Gwangju Uprising and Miss Universe 1980 (I)
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By Yang Dong-hee
It was Feb. 25, 1980, when Maj. Gen. Chun Doo-hwan of the ROK Army Security Command(ASC) and Chang Kang-jae, the late chairman of the Hankook Ilbo-Korea Times Group, were discussing ways of bringing “something big” to Korea over lunch in the commanding general’s private dining room at ASC near the Blue House.
It was barely four months after the assassination of President Park Chung-hee and a little over two months after the “12/12 Incident,” which refers to Chun's coup on the night of Dec. 12, 1979, when Martial Law Commander Gen. Chung Seung-hwa was arrested by Chun's group.
Kim Jhoong-key, the business director of the newspaper group at the time, was called in to the lunch meeting. Upon hearing the slight possibilities from Kim that the Hankook Ilbo, having sent the winners of Miss Korea pageant for over 20 years to the Miss Universe pageant, might be able to host the Miss Universe 1980 in Seoul, Chun “clapped his hands with joy,” and said he would willingly pay “double the amount if necessary.”
For Chun, hosting the international beauty pageant in Seoul during such a politically sensitive time was more than a good idea to show off the legitimacy of his power and “stabilized” Korean society to billions of global viewers on CBS-TV.
The destination of the pageant was supposed to be fixed at least one year ahead, but Canada was delaying the deposit of the $2 million hosting charge for unknown reasons.
He flew to New York the next day to meet the president of Miss Universe, Inc. and agreed to host the glamorous beauty pageant in Korea on July 8.
Considering that Korea's bid was made in the short notice of only four months ahead of time, Miss Universe, Inc. granted Kim a discount of $320,000 on the hosting charge.
A task force was instantly formed in the newspaper, and I was asked to join the team. I was on the secretarial staff for the commanding general of the ASC for three years when I was in the Army, and the 8th U.S. Army was my “beat” as I was covering the Ministry of National Defense from the city desk.
Meanwhile the political situation of Korea was getting worse every day. On May 17, the military power issued a Martial Law Decree and ordered all colleges in the nation to close down. The next morning, college students in Gwangju crashed with Army soldiers guarding their school gates. It was the start of the bloody incident we now officially call the Gwangju Uprising.
On the evening of May 18, some 20 reporters gathered at the Seongnam Military Airfield and flew to the Songjungri Airfield aboard a UH-1H ― the big helicopter we saw many times in the news during the Vietnam War. (The Korean Army still uses some 120 UH-1Hs, and more than half of them are aged over 36 years)
A khaki military bus was waiting on the runway to bring us to the regional martial law command stationed in the outskirts of Gwangju. The young army driver drove like crazy at the maximum speed for fear of getting shot.
We arrived at the command in half-an-hour, and the commanding general gave us a quick briefing on the violent turmoil that started the day before in the southern city.
It was already past midnight and we had to drink kettles of tap water to ease the pain from hunger. Come to think of it, I skipped dinner to hand over news stories in time (Unlike Korean-language newspaper reporters who would use the telephone lines, English-language reporters had to go to the newsroom to type out the stories).
Early the next morning, we went to the Kwangju Army Hospital, which was in the hands of the Martial Law troops. After interviewing several wounded soldiers and civilians, I went out to watch the angry civilian demonstrators a few blocks apart.
Soldiers gave us caution to stand close behind the Army tank, saying that no one could guarantee the safety of people at a time like this. They added that even their back side was not safe. All of sudden, several bullets flew in from behind with a sharpening sound. Ducking instantly to avoid the bullets, I thought the civilian side would be safer. All reporters left the Army hospital and ran into the lawless streets occupied by young armed civilians.
We came back to Seoul later that day with a bunch of “hot” news stories aboard the same helicopter.
As soon as my first news stories were printed out, I had to run with the wet prints (the test print of newspaper was literally wet for technical reasons at that time) to the second floor of the Seoul City Hall, where some 20 young Army officers, mostly first and second lieutenants, were wielding red pencils for strict censorship.
(To be continued)
The writer, a former reporter with The
Korea Times, worked 10 years at the Hankook
Ilbo New York and returned home to
be in sports marketing and show business.
He was the first managing director of the
Korea branch of the U.S.-based International
Management Group. He can be reached
at dhyang28@gmail.com.