[Friends of Korea] Witnessing Gwangju's 1980 democratic uprising

From left to right: German journalist Jurgen Hinzpeter and his assistant Henning Rumohr, and Peace Corps Volunteers Judi Chamberlin, Tim Warnberg, Paul Courtright, and David Dolinger / Courtesy of Paul Courtright

By Paul Courtright

May 18, 1980, started like most Sundays with the peal of church bells dominating the clucks of thousands of chickens enriching my village with their prolific egg production. As with four other of my Peace Corps Volunteer (PCV) colleagues who ended up in Gwangju during the May 18 democratic uprising (referred to as 5.18), the quiet start to the day did not prepare me for the upheaval that was to come.

Every person, Korean or foreigner, who ended up part of 5.18 has their own story to tell; each is unique. I can only tell my story, not the stories of my four PCV colleagues. The book "Witnessing Gwangju" was my effort to capture my story ― for foreigners and Koreans interested in an American's on-the-ground experience during this seminal moment in Korean history. Relating the comprehensive story of Peace Corps and 5.18 would require contributions of many others, both Korean and foreign.

The cover of Paul Courtright's book "Witnessing Gwangju" / Courtesy of Paul Courtright

The five of us (Tim Warnberg, Judi Chamberlin, Dave Dolinger, Julie Pickering and I) cannot be lumped into one group ― three men and two women, three doing leprosy work and two doing TB, two nearing the end of their two-year service, two in the middle and one just starting. Three lived in Gwangju and two outside. Sometimes we agreed, sometimes not. That said, I venture to conclude that of all of us, Tim stands out. His Korean language skill was the best, he had an incredible network of Korean friends and colleagues in Gwangju and he witnessed events on May 18. Sadly, Tim died in 1993 and with his death, we lost an important voice and perspective.

Could the uprising occur in today's connected environment? Certainly not. If the rest of Korea had started to be bombarded with mobile phone images of the massacre inflicted by the military, Chun Doo-hwan would likely have been removed within the day. Globally, PCVs are now provided mobile phones and the events on May 18 would have sent them pinging madly. Instead, in 1980 the military severed phone lines; the city and parts of the surrounding region were physically cut off from the rest of the country. The absence of communication generated confusion. Confusion was even more acute for me simply because my Korean language skills were inadequate to pick up many details or nuances.

Paul Courtright in Hohyewon, Naju / Courtesy of Paul Courtright

With no ability to communicate with Seoul and trapped by the military in Gwangju, the choice was: hunker down or go out and try to understand what was going on. I chose the latter. Walking the streets of Gwangju and surrounding areas from May 19 and then turning on the TV each evening or catching leaflets dropped by Chun's government caused whiplash ― we could see that the events on the ground were not reflected in the media reports. Messages were crafted by Chun in Seoul and beamed south ― nothing was beamed north. It infuriated me; it was shameful how they portrayed Gwangju citizens. Gwangju was our town, its residents our friends. There was no doubt as to the focus of our sympathy.

Since the establishment of Peace Corps in the early 1960s, PCVs were instructed not to get involved in local politics. Given political repression in Korea during the entire 16 years of Peace Corps' time in Korea (1966-81), it was imperative to avoid discussion or engagement in political issues. Although I wanted to cheer the busloads of students with fluttering "Get rid of Chun Doo-hwan" banners, I kept quiet. A couple of my PCV colleagues and I discussed the importance of not declaring our support for the citizens of Gwangju as we knew it would threaten both our time in Korea and Peace Corps Korea's continued existence.

Unbeknownst to us, while Gwangju was in turmoil, the Peace Corps Korea director and deputy director were in Thailand at a regional Peace Corps meeting. Staff in Seoul drafted cables asking them to return immediately but those messages were not sent on to them by the U.S. Embassy. The director remained unaware of 5.18 and the PCVs in Gwangju until returning to Seoul on May 25.

When the demand came from the U.S. Embassy on May 23 to evacuate Gwangju, we were put in an untenable position. I had tried to leave Gwangju earlier that day but was turned back by the military. The facts on the ground did not match the embassy's demand and we felt that the embassy was poorly informed. Still, we had been given orders: evacuate Gwangju.

