along with some Korean language newspapers and various wiki articles used to find exact dates), I also consulted Letters from South Korea, which covers the resistance against Park Chung-hee from 1973 to mid-1975, and Paul Y. Chang's Protest Dialectics State Repression and South Korea's Democracy Movement, 1970-1979.

Letters from South Korea is well worth reading, as it goes into great detail about the price paid by those who spoke out - and their families. It puts a human face on the suffering caused by the dictatorship, and all as it was ongoing. Various volumes were produced; the first two can be read and downloaded at Archive.org: Volume 1 ; Volume 2. Other editions were reprinted in Pyongyang and may be edited. A search here turns up various volumes.

Another interesting story I had to leave out, regarding this paragraph:

Its most audacious act was kidnapping Kim Dae-jung from a Tokyo hotel with the intent of throwing him from a boat into the East Sea — a fate averted by the U.S. State Department condemning the kidnapping as an “act of terrorism” and U.S. Ambassador Philip Habib offering the Park regime the face-saving understanding that a “rogue KCIA faction” had carried out the abduction.

What is left out is the story of the man at the State Department’s Korea Desk who issued the statement calling the kidnapping an “act of terrorism” – Donald Ranard, who had been the political officer at the US Embassy in Seoul during Park Chung-hee’s 1961 coup. While the CIA and USFK learned about the coup beforehand (and warned the ROK Army commander), the embassy was completely surprised by it. After trying but failing to undo the coup, charge d'affaires Marshal Green (there was no ambassador at the time) somehow came out of the incident unscathed, but the State Department wanted to punish someone at the embassy for having been so out of touch, so Ranard was chosen as the fall guy, and his career never really prospered after this. And so it was that he was at the Korea Desk in Washington in 1973 when Kim was kidnapped from Tokyo, and apparently Ranard issued the statement, with its unprecedented criticism of the ROK, without sanction from his superiors. One imagines this gave him some satisfaction. (More about that episode can be found here and here, but the 'scatological' bit contradicts Donald Gregg's memoir, Pot Shards, and since Gregg was there, and because his assertion that Habib quietly made clear that the US would accept a face-saving explanation of 'rogue KCIA elements' if Kim were set free makes more sense, I find his account more likely.)

I'm also reminded that Philip Habib sent a cable to the State Department in March 1973 about newspaper cartoons. This came just months after the advent of the Yusin constitution, and according to Habib they were about the only public source of criticism, mild as it was, of government policy at that time. Habib's cable, which was part of a collection of such cables at the National Assembly Library website, can be read here.

Lastly, here is the 'tour de force' mentioned in my article - an appeal made by the Save the Nation Society in the Korea Times on May 11, 1975:

FOR OUR FATHERLAND AT STAKE

An Appeal to the People

May 10, 1975

Our nation is at present experiencing a grave situation. In the light of the of the unconditional surrender to the Communists of Cambodia and South Vietnam, the changing shape of international power politics, and the confrontation, complications and antagonism in our political society caused by the personal dissatisfaction, obstinacy and self-righteousness of some people, we are now in a juncture where unless we are awakened and united, the state as well as individual cannot survive any more.

World history well shows that weak nations, if they are not alert, are unwittingly deprived of their territory and sovereignty by the power politics of big nations. The already-devastated Indochinese situation is a good lesson to us and it should by no means be regarded as a mere fire across the river.

Kim Il-sung of the north Korean Communist clique, all out to invade us again, forgetting the national tragedy of the Korean War which started on June 25 1950, visited Peking to conspire and decide on a strategy to communize by force the whole of the peninsula. We, who experienced the bloody tragedy of war in 1950, cannot but worry about the maneuvers of north Korea as he is unleashing remarks and activities to fan war provocations.

We, who have lived in this beautiful land for about 5.000 years since the foundation of the nation by Tangun, have just come to the door of prosperity. But due to the ominous situation in and out of the nation, we are now compelled to make a wise and courageous decision as to what to do and how to behave ourselves to cope with this unprecedentedly difficult period.

