Paratrooper accounts of the Gwangju Uprising
Account by an 11th Brigade paratrooper (1999)
Account by a 3rd Brigade paratrooper (1996)
Account by an 11th Brigade paratrooper (1987) Part 1
Account by an 11th Brigade paratrooper (1987) Part 2
Here is part 2 of an account by a paratrooper from the 11th Brigade, originally published in 1987. The original source is:
윤재걸 편, 『작전명령 화려한 휴가: 광주 민중항쟁의 기록』 (서울: 실천문학사, 1988), 30-60.
Yun Jae-geol, ed., Operation Order Splendid Holiday: A Record of the Kwangju People’s Uprising (Seoul: Silcheon Munhaksa, 1988), 30-60.
* * * * * * *
The “Splendid Holiday” That I Was Sent On
—Memoir of an Airborne Trooper Deployed During the Kwangju Incident
[Part 2: May 21 - 27]
When morning came, the demonstrations became even more violent. Yet that morning, breakfast somehow arrived in front of Sangmugwan through the demonstrator crowds. All the officers and soldiers were eating, but since there were not enough spoons, I was not eating. Then a private first class handed me the spoon he himself had been eating with, saying, ‘Company commander, please eat.’ Even when I told him to eat first, he stubbornly refused. In the end, I accepted it, but before I had even eaten half, word came that the front line facing the demonstrators was dangerous and that we should quickly assemble toward the demonstrators’ side. Even the meal delivered after several days could not properly be eaten, and when we returned again toward the demonstrators, it had become utterly impossible to suppress the protest anymore.
Today was May 21. In front of the fountain at the Provincial Office, the large arch made for ‘Buddha’s Birthday’ and such things looked utterly out of place. During a brief standoff, I slipped away alone to Sangmugwan to drink water and met a policeman from my hometown there. I was glad to see him. For a short while we talked about our hometown. I was so happy and pleased, as though I had met an older brother.
Going back out again toward the demonstrators, I climbed onto a flower planter on the sidewalk and looked ahead. At the front of the demonstrators were large buses, trucks, and other vehicles positioned in confrontation, while we had two armored vehicles in the center of the road, and by chance our regional unit stood at the very front on both sides. The Special Forces troops stood in ranks about twenty men across, while police stood at intervals of about twenty meters. The morale and hatred of the demonstrators had reached an extreme. Conversely, our morale had fallen to an extreme low. No—everyone wore expressions of fear. In the hands of the demonstrators were sickles, saws, and all sorts of things that could become weapons. In particular, some demonstrators had attached sickles or knives to wooden poles, hooking sickles around our necks as we stood in the front line or pressing knives against our chests. Saying, “Hey, I sharpened this sickle well. Want me to yank it?” some young demonstrators would hook a sickle around my neck. At the time I did not feel shocked or frightened at all, but thinking about it now gives me chills and scares me.
By around 10 a.m. on May 21 on Geumnam-ro, the situation was already rushing toward something unavoidable. It was said that out of Gwangju’s population of about 800,000, some 400,000 citizens were demonstrating on Geumnam-ro or around the Provincial Office. Why had so many citizens gathered? In particular, there were many housewives and young women. The reason was simple. The hardline suppression had brought out a terrible force among the citizens. On the martial law forces’ side, hardline suppression had been ordered from higher command from the very beginning, and in my opinion the conception behind these orders was the foolish result derived from the hardline suppression during the Bu-Ma Incident, while the Gwangju Incident had already been conceived at the time of the 12.12 Incident.
In particular, because Gwangju, the capital of South Jeolla Province, had few outsiders living there, everyone was connected, and once connections were followed everyone knew one another, so people flocked one after another to Geumnam-ro in response to the martial law forces’ harsh suppression. As middle-aged women came carrying gimbap, rice cakes, and the like to distribute to the demonstrators, the demonstrators ate this food while quenching their thirst with beer and soft drinks piled high in vehicles, becoming extremely excited. From the air, helicopters conducted propaganda broadcasts and scattered countless leaflets appealing for restraint in the demonstrations, but there was not a single demonstrator who listened or looked at the leaflets.
After those of us positioned at the front switched places with the rear ranks, and the unit behind us came forward and moved beside the Provincial Office fountain, the commanders began distributing live ammunition. Only officers and sergeants were given ten rounds each. There was not much live ammunition. This was because we carried only the minimum emergency ammunition. We inserted the issued rounds into magazines and, so that we could fire at any moment, kept them in the side pockets of our trousers rather than attaching them to our rifles.
At this point an emergency meeting of the commanders began. The purpose of the meeting was: “We absolutely cannot drive back the demonstrators, nor can we break through this huge crowd, and if this many troops and police engage in close combat with these enormous numbers of demonstrators, it will be easy for half the military and police forces to be killed or wounded—so by what method can we drive them back?” Various sergeants, officers, and commanders attended, but no conclusion could be reached. They contacted Martial Law Command, explained the present situation, and proposed that “we be allowed to carry out authorized firing,” but were told that this was absolutely not permitted. Thinking about it now, that was only natural, but at the time it seemed unbearably cold-hearted. [50]
Various methods were proposed. Among them, it was decided to adopt the following method.
