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
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 will cover 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.