At this time of making an important decision, we should take as a yardstick for our behavior the wisdom our forefathers have shown in time of national crisis.

1. Our forefathers during the Silla Dynasty achieved unification of three kingdoms on this peninsula through honest cultivation of national unity, wisely overcoming ceaseless threats and invasions from the Sui and Tang dynasties and Japan.

2. During the Koryo period, our ancestors continued to lay deep the foundation of the kingdom unified by the Silla Dynasty despite continuous invasions from the tribes on the northern border near Manchuria from the outset of the dynasty. But it well managed to repel all the invasions and threats and successfully maintained national sovereignty. And the Koryo Dynasty was wise enough to train 300,000 reserves called "Kwanggun" to crush any outside aggression in order to maintain national identity and sovereignty. Thanks to the establishment of the "Kwanggun" Army and self-defense spirit, the Koryo kingdom successfully kept its sovereignty from the aggression from the north including the invasion by the Mongols for more than 40 years during the 13th century. One thing we should not forget about the Koryo kingdom is that our ancestors despite the outside aggressions tenaciously cultivated the artistic sense to the extent of fashioning blue celadon, which widely commands acclaim even today for its exquisiteness. It was the Koryo Dynasty that produced the world-famous engravings of Buddhist scriptures on 80,000 wood blocks and invented metal printing type for the first time in world history.

3. But in the Yi Dynasty period, our ancestors were regrettably not so wise at the time of invasions from China and Japan as were their forefathers during the Koryo and Silla Dynasties. In restrospect, the Invasion by Japan during the 15th century was the work of Hideyoshi Toyotomi of Japan. But we had better criticize ourselves before blaming the Japanese general. The Invasion in part can be blamed on diehard factionalism during the reign of King Sonjo For instance, two emissaries were sent to Japan on the sly to glean information as to whether Japan was preparing an attack against the Yi Kingdom. One of them made a correct report saying that Hideyoshi was preparing to attack but the other made quite contradictory report Just to trap his opponent as he was from a different faction.

Such factionalism led to the disintegration of national unity and at last incurred a situation luring Japanese invasion rather than preventing it. At last the invasion occurred as we were not prepared against it and left the beautiful land devastated during the seven-year invasion,

Even after the invasion, our forefathers were not wise enough to build up national strength on the basis of firm national consensus, after making self-criticism. Regrettably, they continued to be bogged down in factional strife, irrespective of what was happening in China. This at last invited attacks from China.

The afore-mentioned historical facts well show what should be done for the buildup of national strength and what should be avoided, like a mirror. In the face of national trials before us now, it is evident what we should do and what we should avoid. Therefore, after learning historical lessons from our history, we should again follow wise and courageous determination to safeguard the national sovereignty and prosperity.

Firstly, as shown in the special statement by President Park Chung-hee on April 29, north Korea has been busy with reckless war preparations, designating this year as being most favorable to invade south Korea. This year coincides with the 30th anniversary of liberation from Japanese colonial rule. Therefore, we should first of all fortify our total security posture further on the basis of national unity irrespective of wealth and classes. Before this sublime goal, any factors no matter how small in number and weak in force should be resolutely eradicated if they are inimical to total security. This is because creatures like fleas on lions are likely to weaken the foundation of national power only to the advantage of the enemy.

Secondly, as a total security system is impossible without firm economic support, we should exert increased efforts for more production. And we should refrain from pursuing egoistic personal interests, an easy-going spirit, and whatever luxuries,

Thirdly, what the enemy hopes most is to win victory against us without a fight by causing the nation to split, availing itself of all means. Therefore we should achieve firm unity in consensus. Regrettably, there are some politicians, intellectuals and religious persons tending to disintegrate the national consensus and causing agitation about freedom, human rights, and democracy as if they were their personal belongings.