The proposal was: “Using the M203 [grenade launcher] weapons carried by the sergeants, fire into intervals among the demonstrators, and in order to prevent vehicles from pushing forward, have snipers shoot the demonstrators driving the vehicles and then shoot the tires of the following vehicles.” Since there was no “order to fire” from higher command, the problem later would be responsibility. Fortunately, several commanders said that even if we were turned over to military court and even sentenced to death, we could not allow all our subordinates to be killed, so we should carry it out. But on the other hand, it was too enormous. If M203 rounds were dropped among the demonstrators, since they were like grenades with a lethal radius of five meters, and if not just one or two rounds but hundreds were fired, and if firing were carried out from the front, it was obvious that thousands would be killed or wounded.
For twenty to thirty minutes the argument continued. The conclusion was that we should wait a little longer for instructions from Martial Law Command. Again, by radio, they urged Martial Law Command to “issue an order to fire.” At that time students and several women came to negotiate. The students’ demeanor was extremely confident. Their conditions were roughly as follows: “The martial law forces must immediately withdraw from the city, immediately release all detainees through the Provincial Office microphone system, provide sufficient compensation for the dead, and apologize for the hardline suppression of the citizens of Gwangju.” However, the commanders replied that they absolutely could not comply. Then the representatives went to the Provincial Office saying they would negotiate with the provincial governor.
Again we moved to the very front of the demonstrators. At this time the demonstrators’ side already knew that we had been issued live ammunition. They asked us, “Did you receive live rounds?” We answered that we had. Now the distance between the demonstrators and us had narrowed to about five or six meters. The demonstrators in front did not seem to want to approach, but the demonstrators behind kept pushing them so that they were gradually forced closer and closer forward. At this time two armored vehicles were facing the demonstrators, but one of them pulled away because the situation on the Chungjang-ro side, where the 7th Airborne Brigade was confronting demonstrators, was said to be critical, and it went to support that area.
Now a single armored vehicle was left facing countless vehicles, and our hearts also became uneasy. However, having been issued live ammunition made us feel somewhat reassured. The terrifying confrontation between the demonstrators and the martial law forces continued. Both sides were careful not to inflame each other’s emotions. This was because if either side pushed or was pushed back, it would herald terrible bloodshed. By now it seemed that the police helicopters, which had been landing and taking off by the fountain carrying important documents and wounded personnel, had transported almost everything.
Around 1 p.m., the A.P.C. armored vehicle that had been idling in the middle of the road briefly stalled. This was because it had been running since morning and they were trying to cool the engine for a moment. This became an enormous problem. When the armored vehicle rolled back about one or two meters, the demonstrators all at once began charging forward with vehicles at the front. In an instant we turned and began fleeing toward the Provincial Office. Police and martial law troops alike fled toward the Sangmugwan building, and the Provincial Office line collapsed.
I ran toward the Nonghyup building and then tried to cross the road again toward Sangmugwan, when an A.P.C. armored vehicle driven by the demonstrators struck two soldiers. One of them seemed to have had his head crushed under the front and rear wheels, while the other was caught between the wheels and, suffering only minor injuries, lay collapsed there. The vehicle that the demonstrators had brought behind it could not bring itself to run him over, stopped briefly, seized only one M16 rifle, and then drove off in the opposite direction from the Provincial Office. The surviving soldier got up and crawled toward Sangmugwan, while right beside him I dragged the body of the dead soldier toward the front of Sangmugwan. When I looked at his face I could not recognize him, so I wiped the blood from his name tag and saw that he was the soldier who had handed me a spoon that morning at breakfast and told me to eat.
Seeing such a miserable death, tears burst from my eyes. I also felt rage toward the demonstrators. Many soldiers witnessed this scene. An excited officer shouted, “Open fire!” “Fire!” and all at once everyone loaded live rounds into their rifles and ran out toward Geumnam-ro. Then firing began. However, those thousands of gunshots were at first mostly warning shots fired into the air. As branches from the ginkgo trees lining Geumnam-ro fell to the ground, the gunfire, sounding like beans popping in a pan, continued for two or three minutes.
Sniper personnel headed toward Geumnam-ro, took prone firing positions on the asphalt, prepared to shoot, and began securing key buildings. At that moment, from a building beside the Jeonil Building, a young man came limping out, shouting, “You sons of bitches, kill me!” and sat down in the middle of the road only twenty or thirty meters in front of the snipers. When the snipers fired several shots, he collapsed to the side. When demonstrators hiding in an alley came out to retrieve the body, firing resumed and those demonstrators also fell.
At that moment a Daechang Passenger city bus carrying demonstrators charged toward us. As the snipers scattered out of the way, automatic fire began. The bus could go no farther and crashed into the fountain. This was because the driver had been killed...
