Gyeongsan Cobalt Mine: Civilian Massacre Site

The Gyeongsan Cobalt Mine and massacre site is shrouded in a silenced history. Before going there, I had only heard of the infamous Nogunri massacre, the Cheju massacre and the Kwangju massacre. Actually I heard of the Kwangju massacre first because my first year in Korea back in 1991 was in Kwangju, so my fellow colleagues and I saw many demonstrations and battles between demonstrators and demonstration police fighting with stones, bricks taken from the sidewalks, and molatov cocktails. The year in Kwangju was an intense year of watching demonstrations and not fully understanding that, although the people were said to have democracy, they were still fighting for their democratic rights as citizens. The same seems to apply to many of the Korean War massacres. It seems that many times people spoke out against the ruling party and were permanently silenced along with a lot of other sympathizers and non-involved innocent people.

On October 17 and 18, I went to the Gyeongsan Cobalt Mine and learned for the first time of the massacre. I also learned that there was shockingly a total of 114 bereaved families associations in South Korea that are registered as having family members were who killed in civilian massacres, mostly at the onset of the Korean War. 114 civilian massacres! What an insanely high number, and these families are still waiting for government recognition so they can have legal assistance in expunging the "red" slurs attached to their murdered family member's name and by extension to their own names.

Choi Seung Ho, publisher and president of the Gyeongsan Sinmoon, met two International Strategy Center volunteers, James a young historian, and myself an anthropologist when we got to Gyeongsan and showed us the cobalt excavation site and then took us 1.5 kilometer distance to the mine and massacre site itself. He narrated the dark history to us. Choi had no family connections to the mine but back when he was a 20-year-old journalist he had been asking questions about the history of the Gyeongsan and then he learned that the rumors he had occasionally heard growing up were actually truth. He found out more, shocked that such a history could exist but not be discussed. Back then, because the topic was so politically sensitive, he had to be careful when he wrote about it or referenced it.

Not much could be said publicly about the mine, but in 2001 there was finally a war criminal tribunal in New York pertaining to the mine along with other massacres around Korea. Choi and a few others went. There, Ramsey Clark, human rights lawyer and former US Attorney General, admitted that the US was responsible for war time operations. In 2003 in Geneva the UN sub-committee on human rights requested an investigation on the Gyeongsan mine site. The Jamaican chair said if both North Korea and South Korea agreed to have an investigation, it could happen, but South Korea refused. In 2009, there was finally recognition by the government of the illegal killings. Compensation was to be allotted to each of the 120 bereaved families with each family receiving approximately 100,000,000won (1억), which is relatively little compensation for the years of being marginalized, disallowed to hold any civil servant positions and carrying the taint of "commy" at work, school, play or wherever. Yet, it is a beginning for healing and acceptance and restoring their murdered relative's name and their own. (The money has been promised but the families still have not received it.)

Remnant Japanese constructions 

Remnant Japanese construction from the cobalt extraction area.

Choi Seung Ho says that the task that now remains is to turn the cobalt mine and the excavation site 1.5 kilometers away into a type of peace park with a museum, which could be the venue of a human rights film festival, and an iconic place to give others in international atrocity sites hope. He said that the mine could be made into a historical site demarking Japanese colonialism, but there is already such a mine, and that mine is well-preserved and doesn't have connotations of a massacre.

The reason Choi Seung Ho was showing us the excavation site and mine is to reveal truth about a shamefully disguised past. He is a scholar, and a seeker of knowledge. He values truth and openness. In his quest for knowledge for himself, he also gives knowledge to others and for the past 20 years has dedicated himself to teaching night-school to locals. In a 2010 newspaper article in the 영남일보 위클리포유, he was reported to have already taught 500 people in night schools. That is dedication. He is dedicated to sharing the silent history of the mine also. "The last thing I can do for our children [future generations] is to give them their history, even if it is a shameful past,” he said. So before going to the mine itself, he gave us historical setting context to the mine massacre story by showing us the cobalt extraction site 1.5 kilometers away.

Choi and a number of local historians and a professor of anthropology showed us the excavation site with its large cement structure for sluicing the rock and floating out the cobalt. One large structure for sluicing water was also a random murder site back in 1985 or 1986. A man was murdered up on the low mountain where the sluice structures still exist, and the murderer, thinking to hide the victim's body, threw it in the sluice whereupon it rolled down to the bottom and was soon discovered by a local. Since that time, that mountain too has taken on connotations of murder and a vengeful ghost so few people ventured up the mountain afterwards.

Part of the sluicing system for water and materials separation.
Also the shaft that a murdered man was thrown down in 1985 or 1986.

The other end of the slicing shaft ... and where the murdered man tumbled and was easily found by a local.

The Gyeongsan Cobalt Mine

The mine is kept locked to prevent kids looking for ghosts out and to preserve the evidence still within. The only people who have keys are Choi and the bereaved families.

