The Two Koreas: A Contemporary History (22 page)

As the number of student demonstrators demanding elections grew to the tens of thousands and spilled off the campuses into the streets, both the civilian and the military sides of the South Korean government raised with American officials the possibility of using military forces to back up the hard-pressed police. On May 8, Gleysteen reported that he would try to defuse “this uncomfortable situation” the following day in separate meetings with Chun and with Choi Kwang Soo, the civilian chief of staff at the Blue House. “In none of our discussions,” he told Washington, “will we in any way suggest that the USG opposes ROKG contingency plans to maintain law and order, if absolutely necessary by reinforcing the police with the army. If I were to suggest any complaint on this score, I believe we would lose all our friends within the civilian and military leadership.” The State Department responded, “We agree that we should not oppose ROK contingency plans to maintain law and order, but you should remind Chun and Choi of the danger of escalation if law enforcement responsibilities are not carried out with care and restraint.”

In conversation with Gleysteen, Chun blamed the unrest on “a small number” of student radicals, professors, and ambitious politicians. He described the situation as not critical and said military force would be used
only as a last resort. Wickham, meeting with the ROK defense minister and chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff the same day, emphasized the dangers of escalation if troops were used against civilians. The exchanges left Gleysteen with the impression that the student demonstrations might be handled with moderation, although they were reaching massive proportions and becoming larger by the day.

On May 13, however, Chun suddenly played the North Korean card, telling Wickham that Pyongyang was the “hidden hand” behind the students and that the decisive moment for a North Korean attack on the South might have arrived. Wickham reported to Washington that Chun’s stress on danger from the North appeared to be a pretext for a move into the Blue House. American scrutiny of its intelligence turned up no sign of preparations for attack, and the State Department, concerned about rumors in Seoul, made a public statement to that effect. Years later a Korean military intelligence officer said he had been ordered by officials close to Chun to fabricate the supposed threat.

On the night of May 17 and the early-morning hours of May 18, military authorities began widespread arrests of student leaders and senior political figures, including the three most likely candidates for president, the “three Kims”—opposition leaders Kim Dae Jung and Kim Young Sam and former prime minister Kim Jong Pil. All political activity was banned under a declaration of full martial law, a step beyond the partial martial law previously in effect. The National Assembly was closed at bayonet point and heavy censorship reimposed on the Korean press. The army seized control, occupied many campuses, and closed all universities.

Gleysteen reported to Washington that the actions meant that “the military [has] all but formally taken over the country.” In a “flash” cable, reserved for communications of the highest urgency, he declared that “the military leaders have shown disregard for constituted authority in the ROK—and for us. We have been presented with a
fait accompli
suggesting that the military leaders either do not know or care about the consequences of treating us in this manner.” The ambassador, presenting sharp protests to President Choi and to the army chief of staff, said the United States found the actions “shocking and astounding.” The CIA station chief in Seoul, Bob Brewster, made a similar protest to Chun. The State Department issued an unusually strong statement about an American ally, saying the United States was “deeply disturbed” and concerned that the use of military force would “exacerbate problems” in Korea.

One of the most serious issues was the fate of late President Park’s old rival, Kim Dae Jung. Because of his spectacular kidnapping from Tokyo by KCIA agents in 1973 and subsequent persecution by the Park government, the opposition figure and former presidential candidate was better known abroad than any other living South Korean. At home he inspired
passionate loyalty, especially in his native Cholla provinces, but also fierce antipathy among conservatives, especially in the military. His release from house arrest and reemergence to prominence after Park’s assassination was considered particularly threatening by those who had been close to Park.

As the country moved toward elections, it seemed distinctly possible, perhaps likely, that Kim could win a free and fair presidential balloting in light of his popularity, the widespread respect for what he had suffered at the hands of Park, and the strong popular reaction against military rule. As early as mid-March, Gleysteen had observed the inherent contradiction in the emergence of Chun and the reemergence of Kim, and he reported to Washington that this ultimately would have to be resolved, “yet no one knows exactly how and when.”

As martial law was declared, a large number of soldiers invaded Kim’s house, searched it thoroughly, and took Kim away. Soldiers also arrested several of his secretaries, bodyguards, and close political associates. Just a few hours earlier, as rumors circulated that Kim would be arrested on charges of inciting student demonstrations, Gleysteen had warned Blue House chief of staff Choi that arrests of any politicians amid the growing tension was “ill advised” and that the arrest of Kim Dae Jung could be “incendiary.”

The ambassador’s prediction proved to be accurate. While troops quickly imposed a sullen order on Seoul, the declaration of martial law and especially the arrest of Kim touched off passionate protests in Kwangju, the capital of Kim’s home region of southwestern Korea. After relatively routine clashes between students and combat police early that Sunday, aggressive black-beret special forces troops arrived to quell the demonstrations. Tim Warnberg, a Peace Corps volunteer, recounted what he saw next:

The soldiers charged and began swinging their clubs. We ran along with the panicked crowd and I ended up in a small store along with about 15 other people, including one other PCV [Peace Corps volunteer]. A soldier came into the store and proceeded to club everyone over the head with his truncheon until he came to the other volunteer and me. He stopped, startled, hesitated a moment, and then ran out. We went out into the side street and found that the troops had retreated to the main street, leaving behind wounded people everywhere. Most of the injured had suffered serious blows to the head, arms or legs. . . . One young boy, bleeding from a gash on his forehead, told us he had been playing billiards when the paratroopers burst in and beat each person sharply on the head and then withdrew. The others
had similar stories—though some were actively demonstrating, many were simply attending to their business when the troops indiscriminately began to beat them.

