Reconciliation through film: 45 years after Sabuk Incident

People gather during the Sabuk Incident in Sabuk, Gangwon Province, April 24, 1980. Korea Times file

YEONGWOL, Gangwon Province — The town of Sabuk, a former coal mining community deep in the mountains, is grappling with population decline. The main thing keeping it from fading into complete obscurity is Kangwon Land Casino. Remnants of the town’s past are vanishing gradually. Not just the physical signs, but also the people who lived through the Sabuk Incident of 1980. Many have died or moved on, their ties to the town severed with the closure of the mines that once bound them here.

Forty-five years ago, the rail overpass beside Sabuk Station, known as Angyeong-dari, was the site of a fierce clash between striking miners from the Dongwon Coal Mine and police dispatched to suppress them. The confrontation was part of the Sabuk Incident, a deeply complex and painful episode whose full truth remained silenced for decades, not only by the state but often by those involved.

Miners chase police into a tunnel during the Sabuk Incident in Gangwon Province, April 21, 1980. Korea Times file

To understand what happened in Sabuk, it is necessary to first grasp its context. In the wake of the 1970s oil crisis, Korea shifted its energy policy to focus on coal. While hundreds of mines operated across the country, safety standards were grossly neglected. Mining was a hazardous, grueling job, generally carried out by impoverished, undereducated laborers, many of whom were blacklisted or unable to make a living in their hometowns. They were denied fair wages and dehumanized, and hundreds perished each year in brutal, inhumane conditions.

The Dongwon Coal Mine had a union nominally affiliated with the National Coal Union, founded by the company-aligned Lee Jae-gi, who repeatedly secured reelection through rigged processes. The union existed primarily to protect the interests of company executives and the state.

As miner Lee Won-gap said in a statement on Sunday, “Even as our human rights were trampled and our wages exploited, we had to keep our mouths shut, block our ears and cover our eyes just to survive.”

Miners work on coal mining vehicles in Sabuk, Gangwon Province, April 27, 1980. Korea Times file

By early 1979, frustration over the manipulated elections was mounting, and anger was growing over the union’s open collusion with management and authorities.

Sabuk, by then, was a powder keg. The spark came when a surveillance officer was caught filming a group of miners who had gathered for a rally the government had banned. He tried to flee in a commandeered jeep, running over and injuring four miners in the process.

The incident ignited a fierce response. Enraged miners stormed the police station, destroyed property and seized control of the mine. In retaliation, police reinforcements were dispatched. On April 22, at Angyeong-dari, miners pelted the advancing officers with rocks, killing officer Lee Deok-su and injuring 70 others. Amid the chaos, Kim Sun-i, Lee Jae-gi’s wife, was dragged out of hiding, nearly lynched by a mob and subjected to horrific sexual violence.

Two days later, a tripartite negotiation among miners, the company and the government yielded an 11‑point agreement that briefly defused the crisis. But by May, the Martial Law Command had reneged: some 200 miners and women were arrested, and the authorities unleashed a campaign of indiscriminate torture.

As Lee Won-gap remembered, “We were beaten until our teeth broke and our ribs fractured. They dunked us in water so many times I lost consciousness again and again. It still haunts me.”

Under that extreme duress, miners were forced to betray one another, shattering any bonds of trust. Meanwhile, the state exploited the chaos in Gwangju to silence dissent, punishing those who dared speak out.

Few remember that Sabuk and Gwangju were connected in May 1980, with miners in Sabuk suffering under martial law just as troops entered Gwangju. By the time the Gwangju Uprising was crushed on May 27, Sabuk had been suppressed and 28 miners went through military trials, while others were released. Had the military intervened in Sabuk earlier, mass casualties could have followed, giving the state a pretext to expand martial law nationwide.

Director Park Bong-nam’s perspective

Director Park Bong-nam, whose documentary "1980 Sabuk" revisits these events, draws a powerful connection between the two uprisings. After a screening at the Roh Moo-Hyun Civic Center in Seoul, he framed them as part of the same authoritarian playbook. Sabuk, he emphasized, was not just a labor dispute. It became a military issue.

At the time, Chun Doo-hwan led the Defense Security Command and was acting director of the Korean CIA. “The military had total control,” Park explained, “and Chun Doo-hwan was at the center of it.”