At some point in history, the entrance we entered was sealed off with cement, and the mine with its spring of water became a reservoir for water (which I honestly don't want to imagine as the water would be very contaminated by the thousands of dead bodies within). In 2001 the blockage was blasted open. Bones that had been disturbed by the flow of water were lying everywhere, and even today there are pieces of wood washed up in areas, and if someone looks closely, bones will be seen washed up under them. The further we went into the cave, the more yellow and oily the mud became. The oily discoloration is adipose which is still decomposing 65 years later because of the coolness of the mine. The largest number of bones recovered were 150 meters into the mine and directly under the shaft, which had been dynamited closed to obscure evidence.

So far, about 400 people have been accounted for as represented by 800 femurs located. The femur is the hardest bone in the body and therefore disintegrates more slowly than other bones; therefore, counting femurs is the measurement for the body toll accounted for.

The humanitarian and right thing to do is to excavate them and give them a proper send-off to quiet their restless spirits. Burying ancestors within three days upon death is the proper Confucian practice as the ancestors properly buried and given filial respects will look favorably on their descendants and "watch over them" in the unseen role as guardian between the real and the spirit world. The bereaved families have never buried their restless dead who died shameful and ignominious deaths; therefore, the families are also disturbed too by the unrest of their ancestors and want to provide closure to this fruitless time of wandering. However, without money to excavate the bodies and give final respects, the restless spirits and families by extension remain uneasy and disrupted. Although the excavated 400 or so people's remains could be buried, bereaved families don't know if their family member is among the excavated and therefore the local families demand that all of the remains be excavated first and then buried with recognition, recognition that is by the government.

There is no recognition and the funding established by Roo Moo-hyun, the last liberal president, was cut off by President Lee Myung-bak. Choi explained that the Lee Myung-bak and present Lee Guen-hye governments have roots in Japanese colonialism as the police officers, ministers, land owners, politicians were educated in the Japanese occupation period and when the new government was established after the expulsion of the Japanese, these educated and connected people were set in power by the American government which had a kind of military rule from 1945-1948. It is the descendants of these educated people who now are in government office.

Choi Seung Ho explaining the history of the mine and why there are so many bags of dirt inside ... basically, with no funds for further excavation, they must keep the mud until excavation can continue and the mud can be sifted through for teeth, bone fragments and other telling pieces of evidence. 

Sandbags of earth waiting to be sifted through and analyzed. 

A natural underground spring keeps the mine muddy and has effectively over time buried the victims' bodies. The mud is not naturally oily and yellow; that is the adipose that has yet to decompose, even 65 years since the massacre happened.

A Box of Bones

To raise awareness about the silence surrounding the cobalt mine and massacre there, Choi took a box of bones to the Kwangju Biennale 2015. People were shocked that the bones would be displayed and shocked that such a history unspoken about existed in South Korea. They wanted to know why the bones hadn't yet been buried, but Choi explained that families want to know that their dead and dishonored family member is peacefully buried and that can only happen if all persons involved are buried and that the government recognizes this burial.

He explained the dynamics of the illegal killings. The people killed in the massacre site were killed without trial. The majority (about 2,500) were political prisoners who had been detained, but prisons were overflowing with political prisoners, and it was feared if the political prisoners were freed, they would join the forces of the North, so they were illegally brought to the mine and killed. Among these "political prisoners" were people who had fed or clothed someone considered to be a "red". Others were thrown in the middle by just being in the wrong place at the right time, or just by innocent association.

The "red scare" was prevalent and stigmatizing to those labeled. Families who had a member who was killed in the massacre were determined to be "guilty by association" and were tainted with "red" labeling, resulting in being watched. Therefore, they were not allowed to travel overseas. They could not hold any kind of government office, which means they could not be civil servants, about the only job an educated person could have back in the developing years of Korea's economic growth, the 1950's, 60s, 70s, and 80s certainly. As a result, parents did not tell their children about relatives that had been killed. Neighbors could not know. The topic became one of silence as families took action for self-preservation. People were imprisoned or disappeared for speaking against the government in the 1960s so silence was the preferable option.

The excavated bones, however, are a screaming testimony to atrocities of the past. Near the mine is a trailer that contains several boxes of bones. Most of the excavated bones, however, are refrigerated at Chungbuk University in order to preserve them for testimony. Choi showed us a box of femurs, another of ribs, and other boxes with carefully separated bones, a skull with a bullet-hole over the right ear opening, another smashed by a hammer, teeth with gold fillings, and the odd leather shoes. Some bones were white, others had been blackened with flame-throwers which were used to incinerate the victims before throwing them down the mine shaft. Perpetrators initially shot the victims before dropping them into the mine, but forensic evidence suggests that when the perpetrators ran out of bullets, they started beating the victims before pushing the bodies into the shaft. Some of these victims were people who

• belonged to social movements
• opposed the ruling government
• demanded redistribution of land after Japanese occupation
• demanded compensation for barley that the US had confiscated

Local rumor has it that three people survived the 60-70 meter drop. One person is said to have survived the drop but starved subsequently. Another man is reported to have escaped the mine but only to be recaptured, while the third is said to have escaped the mine and run away.

