Overlapping silhouettes: The taunts of the ballpark and the student soldiers of the Yeosu Memorial

Recently, a cheering culture sparked at a high school baseball tournament sent shockwaves through our society. An arena for youth and competition was affected by mockery and derision directed at the opposing side. The aftermath brought an unprecedented six-month suspension, followed by mutual apologies, forgiveness and the heavy burden of mandatory history education.

While many are quick to condemn this uncomfortable spectacle as deviance of immature youth, a memory lingers in the corner of one’s heart. Over the silhouettes of those school uniforms trading thoughtless taunts, there emerges an overlapping image of another group of uniforms from over 70 youths who were forced to bear a burden of a different magnitude.

Every year around this time, a memorial service is held in Yeosu, South Jeolla Province, to honor the student soldiers who fought in the 1950-53 Korean War. In July 1950, when the Korean Peninsula faced the imminent threat of communist subjugation, countless students from Yeosu and the broader “honam” or the southwestern region comprising both the South and North Jeolla provinces. They were the first in the nation to cast aside their school uniforms. Signing their enlistment in blood, they rushed onto the battlefield. They had no military serial numbers, nor had they received proper training. Yet, the blood these fresh-faced youths shed at the Battle of Hwagae became the decisive catalyst that held the Nakdong River defense line, serving to enable the perilous Republic of Korea to lay the groundwork for a counteroffensive. The life enjoyed by today's youth — competing on the field, laughing and dreaming of the future — is the legacy secured through the sacrifice of those nameless student soldiers.

The memorial service in Yeosu is about the past. It is a solemn moment of reflection, forcing our community to examine the foundations of sacrifice upon which we stand. Yet, when faced with the question posed by these student soldiers: How was the peace and freedom you enjoy made possible? Today’s Korea fails to offer a confident answer.

In recent times, our society has seen the chasm of conflict deepen into radical political polarization. Dialogue has been supplanted by suspicion; compromise by animosity. In a cultural climate where the factional advantages of an issue are weighed before its essence, the community loses sense of direction. They say the ground hardens after a rain, but neglected soil does not heal on its own. This stagnation occurs because we have depleted our “sense of communal responsibility” — the higher value capable of embracing and healing social conflict.

At this critical juncture, the spirit of the student soldiers from 76 years ago serves as our only viable compass. Their devotion was devoid of political calculation or ideological advantage. They selflessly threw away their most precious youth for the greater cause: the survival of the community. Democracy functions only when individuals with differing opinions maintain a baseline of trust and solidarity. The sacrifice of these student soldiers was the very frontline that defended that foundation of trust.

The language of mockery witnessed at the high school baseball field and the politics of hate currently dominating our society are fundamentally cut from the same cloth. A community that loses respect for the “other” is bound to collapse from within. Despite the precedent set by our institutional forebears who stripped off their uniforms to preserve the state, we have become excessively accustomed to fracturing our community over trivial interests and the binary of winning and losing. When the values defended by the bodies of those student soldiers grow faint amid the harsh rhetoric of political factions, Korea will lose the momentum required to march into the future.

Amid the rising smoke of remembrance in Yeosu, we confront the stern historical invoice left behind by the student soldiers:

“Was the value of the Republic of Korea, which we defended with our lives, so trivial that it could be dismantled by mere partisan logic and antagonism?”

Standing at this crossroad, the task before our community is clear. Will we remain confined and isolated within a shameful domestic feud, or will we look into the mirror of their unconditional devotion to move toward a future of solidarity and integration?

One hopes that the unsavory incident at the high school baseball tournament transcends being a mere episode and serves as a catalyst for historical awakening and reflection in our society. The school uniform of the younger generation must not be an armor of mockery and derision, but rather the weight of responsibility for bearing the future of our community.

Kim Chee-ho is director of the Veterans Affairs Division at the Jeonnam Eastern Veterans Affairs Office.