TaeKwon Do And
Korean Reconciliation  

Published in TaeKwon Do Times
July 1993

Ed Thomas, Ed.D.

Imagine a restricted kill-zone running across America's 38th parallel from San Rafael, California to the Chincoteague Bay in Eastern Maryland. Empty all the cities, towns, and buildings in its path, and give warning that anyone found within its margins will be shot on sight. Erect barriers and destroy all means of communication between the Northern and Southern regions. Fill the zone with land mines that blow away just enough flesh and bone to allow for a slow and painful death. Send in soldiers who eventually forget that the man they face and kill might be a distant cousin. Imagine that the Civil War had created two Americas.

I saw and survived such a place a quarter of a century ago, and it remains today the Korean DMZ. It was 1968, and I was a young stranger in a strange and beautiful land. The American spy ship Pueblo had just been captured within the territorial waters of North Korea. Tensions between North and South were high. The Tet Offensive in Viet Nam was sapping American resources. Anti-war and civil rights demonstrators at home were making American politicians uncomfortable. JFK was gone, MLK had just been assassinated, and RFK was about to die. 

The Turtle Farm  at Camp Casey

Libby Bridge to DMZ

Camp Matta, DMZ

I became a soldier by choice because it seemed the noble thing to do. For me there were no great moral issues involved. I simply quit college and eventually volunteered for the Infantry. It was obvious that our actions in Viet Nam were more political than ethical. I volunteered because thousands of other young men just like me were being forced to serve, and I felt compelled to help in some small way. I trained for Viet Nam and arrived in Korea with little information about or understanding of the country and its situation. 

The Barrier Fence, DMZ

7th ID DMZ Missions Badge

Mountain top listening post, DMZ

The summer of 1968 was probably the most violent period the Korean DMZ had seen since the Korean War. At the time, it all seemed surreal and illogical. Giant speakers somewhere in the North shook the ground as we waited silently in ambush through endless summer nights. The monsoon rain and sweltering heat kept me uncomfortable enough to question the wisdom and logic of our actions. My overwhelming emotion for those six months was sorrow for the Korea I came to immediately respect and love. My unit rotated south to Tong Du Chon in the Fall of 1968. I spent the next six months in charge of a Brigade gymnasium and surrounded by the best martial artists I had ever seen. 

Camp Castle Gym

Yudo

Almost fifteen years later in 1982, I returned as a civilian sports and physical activities director for the 2nd Infantry Division. I was again living a few miles from the DMZ in Tong Du Chon. Korea was still divided, and the tension was still thick and heavy.

One afternoon I was watching a boxing match televised live from Seoul. A panicked voice interrupted the announcer. The fight was stopped, people jumped to their feet, and everyone ran for the doors. I sat in silence looking at the empty arena and trying to catch enough of the announcement to grasp its meaning. A Korean neighbor came shouting at my door and told me North Korea had just bombed the South. The 2nd Infantry Division is a forward deployed combat unit. There was no way to escape, so I drove through the village toward Division headquarters, preparing myself for battle.

People were running in all directions. An old woman sat quietly crying in a doorway, and I was overwhelmed by the same deep sorrow I felt as a young man pointing my weapon North against soldiers I did not know or hate. It was a false alarm. My commander sent me home, but instead I went to the chapel overlooking the compound. I thought to myself that if there was any way I could give my life in return for peace in this incredible country, I would do it without hesitation.

Late one evening, Korean television began a series of programs designed to help reunite families separated during the Korean War. There came a seemingly endless number of South Korean citizens holding posters with names and sometimes photos of sons, daughters, husbands, wives, and other loved ones lost for decades. Each would face the camera and make a heart-wrenching plea for any information that might help locate those lost long ago. On they came, night after night, their faces filled with love and sorrow. Soon came the emotional reunions and the tragic stories of war, suffering, and separation. It was almost too much to watch, but too important to ignore.

The history and philosophy of physical culture tells us that the ultimate warrior is the one who uses his or her skill and power to heal and bring harmony. If Korean martial artists from North and South come together in peace and acknowledge that they are of the same family, we can all rejoice and witness human wisdom manifested. The narrow strip of land that divides Korea is sacred with the blood of thousands. We will honor their memory when the land mines are replaced by roads and rice fields. It is fitting that today's young Korean warriors should lead the way toward reunification because the mountains of the DMZ are full of warrior spirits who wander in search of love and reconciliation. Have no doubt those spirits exist. Many of us have seen and heard them moving in the night shadows, just beyond our understanding.  

HOME