Meeting 4 Members of the Bereaved Families 

The Gyeongsan Cobalt Mine Bereaved Families Association was established after the Korean War, but in the Park Chung-hee era, the association was eradicated. It was started again in 2000 under the presidency of the liberal Kim Dae-jung, when many other bereaved families associations registered also. In total there are 114 bereaved families associations representing Korean War civilian massacre sites. Wikipedia, like the Korean government, is very silent about massacre sites in the country; Wikipedia cites 18 of the reported 114 sites. A strange silence on a very ignominious past.

Lee Jeong Woo, President of the Legal Body

To give background, in July and August 1950 soldiers and police who were part of the National Guidance League killed about 3500 people. So far 500 have been excavated, but many more are in water and mud, but it's painful that we can't excavate the remains. Our original Bereaved Families Association started out in 2000 with 160 families [now there are 120 but some families have passed away and others have removed their names from the association], so we've had about 16 years of activism. The ROK is democratic but nonetheless there's no support; we would like the government to support us. We receive help from a civil society group, a farmers association here in Gyeongsan, and from the newspaper, but we need more and we need more public awareness. 

I was 8, in 2nd grade of elementary school when father was killed. Father was head of the fire-fighters. Life was difficult. We farmed a little, but eventually had to sell the land. After graduating from elementary school, we moved to Daegu and lived in a one-room: my 3 siblings, myself and my mom. After finishing the military service, I took a test to become a military servant and passed at the 4th level. I worked 3 years and wanted to move up to the next level, but every three years there is a background check, and my background check revealed that my father was "killed in a strange way" and that father had been a political prisoner. The office mood became so bad toward me that I was forced to resign after only working as a military servant for three years. I got a job at a regular company and worked there until I retired. 

One of my nephews also had difficulties when he wanted to study abroad. However, his family record showed that my father (the nephew's great uncle) had a political prisoner record, and therefore, he was disallowed to go abroad. I went to the police station, talked with police and pleaded with them. I bought them lunch, and the nephew was allowed to go. Guilt by association was hard.

Kim Kab Soon, on the Board of Directors

When our Bereaved Families Association started in 2000, 114 other bereaved families associations started at the same time. The bereaved families have succeeded in getting reparations in the lower courts, but now the proceedings need to be passed in the Supreme Court. Through government oppression, many of the bereaved families didn't come forward. When others tried to find the cobalt mine bereaved families, people were afraid to come forward because in the past there had always been oppression and guilt by association, so who was to say that if people registered, they wouldn't later be labeled as guilty again. 

Na Jeong Tae, Vice-president

Kim Kab Soon and Na Jeong Tae

The thing that is restricting bereaved families is guilt by association. Supposedly in 1983 when Chun Doo-hwan was grabbed by the knees by a woman who pleaded with him, Chun didn't know what guilt by association was and asked his advisors. When he heard the explanation for the first time he said, "Well, get rid of it!" What he said was publicized but the law was not changed and still exists today.

Kim Kab Soon, on the Board of Directors

Legally it still exists, but it is not put into practice. Now a person can take an exam and, without a background check, the person can become a civil servant. Also before, when becoming a civil servant, a person had to have a background check as well as sign a document about one's political stance. These two things were required before getting a position like a public servant, before being an employee at a large company, or to work at most large companies, chaebols in those days. One also had to submit a document of assets because the government could confiscate those properties if a person was seen politically going against the government. 

I was 13, the oldest son, when my father disappeared. I had two younger sisters. My father was a railroad public servant [basically a union member]. When the [Korean] war broke out, father was apprehended (snatched) and mother went around looking for him... Mother was a seamstress, and I helped. On the way home from school, I picked up sewing for Mother, and the next day on the way to school I delivered the sewing. Mother worked so hard but she had to eat. While she ate, I would be at the sewing machine sewing. Eventually, I took the exam and was allowed to work as a 5th ranking public servant. I retired and immediately joined the bereaved families. I had to retire first before speaking out. Even though there was a background check every three years, records didn't show about my father. If I had been found out as a bereaved family member, I could have lost my job.