Such activities should be avoided and that immediately for the nation, which is in a virtual war situation against north Korea. It should be borne deep in mind that the brilliant culture of Rome and Greece collapsed because limitless freedom comparable to license and claims for democracy and human rights on the basis of individualism flourished wildly.

Fourthly, we should sublimate our spirits and concentrate them on winning victory against the Communists after suspending political strife, ideological debate and factional strife in religious circles in order to achieve the urgently-needed national consensus.

The outcry by some politicians, who are blind with greed for power, calling for a replacement of our embattled general cannot be taken for granted no matter how limitlessly freedom of speech is reserved for them. Politicians should refrain from uttering such reckless words as they would only result in advantages for Kim Il-sung.

Fifthly, everyone should be prudent in their words and deeds to prevent the nation from being split and to highly fortify the spirit of victory over communism. And all kinds of practices affected by vague flunkyism and just for criticism of others for criticism's sake should also be abandoned,

All of the nation should faithfully carry out their duties. And students, as main force to shoulder the fate of the nation in the near future, should be first of all concerned with their prime mission of study. More than that, they should cultivate their potentialities by arming themselves with knowledge and study ways and means of defeating Communists every time they encounter, learning the scheme and power of north Korea.

Lastly, what we should know is the stark fact that our nation excels north Korea by far in every held. On the top of it, there is no change in the policy of our friendly allies including the United States toward Korea. Therefore, it is up to the cараbility of our nation to decide on our own destiny on the basis of its own strength whether we would survive or not.

As our Adm. Yi Sun-shin earlier stated, we will invariably win if we fight with the determination to die but will surely be defeated if we fight cowardly to live. Since our nation is armed with undying courage and patience, victory is always on our side if we fight tenaciously in firm unity.

Interview with Hahn Dae Soo

noreply@blogger.com (matt) — Mon, 04 Nov 2024 00:15:00 +0000

For my latest Korea Times article, I interviewed Hahn Dae Soo and looked back at his life and career and his reflections on recent losses in his life, including the sudden passing of his wife. I’m honoured he reached out to me for what is his first long-form interview in four years.

Korean folk-rock pioneer Hahn Dae-soo reflects on sorrow, loss and friendship at 76

Not everything could be included in the final, published interview, so here is much of what was left out:

In response to me asking if he’d ever met Kim Jung-ho (1952-1985), he answered:

I love Kim Jung-ho. He’s my favorite. Very sincere and very sad and also, he was very sick and tragedy was big part of his life. I was glad that he included my song, “land of happiness” in his monumental first album. No, he did not get my permission, haha. But I am glad he sang my song before he passed away. I never met him, because I was in the navy when he was active in music scene at the time. I truly wish that I had met him and had a dish of makgeolli.

As for his favorite music, he wrote,

The only time I cry is when I listen to music. Johan Sebastian Bach made me cry with “Passacaglia And Fugue,” Wagner made me cry with his overtures, especially “Tannhauser,” and of course, my main man, Beethoven, every symphony and every concerto, and the Fifth and the last, the Ninth. Rock wise, I would have to say, I love John Lennon - every song is a therapy session. 1. Nowhere Man 2. Mother 3. Watching The Wheels 4. Woman 5. Imagine 6. Jealous Guy 7. Losing You

His favorite film directors and writers?

I love directors Stanley Kubrick, Fassbinder, Kurosawa, Coppola, many, many more. For writers, Shelly, Edgar Ellen Poe, Jack Kerouac, Samuel Beckett and my favorite, Oscar Wilde.

What was his most memorable performance?

I would say “Fukuoka live” and “Hahn Dae Soo rebirth at L/G Arts Center”. These had really great responses and the band, the promotion staff, and sound engineers were perfect. At Fukuoka, Kim Do-kyun and Hachi were double lead guitarists, and Lee Woo-chang was the pianist, and Lee Sang-eun was my chorus (she volunteered and flew over to Japan on one day’s notice).

