How I Discovered a Forgotten War

By Jeffrey Miller

One of the most memorable periods of my sojourn in Korea was when I had the honor and the privilege of covering Korean War commemoration events for this paper from 2000-2003.

Today marks the 59th anniversary of the outbreak of that conflict. With North Korea's recent saber rattling and nuclear threats, however, one would think that the war never ended ― just another grim reminder of the uneasy peace that has existed on the peninsula since the signing of the armistice in 1953.

Back in 2000, I became an ``accidental journalist" as it were, when, after I had reviewed some books on the Korean War, I was permitted by this paper to cover many of the commemorative events in Seoul and around the nation. Although my journalistic career never really took off, I've always been deeply indebted to this paper for the chance to cover those events and grateful for the support from United States Forces Korea (USFK) and the diplomatic community who allowed me to attend their events and embassy functions as well as meet many returning veterans.

Inasmuch as my knowledge of the conflict was quite limited in the beginning (I am sad to admit that what I knew about the war was what I had gleaned from the movie and later television series M*A*S*H), I soon made up for it by having the opportunity to meet many returning veterans and learn about the conflict firsthand.

From the impressive ceremony at the War Memorial in Seoul in June of 2000 (other events had been scaled down or scrapped entirely following the North-South summit, as not to offend the North) and a USO Salute to Heroes celebration to events commemorating Task Force Smith, the Incheon landing (not even a typhoon wreaking havoc on the peninsula could keep me from attending the Incheon commemoration) and the Northern Campaigns, I was present at all of them and writing about them for this paper. Even when other newspapers and media had moved on to other things, I was still showing up, meeting veterans and filing my stories.

While most people who are vaguely familiar with the conflict might know of places like Incheon, Pork Chop Hill, and Panmunjeom, I would soon learn about places like Gloster Hill, Gapyeong, and Chosin. And it never ceased to amaze me just how willing the veterans were to talk about this so-called ``forgotten war."

One of my most memorable moments meeting with returning veterans was the night I spent talking to veterans of the Second Infantry Division and listening to them recall the ``first victory" at Jipyeong-ni in February 1951, when the U.N. and Korean forces held off a Chinese offensive, which turned the tide of the war.

It was an honor for me to be in the company of these men who had survived the Busan Perimeter and the intense fighting at Kunu-ri during the push north to the Yalu River in the fall of 1950, when the division suffered phenomenal casualties, and be privy to their stories of those battles, the camaraderie they shared with one another, and the terrible price that so many young men paid.

These were not gung-ho soldiers, the kind that you see stereotypically depicted in movies. These were ordinary men called upon to do extraordinary things, who believed in what they were doing to save South Korea and stop the spread of communism.

Take Oscar Cortez of the Second Infantry Division who survived the Busan Perimeter and Kunu-ri only to be captured by the Chinese near Wonju in February 1951. He would spend the rest of the war in a POW camp and experience unimaginable horrors. Years later, he would still suffer side effects from the years he spent in the POW camp. However, when asked if he had any regrets or felt any bitterness during an interview that I had with him in 2001, Cortez said that it had been worth it, even after being a prisoner of war.

A lot of the veterans I talked to back then echoed Cortez's sentiment and told me that they were astonished when they returned to Korea for the first time and saw firsthand what they fought for a half century ago. To them, everything that they had fought for had been worth it. For them to see a modern, free South Korea rising up from the devastation of war might have been acknowledgment enough for their sacrifices and commitment to peace on the peninsula, but the people in the South have never forgotten.

Neither have I. Although it's been six years since I wrote my last article about the conflict for this paper, I am still writing about the war for my own personal projects. One of the things that I have often wondered about most is how the conflict will be remembered by future generations? Aside from the obvious like scholarly research, war memorials or museums, there is still no definitive Korean War movie (at least not in the West, other than M*A*S*H) not like World War II or the Vietnam War. Maybe there is some truth to this whole ``forgotten war" misnomer.

The problem with remembering the Korean War, at least in Korea, has been the dichotomy that exists between the older and the younger generation. While many older Koreans remember all too vividly the horrors, the suffering and the loss of human lives, many younger Koreans do not share the same historical links to the past and have moved on beyond the conflict. Once, I asked some university students if they knew one of the Korean heroes of the conflict, Gen. Paik Sun-yup, and all of them shook their heads.

Be that as it may, this June 25, I'll take time out again, like I've done every year since 2000, to remember the conflict, the men and women who fought in it, and all those who paid the ultimate sacrifice for Korea's freedom.

The writer, an instructor at Woosong University in Daejeon, has been a regular contributor to The Korea Times since 1998. He is currently writing a book, a compilation of essays and articles originally printed by this paper. He can be reached at sparksjam@gmail.com