Then, shortly afterward, an A.P.C. armored vehicle came charging forward waving the Taegukgi, with men bare-chested and white cloths tied around their heads, opening the hatch as they advanced. A sniper riding in our armored vehicle aimed and waited, and when it came within barely twenty meters, he fired the .50 caliber weapon. The men ducked their heads down, and the armored vehicle passed in front of the Nonghyup building and escaped. The police appeared to have retreated entirely into the Provincial Office; not a single one was visible. One demonstrator climbed onto the roof of the Nonghyup building carrying a rifle and fired at us below while exposing only his head, but when a sniper below, who had been aiming and waiting, fired, he fell from the roof.
Everything was a living hell. Casualties lay on the roads here and there. From that point onward, everyone except the snipers and minimum guard personnel was assembled, and orders came down from higher command to withdraw, meaning “escape and break out.” We were to withdraw in teams; not to expend all our ammunition, and if we were captured by demonstrators while trying to escape the city and faced being horribly killed, we were to use the distributed live ammunition to fire back. Those who still had ammunition were told to distribute even a single round each to soldiers who had none. Since I had not fired a single shot up to that point, I gave seven rounds to other soldiers and kept three rounds for myself. This was because if I were captured by the demonstrators, I intended to place the rifle muzzle against my chest and commit suicide on automatic fire. I did not particularly value my life nor feel fear. I only wished either to escape this place after seeing my mother one more time, or else to die.
Around that time, sounds slicing through the air — “swoosh, swoosh” — began passing by our side. It was machine-gun fire. The radio operator on the roof of the Provincial Office informed us that firing was coming from the roof of the Chonnam National University Medical School Hospital. There was a tremendous amount of firing, and it was coming from an advantageous building position. Several men volunteered. They said we should seize Chonnam National University Hospital and take away the machine gun. There were a little under two companies, about fifty men. But the commander told them to wait for a moment. Since we would soon be withdrawing, he said there was no need to go. Up to that point there had been no casualties from the machine-gun fire.
Around 5 p.m. the withdrawal began. One armored vehicle took the lead and another the rear, while all personnel stood along both sides of the road and withdrew toward Chosun University. The armored vehicle at the front continued firing its .50 caliber machine gun all the way to the front of Chosun University, repeatedly moving back and forth several times, while we retreated on foot. We returned fire at demonstrators who fired on us from alleys or from the rooftops of buildings as we withdrew to Chosun University.
When we arrived at the athletic field of Chosun University, dinner happened to be ready, and as we ate, gunfire poured into the grounds from all directions. However, as far as I know, there were still no casualties from this firing. At the Chosun University athletic field, live ammunition was distributed once again: sixty rounds per person. Carrying only the minimum equipment, all other gear was gathered in the gymnasium, the doors were locked from outside, and we withdrew over the mountain behind Chosun University.
Meanwhile, before this, all vehicles carrying administrative personnel and wounded men had needed to leave Gwangju and head to the 31st Division headquarters [at Sangmudae], but the city, and especially the major buildings in front of Chosun University, were already tightly guarded by armed demonstrators. [53]
With an armored vehicle at the very front leading the way and numerous vehicles following behind, a firefight broke out there as well. Two or three martial law troops were killed, many vehicles had their tires shot out, and they eventually reached Sangmudae.
There, one sergeant later said that he and his driver had been riding in the third vehicle from the front. As countless shots were fired at the vehicle from all directions, he himself leaned half his body outside and fired at buildings and other positions while they drove along. Then the vehicle struck the curb on the side of the road and he was thrown outside, though fortunately he was not injured. When he climbed back into the vehicle, the driver had already died from a gunshot wound to the chest. He tried to drive the vehicle himself, but even the tires had been shot and it could no longer move. He repeatedly tried to stop the vehicles following behind, but none stopped, until finally he managed to stop the last vehicle and escape aboard it. He said that even now he had not forgotten his gratitude toward the driver who stopped for him.
As we retreated over the mountain behind Chosun University, firing had already begun from behind the martial law forces. The sound of massive gunfire rang out. Tracer rounds flew continuously overhead, and sirens wailed and buzzed. Gwangju had now changed into a city armed by the demonstrators. During the retreat we also encountered many police officers. They were exactly like us. They were simply anxious because they were unarmed. Some wore civilian clothes, some wore only military trousers, and some policemen had even taken off their combat boots and gone barefoot. Everyone seemed to be victims of an enormous disaster.
After crossing the mountain behind Chosun University, we rested briefly in what seemed to be a cemetery. Leaning between graves to rest for a moment, I ended up falling asleep. When I awoke, the main force had disappeared somewhere, and only six of us were still asleep. Fortunately there was a radio operator with us, and when we contacted the others by radio they tried to guide us during the night, but we could not follow the directions. Wandering around while trying to catch up with the main force, we ended up back inside the city again. Panic-stricken, we once more moved through residential alleys and climbed a small hill, where we spent the night. When morning came, we continued moving over the hills, searching only for places where helicopters were landing.