At the L/G concert, we had a number called, “4G” meaning 4 lead guitarists. Kim Do-kyun, Sohn Moo-hyun, Shin Dae-chul and Kim Mok-kyung. They all did the lead guitar parts on my song, “If you want me to,” and I myself was so moved that I cried during my singing. It was a song to urge the woman to love me, if she wants to, and the four guitarists just cried out their desire and emotions with their incredible guitar solos. Wow, the audience went wild, because they have never understood the power of Jimi Hendrix, Eric Clapton, Jeff Beck or Steve Vai (whom I performed with at the Busan International Rock Festival 20 years ago).

He also listed the top five concerts he ever attended:

5. David Bowie’s Heroes tour at Madison Square Garden, around 1980? Great performance and fashion. He had the crowd so enthralled that I thought the garden was going to crash, as the mezzanine was swaying too much and I had to push my wife out the door, afraid that the whole concert hall was going to collapse. Great show and really his career climax.

4. Iggy Pop at Long Beach, California. His voice and the band just were so powerful and loud, I lost my hearing for two days. Iggy is craaazy, just completely out of control and this was what the fans want, a rock star gone berserk. Peanut butter all over his body, sticking violin bow between his legs. Leaping into the crowd and the fans lifting him up like a godly crusader. But, never mind the antics, as a musician myself, I adore his incredible, powerful baritone voice. Really great voice. And the band was just “kick ass.” That is why he is a great rocker!

3. Jean Michel Jarre at Radio City Music Hall, New York City, 2017. Mesmerizing, full synthesizer sound with digital light show, spectacular. Unlike other rock shows, he was introducing a whole new world of synthesizer sound that can rock you, almost as good as Jimi Hendrix! Wow!

2. Paul Butterfield Blues Band at Cafe Au Go Go in New York City in 1967. It was mesmerizing. My very first blues concert, and Paul with his harmonica just blew my mind. To add to that, Mike Bloomfield's guitar was so dramatic and sad. The whole show was top notch. Paul became the first and most important white blues artist. He paved the way for Allman Bros, Eric Clapton, etc. I become nostalgic, when I think of Paul and Mike. They died early. Paul at 44 and Mike at 37. Too young, so very young.

1. Tina Turner at Radio City Music Hall, New York City. She was powerful, she was crazy, and she was hypnotic!!! When she first stepped on the stage in high heels and a mini skirt and belted out “Proud Mary,” that was it! The crowd went wild. She suffered a lot from the abuses of her late husband, Ike, with beatings and not even giving her the fair share of their income, when she was the only singer. She came back to the rock and roll kingdom with vengeance. I consider Tina Turner as the ultimate rocker. God bless you, Tina.

Two of the worst concerts I have ever seen in my life:

2. King Crimson Town Hall, New York City, around 1989. I was a die-hard King Crimson fan, and loved their albums, but the singer, Adrian Belew, was a real poser with no substance. The leader, Robert Fripp, was sitting on his chair like a professor, with no emotion. It was the boringest one and a half hours I have ever experienced.

1. The worst concert I have ever seen was Bob Dylan at Jones Beach around 1997. This guy was not singing but teasing us. He did not remember his lyrics and he was off tune most of the time, while the band tried so hard to keep it up. What an ass. The many hits he has, he was mocking them. You could not recognize which hit he was singing, until you found a little piece of a refrain. Terrible, Mr. Dylan. You only love your money and you think you are a legend. He took the money and ran back to Malibu.