On Young Sook, bereaved family member

I was 4. My father had just become a pharmacist. That was a very good position. But he was killed and we had nothing. If he had been a farmer when he died, we would have had land to live off of. It was hard. My brother, born in 1949, was barely born, and live was hard for him. He did go to college and when he came out in 1980 he applied for a construction company, but the job required overseas travel which as a bereaved family member he was not allowed to do. There was one chance though. He needed two public servants of 3rd rank [pretty high] or higher to vouch for him. My mother ran around searching and begging for the signatures. As bereaved family members, the only choice the kids had was to sell stuff, be farmers, so what was the point of going to university if the kids couldn't be public servants? [no private companies at that time] So what was the point of studying? Eventually mother got the signatures, and he was able to take the job and do work overseas. My brother won't talk about the bereaved families. He knows I'm active but he doesn't want to know anything. He had a hard life growing up. 

Also, eventually I studied for a high school degree by myself. I couldn't go to university but I took online courses (at age 60!). My mother before she died was always nagging me about my courses but I wanted to study. I want to learn. I was married. My husband died young. I didn't tell him I was a bereaved family member when we got married. He found out, and asked me, "So what will happen to my job if people know?!" And afterwards whenever he got drunk, he would yell about people finding out and other bad things.

Na Jeong Tae, Vice-president

50 years had passed since the massacre before we were established in 2000 (as bereaved families). People knew about the massacre but didn't talk about it. Certain political dynamics prevented discussion. President Kim Dae-jung acknowledged the massacre at Nogunri and that started the discussion here. 200 families originally joined but there's a decline in the numbers, because old folks have passed away; others were scared because it was a "dangerous place for me" and feared repercussions. President Roh Mu-hyun in the Participatory Government helped a lot. In 2005 the government asked people to register as bereaved families [for all the civilian massacres sites]. Only about 10% came forward, but the government then said that there wasn't enough evidence to prove they were bereaved families. [about 10,000 bereaved families registered but only 8,000 were recognized by the government as being bereaved families. Na Jeong Tae and others believe that the 10,000 who registered is only 10% of the bereaved families and that the number is realistically closer to 1 million!] The problem with this is "Why is the government asking people to register rather than coming to us and saying (personably) there is a problem? Why do we have to go to the government ... and then prove we are bereaved families?"  

When the Korean War started, the bereaved families fought for recognition and on the side of what is South Korea now. Then when Park Chung-hee was president, the families were detained and questioned and not allowed to talk about the mine genocide. The reason why there is little hope now is the children can't talk about it and grandchildren don't know what happened. Parents don't want to tell their children, because of shame. They want their children to be free of shame and have good lives. We want the government to investigate how the victims were killed and how the victims had their human rights infringed upon. We want the civilians who were killed in the massacre to have restored reputations, and a press conference to be held to discuss the problem.  

Now the Bereaved Families Associations are petitioning the government to help the 1 million victims  of the Korean War. The petition, if containing 50,000 signatures and 10% of which are bereaved family members, will be opened at the National Assembly in April 2016. The petition already has 40,000 signatures, mostly obtained since the May 18 press conference on the topic of massacres. The petition appeals for the remains of massacre sites to be excavated, that a project to commemorate the victims (like in Kwangju) be made; the bereaved families want a direct apology from the government as well as the bereaved families registry to be reopened [people could only register during one year, 2000], and they also want the Truth and Reconciliation Commission for Korea be re-established and for bereaved families to again be recipients of funding. The petition, only in Korean, for those who wish to sign is here. 

Na Jeong Tae didn't say much about his life. He was in his 4th year of elementary school when his father was killed, and his education therefore ended. Life was very hard. His mother remarried [because what could a woman do at that time?] He was sent to a relative's house where he worked very hard. Now he does interior decorating, translating as menial labor in gutting and rebuilding the inside of houses or shops. His hard, rough hands are testimony to a life of rough physical labor. He said, "I live 'crying tears of blood'".

September 9 (lunar calendar) 

September 9 on the lunar calendar, or this year October 20 (Tuesday) on the solar calendar, is the day chosen for observing chaesa, ancestor bows and respects. Typically, the day for chaesa is on either the anniversary of the ancestor's death or on his or her birthday; however, with so many families involved in the communal grave, the date in some foggy time in the past was decided upon: lunar Sept 9. Unfortunately, even though our team of 4 were there on October 17 and 18 (solar), we just couldn't return in the middle of the week for the big ceremony of honor and respects to the dead. This is a very important ceremony as in Korea families are linked to their ancestors and respects are given, traditionally, to up to four ancestors immediately past but in the present-day to only parents and grandparents. The dead are thought to bridge the gap between the spirit world and the living world and therefore can influence the fate and blessings of the family. Ancestors properly buried, and especially in propitious sites, are believed to direct greater blessings on the descendants they watch over than those ancestors that are wandering from careless burials or unattended tombs. With family and family connections being so important in Korea, the day of chaesa is a ceremonial calendar day. No wonder the bereaved families seek to console the dead and properly bury them.

