Korean Survivors Recount U.S. War Crimes

Korea International War Crimes Tribunal, June 23, 2001, New York
Report on US Crimes in Korea 1945-2001

13. Korean Survivors Recount U.S. War Crimes

civilians

Deirdre Griswold

Workers World
June 8, 2000

Yoh Cho-ri, Chang Nyung County, south Korea

For 50 years they had kept their memories to themselves. If they tried to speak of what happened to their families, their neighbors, they were called "communist sympathizers"--and that could be a one-way ticket to jail.

But today, all over south Korea, older people are talking about the Korean War. Many of them are eager to shed the burden of their painful stories--especially of those terrifying days in the summer of 1950 when U.S. forces came storming through their valleys. A solidarity delegation from abroad visited several villages in the area of Kyung Sang Province on May 16 and 17 at the invitation of the National Alliance for Democracy and Reunification of Korea (NADRK).

"I was 20 years old in 1950 when the U.S. soldiers came," Lee Song-Il of Yoh Cho-ri told the group of visitors from abroad. "We grew accustomed to hearing fighter jets and bombers. There was a temporary U.S. military base on the other side of the road."

By mid-August the war, which had started in June, had grown intense in this area. There were thousands of refugees trying to get away from the fighting.

Lee relived that memorable day, August 25, as though it were yesterday. "About 2,000 people were crowded into this valley. Civilians were being herded through the area by Korean soldiers." He pointed along the road bordered by peaceful rice paddies, pale green against the wooded hills.

"The shooting started before dawn. Houses were on fire. It was a chaotic situation. The people were afraid they would be bombed, so they ran to the base, thinking the U.S. planes wouldn't bomb there.

"But shots came from the base. They ran back and we were all lying down. When the shooting stopped, they tried to cross the road again. There was another round of shots from the base. Three times the people were shot at.

"The U.S. Army came into our field. They demanded the men stand up and show ID. If they didn't have ID, they were shot. I couldn't count how many were killed. Months later the Korean military buried the dead in a mass grave--about 70 to 80 people."

Another man spoke up from the local Investigations Committee that was formed just a few months ago. "The entire village was burnt," said Hwang Nam Yon. "Thirty-seven homes. My brother-in-law was killed, my younger brother, too. He was in sixth grade. Two of my cousins were killed.

"In March of this year we sent a report to the government and the local authorities," said Hwang. "We got the same answer from all of them--'Let's wait.' "

Eui-Ryung: 'We want them to acknowledge the truth'

It was a short drive to another village in Kyung Sang Province--and another massacre site. Purple wysteria blossoms sweetened the hillsides, as they must have done in those summer days half a century ago.

In the village of Eui Ryung, Lee Chae Gee meticulously described the events of Aug. 20, 1950. "Around 4 p.m. U.S. surveillance planes flew over the area for about 30 minutes.

Then four fighter jets came in so low the people could see the pilots. They fired their guns and dropped six bombs. Around 100 people were hurt and 53 died. Fifty houses were burned.

"Most of those who survived are still alive and suffering. We are asking both the U.S. and Korean governments to acknowledge the truth."

Kim Ie Myung, 74, showed the place in his leg where he had been injured and the scar on his head where he still carries a piece of shrapnel.

Chang Ji-ri: 'Why would they bomb us?'

In Chang Ji-ri, Ham Ahn County, a light rain was falling as the solidarity delegation arrived. The villagers had taken shelter in a grove of trees, where banners and signs demanded that U.S. troops leave Korea. Several young people from nearby towns captured the speak-out on videotape.

An older man stepped forward. "Thank you for coming and sharing with us our deep unresolved pain and grief. Help us reveal the truth so this will never happen again."

A group of women in flowered dresses sat on the ground at the front of the group. They were all in their sixties and seventies, less than five feet tall and clearly life-long friends. A leader of the Korean Confederation of Trade Unions, who had been helping the villagers with the investigation, pointed out their injuries. Several women pulled up their skirts, unembarrassed, to reveal the scars of deep puncture wounds on their buttocks and thighs.

Next to them sat Hwang Gae Il. Tears from his useless left eye steadily trickled down over fearsome scars across his cheek.

Cho Yung U, the chair of the Kyung Sang Province Investigating Committee, said that a long line of people several miles long had been evacuating the area in August 1950 when the attacks occurred. U.S. troops were stationed up on the hills and knew the people were civilians.

