Barbed wire…an endless string of cold, dark and flesh-tearing steel as far as one could see. It weaves its terrible strands from the outskirts of Seoul along the Han River for thirty or so miles until it reaches that gaping space between two nations. Two nations staring each other down in a bitter hate, a hate between two brooding brothers, North and South. This is the DMZ.
I have always found the story of the Korean War a great tragedy. It is known as “The Forgotten War” in the annals of American history. Sandwiched between the heroics of WWII and the Vietnam War. Not many know the story of that war that raged between 1950-1953. It was a brutal and violent contest that did little to resolve anything. The border remains much like it did before war broke out. It was a costly conflict that stirred the pot of hatred even more. The war was never officially ended, only halted by ceasefire. So the frontline remains a four-mile wide gash between the two Koreas. It is an entanglement of barbed wires, landmines, bunkers and millions of soldiers. The DMZ is the most heavily fortified border in the world; soldiers on both sides are poised for all out war at any given moment.
On the ride up north in our tour van this surreal feeling overcame me. It was an out of this world feeling as I looked to my left at the great Han River. Barbed wire and pillboxes were flanking its sides. Not one foot of the bank was left uncovered by the wire and watchful eye of sentries and CCTV. The threat of North Korean infiltration through the Han River is taken seriously. Many DPRK agents and spies have killed and/or captured along this vast river. The Han River eventually makes its way through North Korea, an ample outlet for spies and defectors to use. It is no wonder that such care is taken in protecting its shores. In fact the Han River splits Seoul in half as it makes its way south, making it a vital waterway of utmost importance.
We eventually reached Imingak. A tourist spot equipped with a theme park, memorials and war relics. On its northern edge is the Bridge of Freedom, a railroad bridge that heads north into the DMZ, it is flanked by pillboxes and barbed wire. The fence line around the bridge is plastered with colored ribbons. Written on the ribbons are the hopes and prayers of thousands of Koreans for a unified Korea. One couldn’t help but feel the emotion of the place. There is an honest hope among most Koreans that they will be united once again with the North to form one Korea.
Next was the Third Infiltration Tunnel. It is one of several dug under the DMZ. The tunnels were built by the North Koreans using forced labor in the form of South Korean POWs from the Korean War. The tunnels were built for the sole purpose of invading the South in a surprise underground attack aimed at Seoul. The descent into the tunnel was an arduous and steep 200 meters or so down. At the bottom was the infiltration tunnel. The tunnel itself was long, dark, damp and cramped. I had that eerie sensation, imagining the POWs laboring away in terrible conditions under the watchful eyes of the North Koreans. A subtle fear crept in just imagining the North Koreans walking down this tunnel. Several hundred meters in there are three concrete barriers erected by the South after the tunnel was discovered. In each barrier there is a hole about one square foot in size. I just imagined unfriendly eyes peering through at mine at the other side of those barriers in the dark and unlit side. At this point you are hundreds of feet down and just over a football field away from the Democratic People’s Republic of Korea.
The Dorasan Observatory gave us a chance to look at the frontier of North Korea. Sitting atop a hill sits the observatory, camouflaged and bustling with military personnel. Perched on this hill is the concrete observatory where visitors can peer through binoculars at the last Stalinist country in the world. My heart raced when I first looked through the viewfinder. I saw the strings of barbed wire and the North Korean lookout posts, yet no DPRK soldiers in sight. There was a heavy fog in the valley so little could be seen without the zoom of the binoculars. My heart twisted as I caught glimpse of the giant flagpole in Kijongdong. Kijongdong is the Propoganda Village just inside North Korea’s half of the DMZ. The village is rumored to be empty, just a shell of empty apartment buildings meant to tempt South Koreans into defecting toward the utopia of North Korea. The fabled utopia is no longer a desire for South Koreans, history has given the upper hand to the R.O.K. and it’s people, while suffering and starvation happen in the North. Yet the propaganda remains. The flagpole I gawked at stands at 525 ft high while the flag itself weighs an astounding 600 pounds. This gargantuan monument is the second tallest in the world, following a flag in Azerbaijan of all places. I had a few short glimpses at the flag before the coin-operated binoculars went dark. Those seconds are burned into my brain.
The Dorasan Train Station followed. The station was once a stop on the rail line that formerly connected North and South before the war. It has since been rebuilt and redesigned. It stands as a powerful symbol for unification. Trains don’t pass through its hollow confines; there is no one to fill its corridors and waiting areas other than tourists. It was a melancholy visit to the beacon for unification. Inside it looks like a fully functioning modern train station. A blue sign inside shows the next stop on the line as Pyongyang. The tracks lead North, but they lay silent. The money that went into building such a station shows the determination of the South to be reunited with the North, even if only commercially. It was somber and uplifting to see this kind of infrastructure being built in the event of unification. Yet the hope seemed forlorn, a country up North to far gone into the shackles to come easily to the arms of its brother in the South. The DMZ remains a sign of this hope, as forlorn or realistic as it may seem. We must remember the future is always unclear…
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