Two books written in Korean about the Gyeongsan Cobalt Mine Massacre. (2008)

Truth and Reconciliation Commission links:

Crimes, Concealment and South Korea's Truth and Reconciliation Commission
The Unknown Korean War: Truth and Reconciliation Commission of Korea and Excavation of the Remains of Mass-murdered Victims

Other related links:

UbuntuWorks: Reflecting Our Common Humanity: "Bury My Heart at Gyeongsan"
Accountability & Prevention: An Analysis of Civilian Killings in the Korean War
The Truth and Reconciliation Commission of the Korean War
Truth and Reconciliation: Activities of the Past Three Years
Looking Back while Moving Forward: The Evolution of Truth Commission is Korea
The NewYork Times - "Unearthing War's Horrors Years Later in South Korea"

Power of the People (1979)

This story which was told me by my father was about power of people before I was born. The story was about the June Democratic Uprising in 1987. At that time, my father was a salary person for a company in Jongno so he was able to directly see the process of the June Democratic Uprising and participate in a protest. He told me his story in a quiet tone.

In 1979, a military regime staged a coup d'état on December Twelfth after President Park Junghee was dead and by indirect election Jeon Doohan had been elected president of the Korean Republic. Emphatically, so many people wanted the retirement of Jeon Doohan and the withdrawal of the military regime but their demands were not accepted. Since the people’s demands were not listened to, there started so many pro-democracy demonstration parade which consisted of university students. The year of 1987 was the last year of the military regime, but this was an unknown fact at the time. In 1987, many people insisted on the revision of the constitution which meant to change for direct election and the withdrawal of the military regime. The government disagreed with their assertions and declared protection of the constitution.

In June 1987, many people were disappointed at and angry with the declaration of the government. In addition, the torture and death of Park Jongchul who had participated in the demonstration parade became known to the public. At first, government authorities announced that he had died from fright when investigator noisily hit a desk. No one believed in their announcement which made people angry and incited them to take part in demonstration parade insisting on the revision of the constitution and requiring the truth of Park's death.

Hundreds of students stage a demonstration after a ceremony to pay tribute to the late activist Park Jong-chul
(top-right photo) at Korea University in Seoul in January 1987 / Korea Times file - source and article

On June 10, people gathered in front of city hall and started the demonstration parade crying out their demands. Combat police, known as baekgoldan because of wearing white helmets and repressing demonstration parades cruelly, also gathered opposite the parade. Also the subway did not stop at the city hall station but passed by because the government was afraid of people’s power and more people congregating in order to protest and resist the decision of the government. In spite of unfair dealings to prevent the demonstration, people were gathering more and more. At six o’clock, all drivers on the road sounded the klaxon in each car, women shook their scarves and salary persons within buildings flew paper airplanes to support the demonstration parade and protest the protection of the constitution. Because of the huge number of gathered people and supporters, the police could not try to check the demonstration parade and could only watch the demonstrators. People put flowers into the gun-points of police and sang together while putting their arms around each other’s shoulders. My father was impressed by the sight, the people singing, the flying paper airplanes, and he joined the parade. The turnout was overwhelming and as a result, the government could not help but give up the protection of the constitution and made promises to revise the constitution for direct election.

After I heard that story about June Democratic Uprising, I was so moved and felt grateful to the senior generation fighting against the government for democratization of Korea. I am well aware of how we get the right for vote and political freedom, but to hear an account firsthand was to make me feel my privilege as a free voting citizen now. If a dictatorial government appears again and threatens our freedom and our rights, I will fight against it like my father and the senior generation. Now I know that what is right cannot exist for free.

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Comics on how the June Democratic Uprising started

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This essay written by my student Choi Jun-hwan is a cultural story that gave interesting detail to social behavior during the June Democratic Uprising of 1979. Sincere thanks to Choi Jun-hwan for his permission to print it here! My student also recommended the link on how the June Democratic Uprising started. The comic strip was drawn by Choi Kyuseok and uploaded on the Internet for free. It's filled with dialect and slang but presents a coherent overview of what led to the momentous uprising.

Kwangju Massacre and National Cemetery

My first year in Korea was spent in Kwangju, and of the six and sometimes seven teachers at my institute, the majority were females because, even though the Kwangju Massacre had taken place 11 years previous and the American government was heavily blamed, emotions were still hot, and those emotions were sometimes aggressively projected on white males, which for the most part in Korea at the time were either American or Canadian, but same-same, they were white. Kwangju also had an American air force at the time, but the American men were careful about going about the city, especially because they had short hair-cuts and wore uniforms. They could be targeted if the mood turned aggressive, a possibility when people are angry and feel like getting retribution.