Two helicopters spent the entire day landing and taking off halfway up the mountain. Fortunately, by dusk we reached that place, where enormous quantities of live ammunition, grenades, food supplies, and the like were piled up like mountains. It was the brigade headquarters. It was also a natural fortress. It lay along the slopes of Mudeungsan on the road from Gwangju toward Hwasun. At the front, two armored vehicles had been concealed behind cover, while ambush positions had been set in the forests on both sides.
As we spent the night there, gunfire beginning around 9 p.m. continued until morning. It did not stop even for a moment. When morning came, two wounded farmers arrived on handcarts with gunshot wounds. One was a man about fifty years old who had been shot seven times across his body and was nearly dying. [54] Another was a high school student with a gunshot wound to the shoulder. After all of them were transported by helicopter to a military hospital, thoughts of my late father again became overwhelming. I missed my father, who had spent his whole life farming before passing away, and tears welled in my eyes.
Around that time a radio message came in saying that thirteen demonstrators had been shot dead on the road below the mountain and that three wounded people were being brought in. A short time later, two people were brought on handcarts, along with a second-year female high school student whose right hand had been shot, severing two fingers. They say human life clings stubbornly to existence. The two young demonstrators (up to then we had called the citizens “rioters”) had been struck by numerous bullets across their bodies, yet they were fully conscious and still alive. One young man in particular had even had a bullet pass through his eye and was still alive. The smell of blood was overwhelming.
I asked where they lived, and they answered, “Jisan-dong.” When I asked their ages, they said twenty-one and twenty-three. When I asked their occupations, one said he was a student at Chonnam National University, while the other said he had none. As fellow young men, they seemed terribly pitiful and tragic to me. I wanted to save them somehow.
Another sergeant came over and said, “These sons of bitches were demonstrating,” while beginning to search their pockets. In their pockets were around thirty carbine rounds and a few bloodstained bills. I thought they were waiting for a helicopter to transport them to a military hospital, but then a major arrived and said, “Why did you bring those bastards here? Hurry up and take them down and kill them.” A sergeant from the same unit answered, “Yes, sir,” and pulled the handcart back down the hill. I followed after him. I wanted, at the very least, for them to be sent to a hospital for treatment, and to prevent them from being killed.
Two or three minutes later I followed after them, but they had already reached the roadside and were untying the ropes that bound them. I said, “There’s no need to kill them. Let’s just send them back to the demonstrators.” The sergeant replied, “What’s wrong with you, bastard? You’re just like them.” He outranked me, so I could say no more. They lifted them down from the handcart and then fired three more shots each into their heads. There was no writhing, no screaming, no sound at all. Only their bodies trembled… Up ahead, people were digging a pit with shovels borrowed from nearby houses to bury the bodies.
That morning, May 23, around 8 a.m., one detachment (an infantry squad) guarding the road to block demonstrators attempting to advance toward Hwasun had spotted a minibus traveling from the Gwangju direction toward Hwasun. The squad had lay prone on both sides of the road, and when one soldier stood in the middle of the road raising his hand, the bus stopped and fired a carbine rifle at the officer who had raised his hand. At that, all personnel lying on both sides of the road had opened fire simultaneously. Of the eighteen people aboard (including three women), thirteen died in the bus and three were severely wounded (including one female high school student). Two, as mentioned earlier, were then executed, while two others escaped by breaking the rear bus window and fleeing. The bodies of those killed were buried together in a single pit that had been dug for that purpose. [55]
Arms and legs were visible, and flies gathered, drawn by the smell of blood. It was agonizing. My heart was so tormented and sorrowful at seeing who was shooting and killing whom in this way. Looking inside the bus, the seats and floor were soaked with blood. Tears flowed from my eyes. But I could not show tears in front of my comrades and my seniors and juniors.
Then personnel from our unit came again toward brigade headquarters in order to move ammunition and other equipment. That afternoon, on the 23rd, we were told that we would advance into Gwangju once again, so each man carried 560 rounds of live ammunition and one grenade as we prepared to enter. Orders were given to thoroughly maintain our weapons, and sectors to be secured within the city were assigned to each team. Our team’s sector was the Chungjang-ro intersection. We listened to explanations of the area from a soldier who lived in Gwangju, and after finishing weapon maintenance, one tank per battalion was assigned in support. The tanks would lead, with the rest of us following behind, and we were re-instructed: “Absolutely do not retreat.”
Already so many had been killed and wounded, yet once again terrible bloodshed was being foretold. It was obvious as fire itself that carrying 560 rounds of ammunition, one grenade, M203 launchers, and other fearsome firepower into the city again to seize control would lead to carnage. I almost wished to be wounded so I could leave this place. It was not because I was afraid or trying to avoid things. Rather, I simply did not want to see or hear about the people of my hometown falling in such a dreadful manner.