Martha Huntley, a missionary who had lived in Kwangju for nearly fifteen years, reported:

One man we knew, a businessman about thirty, was pulled off the bus he was riding (along with other youngish-looking people), and was kicked about the head so bad he lost an eye. Another young mother about the same age, thirty or early thirties, was taking her two children to Sunday school, was beaten and left unconscious on the sidewalk—she had to have stitches in her scalp and was incoherent for four months—her husband joined the students Sunday afternoon when they fought with the soldiers. No one knew what was happening or why.

Early on May 21, after three days of indiscriminate attacks by special forces and increasingly large, passionate, and violent opposition from Kwangju residents, townspeople commandeered military vehicles and raided weapons dumps to seize pistols, rifles, and thousands of rounds of ammunition. After a pitched battle with the soldiers, a group of students set up a machine gun on the roof of a local hospital. When it became clear that their brutal tactics were not succeeding, the troops were withdrawn to the outskirts and sealed off the city.

The following day, more than thirty thousand Kwangju people gathered in front of the provincial administration building, now controlled by protesters, to cheer demands that the troops stay out of town and that the government release all those in detention and pay compensation for the dead and wounded. Based on information supplied by the government, Gleysteen, in a cable to Washington, called the Kwangju events “a massive insurrection” that is “out of control and poses an alarming situation for the ROK military.”

As the standoff continued, the lull in the crisis provided the opportunity for a negotiated settlement, which Washington strongly favored. On May 22, the State Department and the US Embassy issued a statement calling for maximum restraint on both sides and a peaceful settlement and also warning North Korea against attempting to exploit the situation. The South Korean news media, now under heavy censorship, did not report the statement. Seoul’s military authorities agreed to airdrop leaflets containing the statement into Kwangju, but never did so. On the contrary, the government-controlled radio station heard in Kwangju
reported that the United States had approved the dispatch of the hated special forces troops into Kwangju. Gleysteen protested and demanded a retraction. It was never given.

At the White House on May 22, a National Security Council meeting considered the crisis. According to the highly classified report on the meeting, “There was general agreement that the first priority is the restoration of order in Kwangju by the Korean authorities with the minimum use of force necessary without laying the seeds for wide disorders later. Once order is restored, it was agreed that we must press the Korean Government, and the military in particular, to allow a greater degree of political freedom to evolve.” Regarding the immediate next steps, “We have counseled moderation, but have not ruled out the use of force, should the Koreans need to employ it to restore order,” the meeting agreed. National Security Adviser Brzezinski summed up the approach: “In the short term support, in the longer term pressure for political evolution.”

The final military assault on Kwangju, using the ROK Twentieth Division and some special forces troops wearing regular army uniforms to disguise their identity, began at 3:00
A.M.
on May 27. Compared with the earlier brutal and bloody encounters, the military action was relatively swift and effective. According to official government figures, by the time the city was retaken, 170 people had been killed, most of them in the first few days. The official toll was raised to 240 in 1995 as a result of a reinvestigation, but Kwangju people claim that the real number was far higher. The outcome fueled a long-lasting and intense opposition to Chun, Roh, and the other generals and fervent anti-Americanism among citizens of the Cholla provinces and many Korean students.

Charges of American acquiescence or even approval of the Kwangju events reverberated in Korea. On May 16, before martial law was declared, the Korean military had made the required notification to remove two elements of the ROK Twentieth Infantry Division from operational control of the US-ROK Combined Forces Command. Before the division was sent to Kwangju to retake the city in the second week of conflict there, Wickham was asked to approve its redeployment to Kwangju, even though such an approval was not required once the division was out from US operational control. After checking with Washington, Wickham and Gleysteen agreed it would be preferable to deploy the Twentieth Division rather than the hated special forces units, which had never been under US command. These facts were used by Chun’s propaganda organs to suggest US sponsorship of the crackdown in Kwangju.

The “Kwangju massacre,” as it was called, remained a central issue in Korean life for many years thereafter. The United States, which was held responsible by many Koreans, for a long time spoke only sparingly and ineffectively about its role, evidently out of consideration for Chun. In
1985, after the US Information Agency library was occupied by students protesting Kwangju, the embassy recommended that it be permitted to make an extensive statement of the facts about American involvement. Washington said no. It was not until June 1989, nine years after the fact and with Kwangju still a traumatic issue, that the United States responded to questions from a special committee of the ROK National Assembly by making public an extensive account of its involvement in the Kwangju events.

In the immediate wake of the violent denouement, the United States adopted a “cool and aloof” public stand toward Chun and the other generals in order to signal disapproval and in hopes of affecting their future behavior. Washington indefinitely postponed a planned US economic mission to Seoul and asked the Asian Development Bank to delay action on two pending loans to South Korea. In Seoul Gleysteen met Chun twice in June, the month after the Kwangju uprising, and again in early July to advocate political liberalization and, on the last occasion, to emphasize the US view that Chun had “abused” the US-ROK security relationship. Nonetheless, US intelligence reported, “Chun feels that he can more or less do as he pleases, irrespective of U.S. warnings.” Donald Gregg, now an NSC official, commented, “We do have limited leverage, and Chun knows this.” He thought Gleysteen’s strong words might strengthen the US hand. But Deputy National Security Adviser David Aaron argued that these are “all empty words . . . the only way to get leverage on this guy is to start a dialogue with the North.” That course was rejected.

It was in this chilly diplomatic climate, on a weeklong visit in mid-July 1980, that I first met Chun and Roh Tae Woo. My meetings with them were arranged by Sohn Jang Nae, the KCIA minister in the ROK Embassy in Washington, a retired major general who had been Chun’s and Roh’s English teacher at the Korean Military Academy. To my surprise, I found two very different personalities: one decisive, strong, and ambitious; the other conciliatory, flexible, and much less openly ambitious.