As I remember it, Kwangju was filled with demonstrations, not against the American government but against their own. Even though Korea had become a democracy on paper in 1988 with the people's election of the president, in actuality, a country does not become a democracy overnight and so the people were demonstrating. Rock, bricks, molatov cocktails (gasoline in coke bottles and lit but carefully carried before being thrown at police and riot police) were pretty standard. Kwangju was the city known as a place of demonstrations, and on the anniversary of the 1980 massacre, my Canadian friend and I along with an older male student went to the national cemetery to see what was happening. A lot was happening but I didn't dare use my camera, so our male friend took my camera and got many shots, one was even a shot of the burning of an effigy of Uncle Sam. My Canadian friend and I just stood there, trying to fit into the setting. Sometimes people approached us, many stared, but though a small amount of tension was present, there was no aggression. Instead, the feeling we got was curiosity about us too, who we were and why were we there.

So today, after many many years I returned to Kwangju. I had been back a few times in the early years of being in Korea. On my returns I always felt a little displaced became right after I left, the new Kwangju Express Bus Terminal opened, but in an area far from the downtown area I knew. I used to live right beside the old City Hall, but that even was relocated too, to the new downtown area with widely spaced roads and complexes of tall, fat modern buildings.

Anyway, as our bus passed through various parts of Kwangju, I was eagerly looking around for landmarks, key places I had been, but I recognized ... NOTHING! The whole fabric of the city had changed. The central part of the city was no longer in the area I had been, so I spent an afternoon feeling very confused. And when we got to the National Cemetery for the May 18th Democratic Uprising, I felt even more confused because I clearly remembered my experience at the National Cemetery in 1992. Well, come to find out that a few short years after I had left Kwangju, this new cemetery for those connected with the uprising was completed and all bodies reinterred here.

National Cemetery for the May 18th Democratic Uprising

"In Memoriam" sign: Here in the National Cemetery for the May 18th Democratic Uprising lie the meritorious persons who fought and sacrificed themselves during the Gwangju Uprising of 1980 and those laudable victims who died in the aftermath of the physical or mental injuries they sustained. 

The bodies of the victims were carried in garbage trucks and carts and buried without official recognition in the Old May 18 Cemetery (the 3rd graveyard of the Municipal Cemetery). 

With the completion of a 3-year consecration project (1994-1997), all bodies were moved and reburied together in this new cemetery. In accordance with the Act on the Honorable Treatment for Meritorious Persons of the May 18th Uprising, this cemetery, which had been managed by the Gwangju Municipal Administration, was promoted and renamed as the National Cemetery for the May 18th Democratic Uprising on July 27, 2002 by the Korean state. 

This cemetery will function as an education center, promoting the conviction that injustice and dictatorship should never return to this country, so that the spirit of May 18th may be engraved in the hearts of all people making this a sacred place for democracy forever.

The Meaning of the May 18 Gwangju Democratic Uprising (sign)

The May 18 Gwangju Democratic Uprising was a civil uprising against a military dictatorship conspiring to seize political power illegally, in which citizens demanded a new democracy in Korea. It was an eruption of the people's strong desire to declare themselves as masters of their own history and to defend their rights. 

The May Gwangju Democratic Uprising provided the momentum for other democratic movements in Korea and confirmed that the people, once awakened, are the driving force in the development of a democratic society. The Uprising was a legitimate and just struggle against injustice and dictatorship. 

In addition, the May 18 Gwangju Democratic Uprising played an important role in unveiling the immorality of the military regime of the Fifth Republic. Furthermore, it was a decisive movement which eventually brought an end to the illegitimate political system and gave birth to a truly democratic government, when for the first time in its history a peaceful turnover of political power from the government party to an opposition party occurred in February 1998. 

The Gwangju Democratic Uprising will be remembered as a people's struggle, which not only inherited the tradition of independence, democracy and reunification that had manifested itself in just historical struggles for human rights, but also introduced a new indestructible determination for justice in the modern history of Korea. 

Chronology of the May 18 Gwangju Democratic Uprising (sign)

A Prelude to the May 18 Gwangju Democratic Uprising: May 17-18, 1980

24:00 May 17: Emergency martial law declared nationwide
01:00 May 18: Paratroopers dispatched throughout Gwangju
10:20 May 18: The first clash between students and paratroopers at the front gate of Chonnam National University.

Escalation of Demonstrations against the Government Troops: May 19-20, 1980

08:00 May 19: Martial Law Enforcement Headquarters arrested 549 leaders and participants in the uprising.
14:20 May 20: Regular citizens joined the demonstrations

The Rage of the People Explodes: May 21, 1980

11:20 May 21: Talks between Martial Law Forces and Citizen's Resolution Committee began
13:00 May 21: Talks broke down. Paratroopers fired indiscriminately into groups of unarmed citizens.
17:00 May 21: Paratroopers withdrew from Gwangju

Autonomous Citizen's Community, Gwangju: May 22-26, 1980

21:00 May 22: May 18 Resolution Committee began to maintain public order
09:35 May 23: Resolution Committee Headquarters established in the Provincial Hall and a Gwangju Citizen's Rally was held
22:00 May 25: Establishment of the uprising leadership

The Last Struggle: May 27, 1980

06:30 May 27: Martial Law Forces occupied the Provincial Hall. The May 18 Gwangju Democratic Uprising came to a bloody end as Martial Law Forces suppressed demonstrators.