K, what would you have done at that time? Gathered in groups in various places, the soldiers talked only of how this time they would shoot and kill anything they saw without condition. In one sense it may have been foolish; in another, perhaps it was the natural reaction of comrades who had lost fellow soldiers.
We had been told to depart at 8 p.m. that day (the 23rd), but at 6 p.m. sudden orders came that we would not enter the city after all. Some soldiers felt deflated. At the time and even now, I think it was fortunate. From what I heard that night, the order to open fire had officially been issued effective from 8 p.m. on the 21st. But firing had already begun before that. That night too we simply remained in the mountains, and throughout the entire night the sound of gunfire never ceased even briefly. It was the sound of demonstrators infiltrating our area and firefights breaking out with the perimeter units.
From that day onward, orders from the Army Chief of Staff were broadcast throughout all of Gwangju over the radio. Everyone was told to surrender all firearms, and the “rioters” were ordered to turn themselves in. It was then that I realized I did not know who the rioters were, or who had massacred whom.
After spending that night awake, we were ordered to prepare for withdrawal and then assemble. We gathered on the road, and while waiting because the withdrawal vehicles had not yet arrived, a funeral bier loaded on a handcart was passing by. A certain major personally loaded live rounds into his pistol and inspected the inside of the bier, even opening the coffin lid. The mourners following behind could only weep silently.
A private car arrived, and when they inspected the trunk there were many bags inside. When the bags were searched, enormous quantities of banknotes, bankbooks, and jewelry emerged. By my judgment at the time, it amounted to tens of millions of won and a tremendous amount of valuables. By then, the direction toward Hwasun had already been blocked by the 20th Division, the Naju-Mokpo direction had been blocked by the Gwangju Infantry School, and the Seoul expressway entrance was also blocked by the 20th Division.
Vehicles from the 20th Division arrived, and we boarded according to organizational order: 1st Battalion, 7th Airborne Brigade, 2nd Battalion, brigade headquarters company, then 3rd Battalion [followed by the 11th Brigade in the rear]. To reach the 31st Division we had to pass briefly through the city. However, we discovered a side road that allowed us to avoid advancing through the city, but when we turned back to follow this road, our battalion unexpectedly ended up at the very front in reverse order. The armored vehicle that had been bringing up the rear now moved to the front, and we who had been following at the very back now became the lead element.
As we were about to take the side road from Hwasun toward Naju, .50 caliber fire suddenly opened from the armored vehicle. Those of us following behind also began firing while guarding the left and right sides.
Directly on the road leading from Gwangju to Naju, instructors and officers from the 31st Division Infantry School had established a blockade. They were armed with 3.5-inch rocket launchers (for destroying tanks), machine guns, Claymores, and the like. Apparently the squad serving as a listening post in front of this blockade force heard the gunfire and reported to their unit that rioters were advancing. At the time they had received intelligence that demonstrators wearing reserve-force uniforms were moving toward Mokpo, so they were already tense. When our enormous vehicle column appeared, they mistook us for demonstrators and fired a 3.5-inch rocket launcher at the armored vehicle. With a tremendous explosion that shook heaven and earth, I saw the infantry support .50 caliber gunner fly through the air like a bird before crashing onto the asphalt.
Then, continuing on, they fired accurately at every other vehicle — the 1st, 3rd, 5th, 7th, and so on. Our vehicle too was struck by a rocket round in the front. The entire front section of the vehicle disappeared (the driver was killed and the company commander severely wounded), and four or five men riding in the front screamed for help from their wounds. Together with the thousands of gunshots and grenade blasts, it was truly the hell of war itself. Up to that moment I had believed it was a fierce battle with demonstrators defending Gwangju.
We were ordered to dismount and search the nearby hills and houses. Leaving the wounded lying by the roadside, we advanced in firing positions while searching the hills, when I spotted a Claymore mine mounted on pine branches. Cold sweat burst from me. I had no idea when it might explode. I cut the Claymore’s wire with my bayonet. No one was there.
Again we crossed the ridge and descended toward the houses. When a certain sergeant arrived at one house to search it, a dog began barking. They even shot the dog, though it had committed no crime. Two small children and a man who appeared to be in his forties simply trembled in fear inside the room.
Meanwhile, in the village ahead, a farmer was wailing that three or four of his dairy cows had been shot and killed. It seemed the cows were his very livelihood.
[57] From the hills in that area, two young men suspected of being demonstrators were brought in. Their hands were tightly bound behind their backs, and their faces had been beaten so badly that they were unrecognizable. As they were brought along, people began striking them one after another with rifle butts. Then they were ordered to “Lie down” in the stream flowing nearby. I could see their entire bodies trembling violently. They insisted that they absolutely were not demonstrators. They said they worked at a nearby briquette factory. From what I could see, that seemed true. But their excuses were useless.
As I sat on the hillside watching this scene, before I knew it two Cobra helicopters — famous from the Vietnam War — were circling overhead. Up to then the gunfire had continued, and apparently they had neither been able to sit down nor locate the demonstrators who had attacked.
