In 1945, the Korean peninsula was divided into North Korea and South Korea. The Korean War, which lasted from 1950 to 1953, ended in a truce, not in peace. While nearly five million people died in the war, a number of families were separated into two spheres of influence along the 38th parallel.
“I never knew it would be this long,” Chi-man Lee, a 90-year-old man who is a victim of the Korean War, said. “I never knew that I would never see my mother, younger brother, and younger sisters again. I regret the day I got on the ship without them at the port in Hwanghae.”
Despite any remorse, nothing can change the history of divided families. In 1951, Chi-man — who was 19 years old — got on the ship, which was sent by the United States, with his father and older sister and came to Busan in South Korea. At the port, the family was confident that they would meet again in South Korea.
However, the reunion — which seemed guaranteed for Chi-man’s family — became an unpredictable future with time passing, and the 38th parallel — the parallel dividing the Korean peninsula — has left deep scars in two Koreas.
Divided for more than 70 years, many people — who are now grey-haired — are still waiting to be reunited with their lost families. Although more than 20,000 people met their long-lost loved ones in reunions between the North and South since 1988, a lot of people are still on the waiting list. According to the New York Times, “Since 1988, more than 75,200 South Koreans who applied to attend the reunion have died without seeing their parents, siblings or children again. More than 56,000 South Koreans, the vast majority in their 80s and 90s, are waiting to be selected by lottery for the next round of reunions, which has yet to be scheduled.”
Chi-man also applied to attend the reunion in 1988 in the hopes that he would meet his siblings. However, Chi-man is one of those applicants who has not heard back yet. Downhearted, Chi-man said, “I used to wish that I would attend one of those reunions, but now I think there is no point in seeing them just once. I would end up missing them even more if I meet them for a few days and get separated again.”
No remedy exists for war-split families besides reunification, which is the only way that will allow two Koreas to meet without limit of time or the Northern limit line. Despite the agony of long-term separation, the two Koreas still seem far from coming together. In September, Ahn Young-ho, a South Korean worker with the Ministry of Maritime Affairs and Fisheries, “disappeared from a government ship that was checking on possible unauthorized fishing in an area south of the boundary on Monday, a day before he was found in North Korean water,” according to AP News. Although South Korea officials said he was defecting to North Korea, his brother said he would never make such a choice and might have accidentally fallen into the sea. When found in North Korean waters, Ahn Young-ho was shot dead by North Korean troops.
Kim Jong-un, a North Korean leader, apologized. However, when South Korea attempted to find the dead body of Ahn Young-ho in the disputed sea boundary, North Korea accused South Korea of intrusion, “We urge the Southside to immediately halt the intrusion across the military demarcation line in the West Sea that may lead to an escalation of tensions.”
In the midst of escalating border tension, the hope of reunification seems futile. When South Korea sets foot in North Korea, North Korea either opens fire or calls it “intrusion.” One Korea seems like an abstract idea when one party is nothing more than an unwelcome guest to another.
In this summer, Chi-man, having crossed the border with his father and sister in 1951, stood in front of his father’s grave, which was on the mountain. Lee Yong-gyun, Chi-man’s father, died in 1972. Having aged, Chi-man, who used to visit the mountain every year, decided to relocate the grave from the mountain to a tiny cemetery in Yangju where he can visit without experiencing knee pain. While relocating, a cremation technician set the bone fragments on fire. Chi-man slowly took out a purple Korean traditional pouch and asked a cremation technician to burn it with the fragments. Chi-man said the pouch once belonged to his mother. On the afternoon of June 24, 2020, Chi-man put everything he was holding onto in flames.
A worn-out, purple pouch was Chi-man’s last hope that reminded him of his mother and an apple orchard that his family once owned in Hwanghae, North Korea. Since his family lived on the outskirts of the town, Chi-man had to live in a dorm in order to attend high school. While all his friends stayed in a dorm on the weekends, Chi-man did not bother to take three hours to get home. “It took me a very long time. I had to climb a mountain because there was no transportation home. I walked, walked, and walked. And after the physical toll of walking home, I could see my mom who was always waiting for me at home.”
A 70-year separation was torture for Chi-man and many divided families. “My 18-year-old self could not wait another week to get home. 70 years was more than I could endure,” Chi-man said. The bone fragments and a purple pouch have been processed down to resemble ashes and moved into the retort. Now buried under a flat headstone in Yangju, they turned into colorless dreams.
What remains after the flame is little-known. After a fire, there remains an ember, which is so dangerous that “just one ember is enough to kick off the structure-destroying process,” according to Frontline Wildfire. However, on a positive note, an ember that is so dangerous can also be usable chemical energy and used to rekindle a fire.
According to the Christian Science Monitor, Koreans in their 20s “perceived North Korea as an enemy or a stranger.” Uniting with the culturally different North is not an appealing prospect for many young South Koreans.
Older generations — like Chi-man — lost all their strength to hope. An old, purple pouch is not in Chi-man’s reach anymore, but it is a dream that is never to be given up. More South Koreans should learn about stories of war-split families and become an ember that rekindles the flame of hope. They are the last hope that can fulfill their grandfather’s or grandmother’s wish to reunify.