Victims of the May 18 Gwangju Democratic Uprising & Its Present Condition

Victims: 4,493

Killed during the uprising: 165 (May 18~27, 1980)
Missing: 66
Arrested and wounded: 4,262
Unrelated: 5 

According to Wikipedia, the burial capacity of the cemetery is 784 and currently the cemetery contains 482 burials.

Establishment of the May 18 Cemetery

May 13, 1993: The May 13th Special Presidential Declaration
Nov 26, 1993: The location of the cemetery chosen
Nov 1, 1994: Construction work begins
May 4, 1997: Re-interment of victims
May 13, 1997: Completion of cemetery
July 27, 2002: Recognized as a National Cemetery

The May 18th Memorial Monument, 40 meters in height, is designed on the traditional flagpole (dangganjiju), a design perhaps to invoke the forever waving of a flag. The concept of this design expressed new life and survival with the "seed of hope" in the centermost position. Overall, the ovular sculpture represents "resurrection". 

The typical altar and incense in front of a grave.
In this cemetery the prayer are for all. White chrysanthemums, the flower signifying death and mourning,
can be placed on the altar also.

picture by Witold Zukowski

Every grave is marked, the front of the tombstone tells the name of the person, the sides and back tell some of his/her biography, family and perhaps the role he/she had in the uprising.

Here lies a grave to an unidentified body. The picture of the mugumghwa, the national flower, is used instead of the person's face. No name, therefore no family connections, sometimes no known role in the uprising. A very sad tomb. A friend's sister never came home. Perhaps she is one of the unnamed, unidentified.

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May 18, 1980: An eyewitness account of the Gwangju Massacre
Published in the Korean Observer, May 19, 2015, by Kristen Alice

It was May of 1980, and Na Byung-un didn’t realize that he was about to become a part of history. Working at a Billiards hall in Gwangju, and attending nighttime classes to prepare for a university entrance exam, he’d become acutely aware of the creeping increase in government control over the past several years.

At that time, “the dictatorship was the worst,” he remembers with a forlorn look in his eyes. Na was a survivor of one of the most brutal incidents in modern South Korean history: The Gwangju Democratic Uprising, also known as the Gwangju Massacre.

Strolling along the glittering streets of almost any major city center, it is easy to forget that in a not-so-distant past, South Korea was a desperately poor country under a dictatorial military regime.

Before the gleaming rows of cafes serving up 6,000 won ($5.5) fancy lattes, fields of rice stretched as far as the eye could see; before flashy K-Pop concerts, there were military juntas and martial law.

In those days, South Korea’s GDP per capita was just under $4,000 per person, or less than one-sixth than that of the United States, according to World Bank data. As a country with few natural resources recovered from Japanese colonization, it struggled to find its footing politically, economically, and socially. This was especially true in Gwangju, a city nestled in the one of the poorest regions of South Korea, agricultural South Jeolla Province.

Na Byung-un

“People were very, very poor, and they led miserable lives.” Na recalls. “They didn’t even have one dollar.”

In addition to poverty, a thick fog of fear had descended upon the peninsula. In a country where speaking out against the government could land you in prison, few people dared disturb the peace.

According to Na, there was a rumor that those who criticized the government would be kidnapped and murdered in secret. For many, freedom was the only thing they had left, a precious commodity not to be risked without very good reason.

In October of 1979, dictator Park Chung-hee was assassinated, and the Korean people harbored a faint glimmer of hope that it would signify a new era of democracy. However, that hope was short-lived, as a military coup, led by Chun Doo-hwan, seized control.

One of the priorities of this new regime was to stamp out any emerging signs of dissidence, and keep Korea clenched tightly in the military’s iron grip.

Na recounts, “People had been uprising and protesting against dictatorship continuously under Park Chung-hee and Chun Doo-hwan. They put innocent people into prison and oppressed the masses by force of arms. So people all rose up. It was the uprising of the public.”

On May 18, 1980, martial law was expanded throughout South Korea. Universities were shut down and political speech banned. Protests began breaking out around the country.

Approximately 50 students, who were blocked from entering the Chonnam National University campus, began protesting. In response, paratroopers were dispatched, and began violently beating the student protesters.

Some protesters responded by wielding sticks and throwing rocks to defend themselves from the excessive force. The military shot back by assaulting men, women, and children, regardless of age, whether they were protesting or not.

Over the next few days, the protests grew exponentially. Taxi drivers formed a brigade and drove to the Provincial Office, where they blocked the military from assaulting citizens, and transported injured people to hospitals. Some drivers were pulled from their cars and beaten or killed.

“All Gwangju citizens were involved in the protests, because all of us were together as one. Everyone thought we had to stand against injustice,” says Na. “Even the police were on our side. They changed into normal clothes at night and joined us.”