When I went toward the front, it was truly a land of death. Burning vehicles, seven or eight corpses, shattered armored vehicles, commanders severely wounded, men crying out that all their subordinates were dying while requesting reinforcements, and a commander, grievously wounded, clutching a radio and rolling on the ground in agony while shouting, “Armed helicopter support! Armed helicopter support!” … It pained my heart terribly. The Infantry School blocking force at the front had already fled before our overwhelming firepower.
Helicopters landed and began loading bodies. One captain in particular had been struck in the abdomen by a rocket round and his body had been torn in half, so they wrapped him in a blanket before loading him aboard. There was no expression for it except: “Hell, it was hell itself.” Generals including the Special Warfare Command commander and the brigade commander descended one after another from the helicopters. But the situation had already passed beyond remedy, and there was nothing that could be done.
Around the time the helicopters had transported nearly all the casualties and the twenty or thirty wounded men, a farmer was brought from the rear on a handcart pulled by his daughter. He had been working in the rice paddies when he was struck by gunfire, and his daughter was so terrified she could not even cry. What crime had there been in simply working in the fields… Since nearly all the vehicles had burned up, I returned again toward the rear where our unit was, and they told us to prepare for withdrawal.
Up to that moment, the two young men who had earlier been captured were still lying face down. Then a certain officer said, “Hey — execute them.” “Yes, sir,” someone replied, and after releasing the safety on his M16, he fired three shots — bang, bang, bang — into the young man in front, and then fired three shots into the young man behind him. Their bodies trembled in the water. Human life was so insignificant and miserable.
Then another sergeant fired additional shots into the dead youths to make sure they were dead. I felt as if I were inside a dream. Everything unfolding before my eyes seemed unreal. But the misery was real. Leaving the bodies where they lay, we divided ourselves among several vehicles and arrived at Songjeong-ri Airfield. We began living inside the airport hangars. Lavish food — beef, chicken, and so on — was served. We said among ourselves that they must be giving us so much meat because so many people had died, and we hardly ate it. Instead we spent the time thinking painfully about our dead comrades and the comrades who had been wounded up to then.
We arrived at the airfield on May 24 and spent three days there maintaining equipment and the like. On the morning of the 26th, the personnel clerk (a senior sergeant) wrote down our addresses, blood types, home telephone numbers, and so forth. Even when we asked what it was for, there was no answer. But we knew. It was either for a parachute drop into the city or for an infiltration by land to seize Gwangju again.
After lunch, several senior sergeants assembled us again wearing ordinary combat uniforms rather than camouflage and carrying only light field gear. They told us that operations would begin that night and ordered us to prepare our magazines and equipment and assemble. Once again live ammunition, grenades, M203 grenade launchers, and other lethal equipment were issued, along with flak jackets.
There was a brief explanation of the operation plan. We were to depart by helicopter at 1600 hours, infiltrate the mountains behind Chosun University, and proceed on foot toward the Tourist Hotel as our objective. There was also ideological instruction from senior commanders. In addition, they explained the current situation inside the city. According to the explanation, securing the city was only a matter of time. However, there were said to be about four tons of TNT in the basement of the Provincial Office. They said special intelligence personnel had successfully infiltrated and removed the detonators, but that detonators had been obtained somewhere else, and if the explosives were set off when the martial law forces entered, not only we but everything within three kilometers around the Provincial Office would be destroyed. In one sense, this frightened me. But having endured those hellish days so far without any injury, I thought perhaps this time too I might somehow survive.
At 1800 hours we boarded helicopters. Then, with all radio communication cut off, we landed in the mountains behind Chosun University. Our operational team consisted of thirty men divided into seven groups. A drizzle was falling, and apart from the occasional whining sound of fire engines, Gwangju city was relatively quiet.
However, once daylight came, infiltration by land became impossible. We decided to wait in the rain until darkness fell again. Once more we loaded live ammunition into our rifles and prepared grenades and the like for immediate use.
Around midnight, as we followed the side of Chosun University and bypassed the Provincial Office, approaching the Geumnam-ro area, vehicles equipped with loudspeakers and microphones drove around shouting: “The martial law forces have invaded! Citizens of Gwangju, take up your guns and gather at the Provincial Office!” Almost simultaneously, the .50 caliber machine gun installed on the roof of the Provincial Office began spraying gunfire randomly throughout the city. We lay prone in alleys between buildings while countless live rounds poured over our heads. But it was clear they had not discovered us and were simply firing indiscriminately. [59]
Then, just as the weapons sergeant was crossing Geumnam-ro and passing beside the Tourist Hotel in order for part of our force to move around to the rear, a mobile strike unit of demonstrators suddenly advanced toward us, leading with a jeep and carrying demonstrators in four vehicles behind it. We all held our breath and lay flat on the ground, and they failed to notice us and simply passed by.