When rock music and go-go dancing first appeared on Korean TV

noreply@blogger.com (matt) — Sun, 07 Jul 2024 03:34:00 +0000

For my latest Korea Times article, I drew on something I only briefly mentioned in my previous article on Larry Tressler’s time singing with the Devils in 1969 and 1970: his experience getting booked for, and performing on, the first episode of MBC’s youth-oriented music show ‘젊은 리듬’ (Young Rhythm, November 1969 – March 1970). With his memories and photos, as well as a few other photos published by 주간여성 (Weekly Woman) magazine, which the Korea Times / Hankook Ilbo have rights to, and a handful or two of articles about the show (and its competitor, TBC’s “1,2,3, Go”) in newspapers and magazines, I was able to tell the story of the first shows to bring a large number of bands that performed for the US Eighth Army Stage into Korean homes – at least until the authorities stepped in.

Here's a shot of the 200th episode of TBC's Show Show Show being commemorated on the cover of the Weekly Joongang (the Joongang Ilbo was affiliated with TBC - and, of course, Samsung - at this time). Kim Sang-hee is in the blue dress, and next to her in the center is, I'm quite certain, Lee Mi-ja.

Larry Tressler provided me with these two shots of the Devils performing on MBC's 'Young Rhythm's first episode on November 21, 1969:

Also shared on his Devils Facebook Page is this photo, which shows Kim Sang-hee, the host, and the band performing on the second stage in the studio.

The February 25, 1970, Weekly Kyunghyang profiled "Young Rhythm" PD Lee Jae-hwi, MBC’s youngest producer.

The Maeil Gyeongje, February 25, 1970 article that castigated "Young Rhythm" and "1, 2, 3, Go" featured this photo of the teen group Top Steps performing on one of the shows. (They were reported in late 1969 to have a contract to perform in Las Vegas (the holy grail for Eighth Army Stage bands), but by June 1970 they were back performing in Seoul, so it's not clear what happened there. They would later, by 1972, be performing as the Seoul Family (no apparent relation to the 1980s group of the same name).

The only color photos I've seen of Top Steps were in the December 24,1969 issue of Weekly Woman:

The March 11, 1970 issue of Weekly Woman featured a shot of one of the programs (perhaps "1, 2, 3, Go" since the stage looks quite different than the "Young Rhythm" photos Larry Tressler took.

There aren't many photos in the media of these shows - in fact, only two - so it was lucky that Weekly Woman, which the Korea Times has rights to, published one of them, and of course, that Larry Tressler took and shared photos of the first episode of "Young Rhythm."

I also made mention of the Seoul American High School go-go dance troupe The Rhythms, and I hope to publish something about them at some point, since I'm in contact with some of their members.

Go-go club designers and Fellini actress at the Chosun Hotel in 1970

noreply@blogger.com (matt) — Sat, 01 Jun 2024 18:36:00 +0000

For my latest Korea Times article I look at some interesting people who stayed at the Chosun Hotel in 1970. This grew out of a previous article (or two) about Tomorrow, the go-go club (or discotheque) in the hotel’s basement that was opened as Seoul’s swankiest club in 1971. In the last article, I mentioned Joe Policy, a man named in a full-page ad for the club taken out in the Korea Times, as the force behind the club’s creation, but was never able to find him. Months ago I was contacted by his daughter. Success! Except she wrote to tell me her father had died recently. She did, however, put me in contact with her mother, Carole, who shared both stories from that time and photos of the club once construction was complete. This wasn’t enough to account for another article, I thought, until I remembered Anita Ekberg, who had starred in the Federico Fellini film La Dolce Vita, as well as a less well-remembered film shot in Korea in the fall of 1970, ‘Northeast of Seoul.’ Alan Heyman shared memories of Ekberg (and her time at the Chosun Hotel) at a Royal Asiatic Society lecture by Jacco Zwetsloot back in 2011, so when former Korea Art Club leader Cornie Choy told me about meeting her in the elevator at the hotel, I immediately knew why she was there. These memories, along with the fact that I’d found colour photos of her in the Hankook Ilbo / Korea Times-owned Weekly Woman magazine, suggested a focus on both her and the Policys.

More photos of Anita Ekberg in Korea, from Weekly Woman magazine, October 21, 1970.