Gwangju Massacre and war on truth

Gwangju International Center Director Shin Gyong-gu stands in a room on the top floor of the Jeonil Building, on which a military helicopter opened fire on reporters during the 1980 Gwangju Democratic Uprising. /Korea Times photo by Jon Dunbar

By Jon Dunbar

For almost 39 years, opposing partisan factions have bickered over every aspect of the May 18, 1980, Gwangju Democratic Uprising, also known as the Gwangju Massacre for the deadly military suppression of civilian protesters, and sometimes called 5.18 for short.

Meanwhile, the answers sat right there for any investigators who cared to look. So why had so many facts of the May 18 pro-democracy movement remained shrouded in secrecy and controversy for decades?

Gwangju's 10-story Jeonil Building, overlooking a square and the former South Jeolla Provincial Office, bears crucial evidence of the military's actions to suppress not just the democracy activists but also the journalists reporting on it. One room on the top floor bears almost 200 nicks, holes and scratches, mostly in the floor, caused by machine gunfire from a helicopter.

I gained permission to enter thanks to Dr. Shin Gyong-gu, director of the Gwangju International Center, and visited with colleagues from the English-language monthly magazine Gwangju News, Jan. 12, only a couple of weeks before renovation was to begin on the building, which had been sitting empty for years.

Ceiling tiles of the Jeonil Building which have not been replaced since 1980 show damage from machine gun fire coming from a military helicopter during the suppression of the May 18 Gwangju Democratic Uprising. /Korea Times photo by Jon Dunbar

The exterior was a cheery white color, but the paint was peeling and someone had written "LOVE LIFE" in large block capital letters down the external stairwell, giving a clear indication the building was no longer cared for, at least officially. We gathered out front, next to peaceful civic activists as well as a small contingent of riot police.

City officials led us inside and up to the top floor, where a velvet red rope was moved aside for us to enter. I strolled in, not realizing until I got to the other side that I'd walked over several dozen bullet holes, each labeled with a double-digit number by the National Forensic Service. They peppered the floor, the outward-facing side of a building column and even a few ceiling tiles that hadn't been replaced since 1980.

The officials told me this was a warning shot ― well, 200 of them ― fired from a military helicopter hovering near the building at reporters overlooking the scene of the historic event. Meanwhile, below us on the street, a joyous version of the song "The Republic of Korea Is a Democratic Republic" played.

Standing there on the pockmarked floor, looking at the incontrovertible evidence of the government action, all I could feel was anger. How could basic facts of this incident remain officially unconfirmed, disputable, for decades? Even eyewitnesses to the helicopter attack on the building must have questioned their own senses at times.

This was an attack by the government on not just the press, but also on the institution of knowledge. Chun Doo-hwan did not want opposition to his military takeover. He did not want leftwing politics in Korea, nor a free press that could contradict his authority. And he was willing to burn it all down to have his way.

He didn't come clean when on trial for treason and sentenced to death. He wanted to take the secrets of his lethal suppression to his grave.

Obviously he believed he was protecting against communist insurgents, and he and his loyalists have used words like "monsters" and "devils" to describe the people who stood up to ― and were knocked down by ― his regime. And it is clear the worst attack against democratic values was the one launched under his authority.

On the top floor of the Jeonil Building in Gwangju, a concrete pillar is pockmarked with bullet holes on the side facing a window. /Korea Times photo by Jon Dunbar

A well-informed populace, one with room for a wide political spectrum, requires free access to accurate information, not an ill-meaning government that kills its people and lies about it for decades after. By attacking the press, he blinded all South Koreans.

Decades later, the effects of his attack on democracy are still felt. The Korean media, unable to report the full facts, has had its wings clipped. Leftist thinking has become aligned with radicalism and conspiracy theories, while remaining incapable of effectively governing the country and moving forward.

Meanwhile, the voting population has spent decades dithering between liberal politicians fighting for credibility and authoritarian conservative figures who don't seem to have much better aspirations for Korea than Chun did.

In a way, Chun got his wish of a Korea that was too weakened to fully resist him; perhaps the only flaw in his escape plan was that he has lived too long. As they say, "the good die young."

It wasn't until the National Forensic Service surveyed the building in 2016 and 2017 that the facts finally came out: No, eyewitnesses, you did not imagine seeing a military helicopter firing on unarmed civilians in a building.

So, mystery solved, all the air is cleared, and Chun is currently standing trial, not for treason again, but for slandering a critic, the late priest Cho Bi-oh, who only spoke the truth about what he saw in 1980.

While the Korean government is finally making efforts to address the decades-long war on truth regarding 5.18 and other longstanding historical issues, U.S. President Donald Trump wages his own war on truth on his own people, telling dozens of lies each day and calling the press "the enemy of the American people" in a blatant attempt to keep his people confused so he can hold onto power at the cost of his nation's stability.

The internet, once considered the bastion of the Information Revolution, has instead become the battlefield of a worldwide assault on fact, with subjective opinion displacing objective accuracy.

We will see if the Americans fall into the same trap as South Korea, and whether it will take as long to recover from the damage already done. As the truth becomes cloudy once again, we must be ever-vigilant to restore faith in democratic institutions, including the press, history and justice.

The Jeonil Building will reopen to the public next year in time for the 40th anniversary of 5.18. The whole building will be getting a makeover, but they will keep that one section of that one room preserved so others can stand amid the bullet holes marking Korea's decades-long war on truth.

Visitors will finally get to see for themselves that this travesty was not imaginary, and is still far from resolved.

Jon Dunbar (jdunbar@koreatimes.co.kr) is a copyeditor at The Korea Times.