Two groups of twelve men secured the alleys behind the Tourist Hotel, while we attempted to destroy the shuttered front entrance using M203 launchers. At that moment thousands of gunshots began ringing out from the Provincial Office and elsewhere. At times we could also hear grenades and M203 rounds exploding.
In front of the Tourist Hotel, two M203 launchers first fired toward the main entrance, then seven or eight rounds were fired at lit areas from the first floor upward. After that, two grenades were thrown into the entrance, and we rushed inside firing our M16s wildly. Unexpectedly, however, only a few people were there. In several rooms rifles and liquor bottles lay scattered about in disorder. The personnel who had entered from the rear said the same thing.
From this point we began radio communications again. It was around 4 a.m. Meanwhile, fierce fighting was reportedly underway at the Provincial Office, which the 3rd Airborne Brigade had been assigned to secure, so we were ordered to proceed there and enter the Provincial Office by way of the tax office.
When we arrived at the Provincial Office, gunfire continued to be directed at us from the building. It seemed that much of it was not aimed fire but warning fire. Supporting one another over the wall one by one, we repeatedly announced over a microphone: “Surrender.” A few demonstrators came out with their hands raised. But most still refused to yield.
The 3rd Airborne Brigade forces broke through the main gate of the Provincial Office, entered through the lobby, searched the first floor, and dragged out many demonstrators. All of them were remarkably brave. The demonstrators were brave, and the martial law troops were brave as well.
It was around 4 a.m. The Provincial Office was now completely secured. However, at 5 a.m. we were scheduled to rendezvous with forces from the 20th Division, hand over the Provincial Office to them, and then withdraw. One sergeant from our team had been shot in the chest despite wearing a flak jacket, so I loaded him into a civilian vehicle and drove toward the Gwangju Integrated Hospital. But as we passed in front of the Asia Theater, concentrated gunfire suddenly began pouring at us from both sides of the road and from buildings. Bullets rained onto the vehicle as if in a storm. The driver and I threw ourselves down in the front of the vehicle.
When the firing stopped, I looked at the driver and saw that he had already died. Carefully peering outside over the vehicle, I could make out figures in the dawn light — they were soldiers. Seeing a civilian vehicle speeding along, the 20th Division troops, who had already secured the area, must have mistaken us for demonstrators and opened concentrated fire. But when I tried to open the car door and get out, I was too frightened to move. Everyone around the buildings and the road was clearly focused on my vehicle, and if they realized someone inside was still alive, they would surely think I was a demonstrator and fire again.
I decided to wait until daylight, when they could clearly see me. I called to the badly wounded sergeant in the back seat, but there was no answer. He appeared already dead. Blood was continuing to flow into my boot from my right calf, soaking it completely.
Beside me, the dead driver remained leaning against me with his eyes open. It had all happened in barely five or six minutes. Yet it felt like endless hours passing by.
Then came the sound of footsteps — heavy military boots. They were coming to confirm whether we had been killed. Thousands of thoughts crossed my mind. What if they saw me lying there and fired again to make sure I was dead? Perhaps I too had been struck somewhere else and was slowly dying. What would the world after death be like? The smell of blood and gunpowder filled my nose.
Finally, three men came right up beside the car and slightly opened the front door. I suddenly sprang up and shouted, “Hey, don’t shoot! Martial law forces!” A captain, apparently the company commander, asked, “Are you hurt?” I explained everything that had happened and asked, “Whose order was it to fire?” He replied that up to then they had been fighting demonstrators and had thought we were demonstrators. In short, it was friendly fire.
I rode in a 20th Division ambulance to the Integrated Hospital, where even outside the building patients overflowed everywhere like a marketplace. Fortunately, the bullet had merely penetrated the metal body of the vehicle and lodged in my leg. After removing the bullet and stopping the bleeding, they sent me back to the airfield. The sergeant being transported with me had been struck by six additional bullets during the friendly-fire incident, but they said his life was not in danger.
Everything was over.
I again reported back to my unit. Our team had two wounded men. But the gunshot wound in my leg began hurting more and more. I returned to the Integrated Hospital and was admitted there. The hospital was overflowing with patients — people whose hands or arms had been severed, people whose legs had been amputated, people with penetrating abdominal wounds, and countless others.
After remaining at the Integrated Hospital for two days, I was transferred again to the Integrated Hospital in Seoul, where I received inpatient treatment for two weeks before rejoining my main unit at Kyung Hee University.
K, what I have written until now about the Gwangju Incident consists of the things I personally felt, witnessed, and did. I spoke with many comrades, and the suppression of the incident was much the same for them as it was for me.
Thinking about it now, I believe the only solution is to clear the citizens of the false label of “rioters,” for those who were central figures at the time to reveal everything and apologize, and for the martial law troops who were deployed in suppressing the incident and the citizens to meet again and create an opportunity for reconciliation. This is because both the citizens and the martial law troops are now victims.
The Gwangju Incident was ignited by the initial excessive suppression and merciless beatings, and because the citizens’ demands continued to be ignored and met only with proclamations without any apology from those in high positions, the citizens did not lay down their weapons and the situation was ultimately suppressed by force.
