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A despised political class. Corrupt, unaccountable big business. Savage competition, killer stress. A deepening wealth divide, an unfair society. Falling youth opportunities, rising youth suicide rates…it's a dark picture. Not for nothing do many young Koreans call their nation "Hell Joseon."
But is 21st century Korea really so grim? Perhaps not. Well within living memory, this nation was a hell not figuratively ― but literally.
It was a fine spring morning. The hillsides were abloom with azaleas, the air was invigorating and the sky blue as two young men, both in their early 20s, posed for photos inside a Confucian shrine, where they had just attended a church service. The shrine stands some 30 miles north of Seoul, just south of the Imjin River. The date: Sunday, 22nd April, 1951.
The young men were Phil Curtis and Terry Waters. Both were lieutenants in the British Army's Gloucestershire Regiment. The picture is a haunting one. During the service, both men had taken the Eucharist. It would be their Viaticum, for the Viaticum ― "provisions for a journey" ― is the Eucharist given to a dying man. But neither man knew, then, of the mighty force massing just a few miles north of the little shrine.
The greatest communist offensive of the Korean War ― indeed, the greatest communist offensive launched anywhere in the world since 1945 ― was launched that night. A third of a million bayonets were unleashed, with their key breakthrough point being the Imjin sector held by Curtis, Waters and their comrades.
After dark, the 600 Glosters were assaulted by over 8,000 Chinese. Curtis and Waters position, "Castle Site" was engulfed in the "human wave." Flares lit a terrifying battlescape: Bursting explosions, laser-like like tracers, flickering muzzle flashes, the shadowy rushes of crowds of enemy. The noise was equally chaotic: Thundering artillery, clattering gunfire, shouted commands, screaming wounded. This, truly, was "Hell Joseon."
Amid this carnage, Curtis was ordered to assault a machine gun bunker on the hill's summit. His group charged ― and almost immediately cut down by automatic fire. Curtis himself was wounded. His men tried to restrain him as he stood, alone. His last words were: "We must take Castle Site." Staggering forward, he hurled a grenade. A burst of fire cut him almost in half, but his grenade flew true, killing the crew. Curtis had, at the cost of his life, cleared a breakout route for surviving Glosters.
Two nights later, the remaining Glosters were swamped. Survivors were marched north to POW camps. Wounded men, Waters among them, were imprisoned in an abandoned mine shaft outside Pyongyang: "The Caves."
This, too, was "Hell Joseon." Fetid water pooled on the rock floor. The air was stagnant. Food was dire, medical treatment non-existent, insects rife. Men began dying. A North Korean officer told the wounded that, if they agreed to work with communist propaganda units, they could relocate to a "Peace Camp" where they would receive decent food and medical treatment.
Waters, the senior officer, gathered his men. He ordered them to go to the Peace Camp, do minimum work, and save themselves. A sergeant asked why he was not joining them. Waters said that as he had given the order, he would remain behind. He was never seen alive again. He was 22.
After the war, Curtis was granted a posthumous Victoria Cross - the highest medal a British soldier can receive for valor in combat. Waters was granted the George Cross ― the highest medal for non-battle courage. His lonely death is today taught as a lesson in selfless leadership at Britain's military academy, Sandhurst.
Let us return, now, to millennial "Hell Joseon." Modern Korea may be an imperfect society, but viewed through a broad prism, this nation wrote a tremendous national success story in the post-war years.
Infrastructure was emplaced. Industries arose. Poverty was eradicated. After a long struggle, democracy was achieved. Technologies were leveraged, brands created. Lifespans increased, lifestyles improved. Today, despite vastly different cultures, the lifestyles, aspirations and values of young Koreans are similar to those of youth in the West. This could not have been said in 1951.
Neither Curtis nor Waters can comment on the state of this nation today. But I believe both would approve of South Korea's evolution. In fact, I have never met a veteran of the UN forces which defended South Korea who did not believe ― with the benefit of hindsight ― that the hellish war they fought was a just one. For such men, and for the generation of Koreans who lived through the 1950-53 war, "Hell Joseon" was then, not now.
Phil Curtis and Terry Waters lie in the UN Cemetery, Busan.
Andrew Salmon is a Seoul-based reporter and author. Reach him at andrewcsalmon@yahoo.co.uk.
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