The documentary tonight reminded me of an acquaintance of mine, a student here at UCSC, who recently returned from a tour of duty in South Korea. According to him, the morale at his base was very low -- apparently U.S. soldiers still don’t know what they’re doing in Korea. When I asked him if he ever had the chance to visit North Korea, he said no, but told me that a handful of his compatriots were so allured by the mysterious nation across the border that they left for the other side. He reasoned they either did it because they were disillusioned by the U.S. military, or simply cracked under the constant threat of attack and went crazy.
Why is it that we never hear of these incidents? It seems that the Forgotten War remains unknown to most people, even as it playing out in the present. So I searched for an article that might help capture the current conditions at the DMZ (or at least more recent that then documentary we watched tonight). I came across a feature story published in the National Geographic in 2003. Some of the information was rather redundant (and probably a little bit outdated), but other parts of this article revealed some interesting perspectives regarding the impact of the DMZ and a divided Korea. I picked out and reproduced a few passages from the article that surprised me the most, but the whole thing is definitely worth reading and can be found here: http://ngm.nationalgeographic.com/features/world/asia/north-korea/dmz-text/1
The author of this article travelled to the DMZ in order to gather information for his piece. His observations reveal a very odd dynamic at the base: it is at once a tense location where war could break out (and as my acquaintance suggested -- U.S. soldiers can go crazy under this pressure), and a historical site that tourists visit to remember the past.
“My first few hours in the DMZ schools me in how the military views the situation: It's good guys versus bad guys, and everyone's trigger finger is itchy. But just as Propaganda Village is not what it appears, the professed state of war along the DMZ at times also seems weirdly unreal, as if the soldiers are actors at a historical theme park—call it WarLand—in a disconnect especially noticeable when civilian life intrudes. Two hours after the South Korean platoon retires to its barracks, tourist buses stream onto the base, delivering giddy visitors eager to buy pieces of DMZ barbed wire strung on plaques and caps emblazoned with the Bonifas motto, "In Front of Them All."”
Today the war seems to manifest itself in some unexpected ways, such as kidnapping civilians and blasting propaganda:
“ . . . Only descendants of the village's prewar residents are allowed with their families to live in Daeseong-dong. That's where I meet Kim Ok Ja, standing on the edge of a field in a heavy quilted jacket and muddy rubber boots. She first came to Daeseong-dong as a bride, introduced to her husband through a matchmaker. "When I moved here in 1972, I was scared to live so close to North Korea," Mrs. Kim says, watching her husband maneuver the thresher through a field. "I guess I hadn't realized that this was a front line. But I did know that my husband was a good farmer." . . . Mr. Kim, a native of Daeseong-dong, betrays no hard feelings about the abduction. He also shrugs off the barrage of music and sloganeering from speakers in nearby North Korea. "I don't even notice it anymore," he laughs. "Let's see what they're saying." He stares into space, listening to the voice coming through his walls. "It says, 'This is paradise. Come over so you can have a good meal of rice.'" He smiles and pours a cup of tea.”
And here’s a perspective you’re unlikely to get anywhere but from the National Geographic:
“One of the few good things to come from Korea's 50-year standoff, the security shield erected around the DMZ and its buffer zones has inadvertently preserved the largest piece of undeveloped land—more than 960 square miles (2,500 square kilometers)—in all of South Korea, one of the world's most densely settled countries. Most of the wilderness remains off-limits, however. To see the DMZ's star wildlife attractions—two species of rare Asian cranes that winter in the Cheorwon Basin—visitors first must apply to the military for permission . . .
In these same mountains a force of one, an amateur wildlife biologist named Lim Sun Nam, helps me finally to see the DMZ as something other than an armed camp. For the past five years Lim, a former TV cameraman, has pursued a quixotic mission to prove the existence in South Korea of the Siberian tiger, the traditional symbol of unified Korea. Tigers officially have been absent from the southern peninsula for at least half a century. But from months of camping and hiking solo in the high country north of Hwacheon, only a few miles south of the DMZ, Lim has found provocative clues: tigerlike prints patterning the snow, tree trunks shredded by large claws, the remains of pigs and cows mauled by a powerful predator, accounts from villagers of hearing roars "like a motorcycle revving."”
If any of you find a more recent account like this one, let me know!
--Sarah T.
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