The long fight for freedom
In a chamber buried beneath a park in the district of Sangmu is an enormous black marble plaque that bears the names of some of the 2,000 people killed during the Gwangju pro-democracy rebellion against Chun Doo-hwan’s military government in 1980.
Grey concrete walls and floors project a solemn atmosphere, as do the giant rock murals depicting significant events up the point when the army retook the city from the civil militias on 27 May of that year.
The uprising, which I’ve written about before, started with three days of fighting between the citizens of Gwangju and the army before Chun’s forces retreated, blocking off the city. Once reinforcements came from across the country, the army re-entered Gwangju and crushed the uprising in just 90 minutes.
Outside the memorial, on ground level, stands an enormous statue of two well-built men – not entirely in keeping with the physical appearance of Korean men 30 years ago – dragging an injured comrade away from danger.
Carved in white letters on the black marble is the name Park Gap-soo, one of two men sharing the same name. And it is because of the identical name that we learn something very interesting about one of these men.
The younger Park, born in 1953, celebrated his 27th birthday two weeks before the uprising. Given that the rebellion was started by students defying the nationwide closure of universities, it’s likely that most of those killed or injured were in the same 18-30 age profile.
The older Park was born in September 1894. Information is scarce online, especially in English, and everything I’ve read does not go into much detail about the casualties. But how did a man approaching his 90th birthday die in this uprising?
What we can do is look back on a life that has seen more turmoil and chaos, politically, than anyone born 100 years after him will ever experience.
Later this year, South Koreans will go to the polls to vote in a successor for President Lee Myung-bak after voted in their new government in spring. The older Park never saw much freedom or democracy in his country. Born into the Joseon Dynasty, he spent most of his early childhood living in the Great Korean Empire, the absolute monarchy under Emperors Gojong and Sunjong, which included land in modern-day North and South Korea, plus Russia and China.
In August 1910, Korea was annexed by Imperial Japan for 35 brutal years. Most forms of Korean culture were banned, and in classrooms across the peninsula, where once Park would have sat, the Japanese flag was planted above the board.
Following Japan’s defeat in World War II, Korea was divided across the 38th parallel and this partition was rubber-stamped following the 1950-53 Korean War. At this point, Park would have been 50 years old, and would have seen his country invaded by Japanese, North Korean and Chinese forces, plus thousands arriving from the US to drive the communists northwards.
In 1979, after serving 16 years as President of South Korea, Park Chung-hee was assassinated, which helped to trigger the Gwangju uprising. This is the level of turmoil the likes of Park Gap-soo would have encountered from Korean War to the time of this death.
This is mere speculation on how Park Gap-soo lived, but is it possible that this old man spent the first 50 years of his life fighting the foreign invaders of his country, but died, in his 80s, fighting for the freedom of his people from fellow Koreans?
When the next generation of Korean voters head to the polls in the December presidential election, hopefully a few will remember the sacrifice those named in the Gwangju underground memorial made for their country.
Andrew Farrell works as an English language teacher in Korea.