The government’s response grew even more violent and oppressive. Transportation and communication in and out of Gwangju were cut off, effectively isolating the city from the rest of the country.

The government labeled Gwangju residents as Communists and North Korea sympathizers, and referred to the pro-democracy marches as riots. Citizens were trapped inside the city, and military blockades prevented civilians from getting in or out.

Residents of other regions of South Korea had no idea what was going on in Gwangju. On May 21, protesters took over the Provincial Office, and the military opened fire on civilians.

Na himself was attacked by airborne troops while he was working on the second floor of the billiards hall. He was bashed repeatedly with a baton, and dragged to the ground floor, where soldiers tried to load him into a military truck.

However, while the troops were trying to force him inside, some students began angrily throwing stones at them. Distracted, they began chasing the students. At that moment, Na recalls, “Some people appeared and helped to pass me over a wall, where the troops couldn’t see me. Some women protected me. That is why I am now alive.”

The protests continued daily in Gwangju, and spread to surrounding cities, including Mokpo, Naju, Hwasun, and Haenam until May 27. In the early morning on that date, the military violently stormed the city, using tanks and helicopters to reclaim the Provincial Office.

According to the May 18 Memorial Foundation, during those ten days 154 people were killed, 74 went missing, and 4,141, including Na, were injured. Other sources, however, place the numbers even higher, and according to the UNESCO Memory of the World Register, 102 more people died later from their injuries.

Life never went back to normal for Na. He returned to his hometown of Naju, where he lived with his family and focused on his recovery. He quit school, instead deciding that he would make money to support his family. However, he knows that his involvement in this movement was not in vain.

“Because of Gwangju’s May 18 democratization movement, Korea became more democratic. It served as a momentum to bring justice to all in the world,” he noted.

Na believes that the government’s response to these protests was intended to spark feelings of regionalism, since a divided populace would be easier to control. He shares some final advice with us. “Regionalism,” he says, “is the center of corruption.”

He explained that regionalism must never happen in any country, because it makes life hard for everyone.

“The nation should watch the government, and the government should care for the nation. When the government does something wrong, people should criticize them,” Na points out.

30 Years Ago

On the subway heading downtown an elderly Bible preaching lady, Bible in hand, passed through our car, but unlike the majority of these lay-preachers who look directly at people and expound on the virtues of the Bible in stentorian tones, she monologued to herself up and down the car, eschewing her experiences on the beauty of the Bible, nodding to herself and exclaiming on her own comments. She was like an actress at final rehearsals - intense, impassioned, but seemingly unaware of her audience. She was phenomenal and I was cracking up at her range of sighs mixed with ululating tones. Enjoying the woman's presentation style so much, I realized people were getting some modicum of joy out of watching me watching her!

An arm's reach away a 60 or so year-old man finally asked in great English (another surpise!) if I understood. Haha, yes, I got the basic content but told him I was more interested in her unusual presentation and theatrics of "preaching". We talked a bit about the Bible workers, mostly women, who started moving around Korea as early as the late 1800s and he thought peaked in their ministrations in the 1920s. I wonder what the Japanese thought of the wanderings of these colonized people who were strictly registered under the 호적, the family or population census registry, and by registry were not permitted freedom of movement much beyond their villages, but he just shook his head.

Come to find out, he had lived in the US for 28 years, which surprised me as that would put him leaving Korea when it was under the very strict military government of President Jun Doo Hwan. His sister who had married a US soldier had extended an invitation to him, and that was how he got a visa during that restricted time, sometime near the infamous Kwangju Uprising (1980).

I asked him what had changed the most in the past 28 years since he had left, and his immediate response was the amount and demand for IT in Korea. [Well, that's too obvious, even since I first came here in March 1991.] When asked what had changed most about the people themselves, he talked about another ubiquitous theme of Korea, it's education. "The university students are ve-ry smart nowadays!! They know ma-ny things!!"

Back in 1991, I had met a Korean war bride who was just returning for the first time in 30 years since leaving so long before. I had asked her the same question, and her mind-boggling reply that "Now the people smile" was disturbing and reflected a time of hunger and suppression. Telling the man this, he agreed and said, "The students nowadays have no idea about hunger. They only study. We ate rice, but never just rice. It always had to be mixed with wheat." [I've read that millet, barley and beans were common rice bowl substitutes - check on this]. "We never saw meat ... well, we had it during the big holidays like 설날 (Lunar New Year's), 추석 (Harvest Festival/Thanksgiving) and at big festivities like weddings and important birthdays. Now the young people are BIG [gesturing 'fat' also with his hands and arms] and they eat a lot, and many kinds of foods. They eat meat every day and sometimes every meal. We didn't eat much ... it was a very bad time for us. The government made it very bad for us too. No, we didn't smile much. That really has changed."