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A cable from the U.S. Embassy to the State Department suggested what was in store for us, given our refusal to leave Gwangju:

Text of telegram 80State 138557 (May 25, 1980)
4. C American citizens: Initial conclusions are, however, that there is no way to extract the remaining Americans safely and that there is somewhat greater safely no (sic) in their lying low in place. Those remaining (25-30 persons, including five Peace Corps Volunteers, missionaries, and academics) had unwisely disregarded strong warning from the American Ambassador urging them repeatedly to leave Kwangju in the last few days when this was feasible to do. The five Peace Corps volunteers defied a direct order to leave. Once out of Kwangju, they will be sent home.

The idea of abandoning Gwangju was unacceptable. If we, as Americans, slipped away we would be saying to our colleagues and friends: "you don't matter." Worse still, it would have suggested that U.S. talk of human rights was meaningless. We did not regret our decision. We could not abandon Gwangju. Only later did we learn that Chun had floated the idea of bombing the town.

Up until May 23, there was little we could do except to be foreign faces in the crowd, witnessing daily events. It was frustrating. That changed when a few foreign reporters and photographers arrived; they asked if we would help by being their interpreters. Why us? Unlike today, few Koreans spoke English and the few who did were not keen to be seen interpreting for foreign reporters. Quite understandable ― who wants a bullseye painted on their back?

Does the act of interpreting constitute inappropriate involvement in the political situation? We debated that question and reached a consensus: we would only interpret questions asked and responses given and not offer our opinions. One exception: Tim, as the primary witness to the massacre on May 18, would give an anonymous interview for German TV about what he saw. His face was to be hidden and he was not to be identified as Peace Corps. Interpreting was not easy ― my focus was on interpreting the description of events ― what happened when, where and how. I was not prepared to interpret what the citizens' committee was debating; Tim did that.

Throughout the week of being trapped in Gwangju it seemed that there were two Koreas on display ― one was Chun's version of a militarized Korea: soldiers backed up with tanks ready and willing to harm their own countrymen. The other Korea was resolute and cooperative but willing, at any given moment, to make sure that we, as foreigners, were treated well. I felt safe in Gwangju.

We knew that Chun would not allow the insurrection in Gwangju to continue and I hiked out, over the hills, on May 25 with the goal of reaching the U.S. Embassy to tell them what we had seen in Gwangju. I reached Seoul the evening of May 26, met the Peace Corps director at the U.S. Embassy but, for reasons that were never explained, no one met me to hear my story.

The military retook Gwangju on the morning of May 27 and on the following day the Peace Corps deputy director and I traveled to Gwangju to bring my four colleagues to Seoul. We all wrote statements about what had happened and why we chose to stay in Gwangju, in defiance of the U.S. Embassy order. One PCV, for actions that were deemed to be political in nature, was expelled by Peace Corps and returned to the U.S. The Peace Corps director and, from what we learned later, the U.S. ambassador, accepted our decision for remaining in Gwangju and four of us stayed in Korea.

For several weeks afterwards the military government required that I report my whereabouts and who I met every day. We heard later that Chun's government wanted us expelled but the Peace Corps Korea director refused. We all finished our Peace Corps service and some of us stayed in Korea, either for work or study.

Paul Courtright in April 2016 / Courtesy of Paul Courtright

A cable from the U.S. Embassy to Washington, D.C., on June 16, 1980, included a report by a Gwangju-based American missionary. I only saw this cable in 2019.

It is the spontaneous and unanimous opinion of the missionary community living together here that the Peace Corps volunteers have won the lasting gratitude of great numbers of the citizens of Kwangju for the United States. Sharing the life of the people whom they came to serve, even when it meant sharing serious, perhaps mortal, danger. They made everybody who saw them realize that Americans (and America) really care. They identified themselves with the people notsoy (sic) shared animosities but by shared trouble. Missionaries stay as a matter of course, in obedience to a master and in a bond of love which leaves no choice: but the Peace Corps volunteers were, if anything, disobedient to their own master in not leaving the city. It is my personal opinion that if their headquarters had been able to see the situation from the ground as we saw it, headquarters would have hoped that they would stay and do almost exactly what they did. As Americans, we are very proud of our Peace Corps friends.

5.18 became synonymous with the struggle for democratic change in Korea. Today, I feel honored to have witnessed this historic event.

Paul Courtright was a U.S. Peace Corps Volunteer in South Jeolla Province from 1979 to 1981. Since 1981 he has continued his relationship with Korea conducting research there with Korean colleagues and a summer epidemiology course at Yonsei University with his wife.