Even now, to the citizens of Gwangju who suffered from this tragedy and remain filled with resentment, I write these words with deep reflection and apology.
November 25, 1987
* * * * * * *
I've previously noted the differences between the 3rd Brigade and 11th Brigade accounts, including the differences in degree of contrition (higher among the 11th Brigade veterans, lower among those of the 3rd Brigade), and another point to consider is that both of the 11th Brigade veterans who wrote accounts were wounded in friendly fire incidents, which no doubt contributes to them feeling conflicted or remorseful about the events of May 1980.
His statement that the officers at the Provincial Office were considering using grenade launchers on the crowds... rather horribly makes the 'mere' use of rifle fire seem moderate in comparison. The fact that retreat from the Provincial Office would be difficult amid the surging, angry crowds and - more importantly - was forbidden by their superiors clearly contributed to the the fatal decision to open fire, but it doesn't feel like much insight into that decision is on offer above.
That said, a lot of the details surrounding the shooting in front of the Provincial Office differ from other sources, but that's not entirely surprising considering how chaotic it was. He says, for example, that the shooting happened before 2 soldiers were run over by an APC, while most accounts agree that this happened before the shooting. As well, it is generally considered that it was a tracked military APC that ran over the two soldiers (one of whom died immediately) - something stated in the account of the other 11th Brigade paratrooper - when it reversed to avoid being hit by a four-wheeled APC commandeered by protesters that had charged suddenly at the military lines. The incident involving the vehicle that charged the soldiers, was fired on, and crashed into the fountain also, according to a number of sources, occurred before the mass shooting. It’s interesting that he remembers the mass shooting being an angry response to the two soldiers being run over, when my understanding is that orders had been given allowing for firing upon charging vehicles (such as the vehicle that was shot and crashed into the fountain) but that the order to open fire en masse was a specific, newly-given order. This account says otherwise, that they fired without orders. It seems that even today the exact facts of the matter aren't entirely clear.
He also describes a protester firing at them from a rooftop with a rifle soon after the mass firing began, and describes citizens firing a machine gun at them from the top of a hospital. This was described in 죽음을 넘어 시대의 어둠을 넘어 : 광주 5월 민중항쟁의 기록, an account of the uprising published in 1985 and published in translation as Kwangju Diary (1999), but a footnote in the translation read:
There are conflicting accounts as to whether the rebels actually fired the machine guns on the roof of the hospital. Now it seems certain that the militia did not fire the L.M.G.s. In his book Sibilkan ui ch’wijae such’ op (A reporter’s diary of ten days), Kim Yŏng-t’aek, who covered the uprising for Korea’s prestigious Dong A Il Bo, later wrote: “There were several young men-who appeared to be students-working on something on the top of the twelve-story Chŏnnam University Hospital. ... For a while they were busy at work, then the barrels of two L.M.G.s came into view ... The installation of these two machine guns was of great importance. The militia, now armed with automatic weapons, was threatening the soldiers on the roof of Province Hall ... However, the students would not attack soldiers [with machine guns] at the price of the innocent citizens... The machine guns were never fired. Indeed they [the students] were wise ... (Before they finally decided to withdraw from the city, the military considered sending in a strike team to remove the L.M.G.s[from the hospital].” (Quoted in O il p’ al ku sam kwa ch’ugum ui kirok [May 18: the record of life and death] (Seoul: P’ulpit, 1996),(452.)
If it is now agreed they didn't fire the machine gun, one wonders if the veteran who authored the above account may have read the 1985 book and been influenced by it. The timing in his account is also confusing because in the space of a page he goes from the mass shooting that takes place around 1:00 p.m. to withdrawal at 5:00 p.m..
A machine gun makes another appearance at the end of his account during the final assault on the Provincial Office, when he writes "Almost simultaneously, the .50 caliber machine gun installed on the roof of the Provincial Office began spraying gunfire randomly throughout the city." I've never heard of a .50 caliber machine gun being installed on the roof of the Provincial Office, and find the idea that they were "spraying gunfire randomly throughout the city" - and thereby putting citizens living in the area at risk - to be rather unlikely.
I hadn't known about the Tourist Hotel being a target of the final assault, and am not sure why it was.
He also provides accounts of the friendly fire incident that killed so many 11th Brigade soldiers and the shooting of minibus survivors (he doesn't make it clear that the high school girl survived).
It's been stated for decades (see this post from 2009) that at least some paratroopers could be considered to be victims in regard to events in Gwangju in 1980; at the very least they were (mis)used by Chun Doo-hwan's new military group to guarantee their coup succeeded. Hopefully this series of paratrooper accounts helps to show how the more simplistic narratives of "blameless citizens" and "evil martial law troops" conceal a much more complex reality. If only there was an account by a 7th Brigade veteran (the brigade that set off the uprising on May 18) to help shed light on what set everything in motion.