The brutal repression of miners and their families, including women, could only have occurred under martial law. “While making the film,” Park recalled, “I assumed people understood what martial law was. But I was surprised by how few really knew.”

Sabuk is not a simple story of right and wrong; its complexity is precisely why it must be remembered. There is shared responsibility on both sides, and true reconciliation requires confronting painful truths rather than burying them.

A moment of reckoning: Apologies and forgiveness

Following a screening of "1980 Sabuk" in Yeongwol on Sunday, a profound moment of reckoning was observed.

Lee Won-gap — once a key negotiator and later a torture survivor — stood before the police officers injured at Angyeong-dari and offered an apology. “I offer my heartfelt condolences and my sincere apologies,” he said. “It pains me to imagine the suffering endured by the bereaved family of Lee Deok-su. To the officers wounded during the suppression, I am truly sorry.”

Lee Won-gap, second from left, faces former police officers Jin Moon-gyu, third from left, and Lee Jong-hwan, right, following a screening of "1980 Sabuk" in Yeongwol, Gangwon Province, Sunday. Courtesy of Jack Greenberg

At 84, Lee reflected on his remaining years: “How much longer do I have to live? I am grateful for this chance to apologize to everyone — mentally and physically harmed 45 years ago — because of me and the miners.”

Earlier, Park’s film revealed Lee’s letter to Kim Sun-i, expressing deep remorse for her ordeal, though he bore no direct responsibility for her suffering.

Kim Sun-i, Lee Jae-gi’s wife, is held as a captive by coal miners during the Sabuk Incident in Gangwon Province, April 23, 1980. Korea Times file

In a powerful gesture of healing, some of the injured officers responded with remarkable forgiveness.

Jin Moon-gyu, a former police officer nearly killed during the clashes, reflected on this difficult terrain. “Neither side is purely a perpetrator or purely a victim. We are all the same,” he said after the screening. “I am the son of a miner. I worked in the mines myself. As I grew up, I saw many miners’ bodies being carried out of those tunnels. So when I experienced this incident — yes, I was seriously injured — but I didn’t die. And the fact that I’m still alive today… for that, I am truly grateful.”

Police are dispatched to Sabuk, Gangwon Province, April 23, 1980. Korea Times file

Ongoing struggle for recognition and justice

Forty-five years after the Sabuk Incident, a grassroots space for healing and reconciliation has emerged. This moment offers a vital opportunity to refocus attention on Sabuk as a labor movement and fight to reclaim dignity — an imperfect but urgent struggle for basic rights under martial law. It challenges the persistent perception of the incident as merely a riot, revealing instead how systemic corruption and authoritarian rule left no room for negotiation, pushing people to the brink and then punishing them harshly when they dared to rise up.

There are even suspicions that the violence in Sabuk was instigated or deliberately permitted. Yet with most company executives deceased and no surviving letters or recordings, these questions remain unanswered. Sabuk was a narrowly averted turning point in modern Korean history, one still demanding investigation.

Yet the key truth remains unspoken: the role of the state and its brutal abuses under martial law. That silence persists. And that is why the miners, some of whom are now recognized as part of Korea’s democratization movement, continue to demand a formal apology and systemic redress. Their call is not only for themselves, but for a generation raised in the shadow of the coalface, now scattered far from Sabuk.

These are the children of those miners and women, torn from their families, and returned deeply scarred both physically and emotionally. The trauma their parents endured shaped the homes they grew up in. Its legacy still lingers.

This is a critical moment; one that shows how reconciliation can begin with small, brave steps. And perhaps, with enough voices, it will be enough to stir the state from its long silence.

A memorial stands in Sabuk, Gangwon Province, Sunday. Courtesy of Jack Greenberg

Special invitational screenings of "1980 Sabuk" will take place Saturday and Sunday, at 3 p.m. at Gohan Cinema in Jeongseon. These screenings are free of charge, but preregistration is required on a first-come, first-served basis. Additional screenings will later be held in Gangwon Province and other locations nationwide.

Jack Greenberg works as a consultant, researcher and freelance writer. His current focus is on heritage and conservation issues, historical memory debates, truth-seeking and reconciliation and civilian massacres of the 1950-53 Korean War. He was the recipient of the Global Korea Scholarship and earned a master's in international studies at Korea University. He is also an alum of McGill University in Canada.