On Aug. 21, a surveillance flight was followed by machine gunning of the refugees. Some 170 people died at that time. "At first people thought it was just an accident," said Cho. "But they soon learned it had been systematic. We later found out that the commander of the 25th Division, Gen. William B. Dean, had said, 'Consider these civilians enemies.'"

Dean, by the way, also commanded U.S. troops at No Gun-ri, where civilian refugees were gunned down at the end of July 1950. The story of these U.S. atrocities was broken by the Associated Press on Sept. 29, 1999, and earned its authors a Pulitzer Prize. Despite efforts by U.S. News & World Report to discredit the story, the Pulitzer committee has reaffirmed its basic accuracy.

Ahn Sang Bo was 19 years old and leader of the village youth committee at the time of the bombings at Chang Ji-ri. He is the most senior of today's survivors. Ahn remembers up to a dozen planes dropping napalm as well as explosives on concentrations of people. "Why would they bomb us? I witnessed one whole family get burned. I had thought the U.S. were peace lovers. I learned they were killers. After 36 years of Japanese colonial rule, I had thought we'd be free."

Ahn stiffened. "The Americans are our worst enemies. They divided our land at the 38th parallel, making Koreans kill each other."

The horrors of Chang Ji-ri village kept emerging, one by one. People told how a woman carrying a baby had had her head blown off. The baby suckled at her breast for three days before it died. When those who had fled the village returned, they found wild animals eating the dead bodies. People told of the mass raping of women and young girls--often in front of their husbands.

After 50 years of silence, the ghastly tales tumbled from their mouths, pushed out on gasps and moans.

Jae Sil: 'Attacked from air, sea and ground'

The rain got heavier and the visitors left, hoping to reach the manor house in Jae Sil before dusk. In a schoolyard, village leader Lee Man Soon met their bus, saying it was too big to navigate the little lane to the Lee family house. While the visitors waited for the rain to lift so they could make the 10-minute walk, Lee Man Soon explained that this town had been a very close-knit community. Some 80 percent of the 173 households were from one family--the Lees.

"During the war, 99 percent of the village was burned. Most of the people took refuge at the estate house of the Lee family. No south Koreans were stationed in this region, only U.S. troops.

"I was among the 170 people taking refuge at the Lee compound on Aug. 11, 1950. We were attacked from the air and the ground. Eight were killed instantly.

"Our village is 4 kilometers from the sea. So we were also shelled by U.S. warships.

"There were no north Koreans or Chinese in our village. But there had been a large confrontation 5 kilometers away in which there were 2,300 U.S. casualties.

"I lost five members of my family, including my mother and aunt," said Lee. "Look here, I'm holding a bullet that I took from my leg."

The visitors took off their shoes and stepped up into the estate house, admiring its beautiful old timbers. "You see where the left side looks newer? That's because the roof there was completely blown away," Lee said. At this point, a rather chubby old man--unusual in south Korea--wearing a hearing aid pushed to the front. He bragged that his uncle had had the biggest house in the village. "I lived in Japan during the war," he said, "but I know that the ones to blame here were north Korea and China." The others shook their heads. Several called out, "You weren't even here. You don't know what happened." He seemed not to hear them. They walked away muttering as the old fellow kept talking to no one in particular.

Investigations Committee tells of repression

In the city of Taegu the night before, the Investigations Committee for Kyung Sang Province had had dinner ready for the foreign guests. Knowing they were tired after a long bus ride from Seoul, the hosts had kept their remarks brief, even though they had much they wanted to say.

Song Ho Jun, president of the committee, told the group: "We deplore that this investigation in itself violates the South Korean National Security Law. There's been oppression from the government for the past 50 years. We seek support from the international community."

Yoo Yoon Ham, president of the Victims' Families Committee founded this March, said simply: "We were accused of being communist sympathizers so we couldn't speak out."

Chae Gyn Hoo added, "Now we are able to express our grief. Please give your effort so these atrocities will not happen again."

The Executive Director of the NADRK in Chaegu explained how in May 1960, a military coup had been triggered by efforts to find the truth about U.S. involvement in these massacres. "The Korean people suspect that the U.S. government supported the Pak Chung Hee coup so U.S. atrocities during the war would not be revealed," he charged.

Chae Sim Ho of the Investigations Committee, who introduced himself as also a reporter for the local paper, said "We have investigated these massacres since 1994, but couldn't get it printed until last year."

Chae told the guests that the next morning they would visit an old cobalt mine where at least 3,000 political prisoners had been shot, their bodies dumped down the mine shafts.

Reprinted from the June 8, 2000 issue of Workers World newspaper.

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