Written by Kim Hyeong-hoon, Editorial Committee Member

 

The history we know is merely a fragmented “piece.” Even when we piece together these fragments, it’s impossible to create a complete historical picture. This is why historians delve into the hidden sides of fragmented puzzles. Yet, the results are often incomplete, and there’s a reason: they only focus on “half” the picture. That “half” has always been history viewed from a male-centered perspective. Isn’t this evident even in world-changing events? The central figures in short historical “pieces” that depict the leaders of wars, the emergence of new religions, and the invention of technologies are almost always men. Where have all the women gone?

 

Jeju 4·3 is no different. Women’s stories rarely come to light. While it’s true that many of the victims were men from Jeju, the hidden stories of the women in the background are often left unknown. Perhaps it’s our inherent tendency to avoid discussing or seeking out the stories we try to hide, the ones we choose not to speak of or seek out. Fortunately, some films have emerged to shed light on the hidden stories of women in Jeju 4·3.

 

 

# 《The Daughters of That Day》 ― Different Lands, Shared Pain?

 

Smoothly carved black stones form tombstones. The neatly arranged stones symbolize death, and the engraved three-character names tell another painful story of Jeju 4·3. What lies hidden behind the countless deaths marked by these stones? 《The Daughters of That Day》 begins its narrative by panning over the rows of black tombstones at the Jeju 4·3 Peace Park.

 

Jeju became a blood-soaked massacre site following the uprising on April 3 in 1948. Stigmatized as “communists,” the people of Jeju faced scorched-earth operations designed to kill them. For decades, the unjust deaths were silenced by the admonition to “keep it to yourself.” Decades of untold stories followed.

 

In Rwanda, the death of President Juvénal Habyarimana in April 1994 triggered the Hutu extremists to massacre the Tutsi and moderate Hutus. Within just 100 days, one million lives—10% of Rwanda’s population—were lost.

 

Oral historian Yang Kyeong-in meets with Jeju 4·3 victims, documenting their stories. Along the way, she encounters Pacis, a young woman from Rwanda. Though they lived in different times, they share a commonality: they are daughters of women who survived genocide.

 

After graduating from college, Yang worked as a government employee before becoming deeply involved in Jeju 4·3. Her growing engagement with Jeju 4·3 caused friction with her mother, who had barely survived the tragic period herself. To her mother, it must have seemed reckless for her daughter to confront Jeju 4·3 head-on.

 

History is widely recognized as being male-centered and written by the victors, and Jeju 4·3 is no exception. For decades, the victims were forced to remain hidden, making the perpetrators the victors.

 

Yang states, “If you win, you become the victor and the ‘good’ side, and if you lose, you’re branded a traitor. Jeju 4·3 was no exception.”

 

Jeju 4·3 was a conflict that led to death. Thankfully, the Jeju 4·3 Special Act was enacted, creating opportunities for reconciliation. Some began to seek healing through this process. Yang, who had countless arguments with her mother, eventually reconciled with her because of April 3—ironically, through her work related to the tragedy. Jeju 4·3 both posed a problem and provided the solution.

 

 

What about Rwanda? Unlike Jeju, Rwanda lost a population dozens of times greater in a short period. Strangely, despite the higher death toll, reconciliation occurred more swiftly than in Jeju. From the victims’ perspective, this is hard to comprehend. Yang travels to Rwanda with Pacis to seek answers.

Genocide is nearly impossible to explain in words. It is painful for those who recount it and equally for those who listen. Pacis, who had been translating the oral accounts of Rwandans, finds herself unable to speak anymore. Listening to such vivid accounts of recent deaths is already difficult—how could she retell those stories?

 

Two individuals from the massacre 30 years ago appear in the same frame: Franco, a perpetrator, and Maria, a victim. Even in a documentary, could such an encounter be possible? The answer lay in their reconciliation. Maria, the victim, makes a weighty statement. It echoes the sentiments of Jeju mothers who endured the pain of Jeju 4·3.

 

“I came to understand that without forgiveness, I couldn’t raise the children who remained. Holding onto resentment, anger, and pain makes it impossible to do anything.”

 

Once forgiveness was granted, everything around her changed. When it came time to plant beans, Maria found the field already cultivated. The person who secretly helped? Perpetrator Franco.

 

 

# 《Voices》 ― A Deeper Look at the Pain of Jeju Women

 

It is utterly dark. A light shines on a house. A family carries out munjeonje (a ritual of placing a meal at the doorstep to honor spirits or appease deities), followed by jesa (A traditional ritual to honor ancestors on the anniversary of their death). It’s a familiar scene of jesa in Jeju. But who is the subject of the ritual ceremony? It seems there isn’t even a single photo to remember them by. A memorial plaque replaces the portrait, inscribed with the words, ‘The place where Grandma and Grandpa return.’ That says it all.

 

Dec. 16, 1948. A bright full moon lit up the night, as the residents of Tosan Village were summoned at midnight. It is unclear who first said it, but the claim was made that “everyone in Tosan Village aged 18 to 40 joined the South Korean Workers’ Party,” prompting the police to round up the residents. All men in that age group were separated, and some women were included in their group, too. Someone who remembers the event recounts it as follows:

 

“The unmarried women were told to look at the moon. Since there was no electricity back then, they used the moonlight to pick out the prettiest ones and took them away. The police called out to the women, saying, ‘You, come forward; you, come forward.’ There must have been about 20 of them.”

 

“The women were taken to Pyoseon Village along with the men. Over two days, on the 18th and 19th, the men were massacred. The women were killed shortly afterward, about a week later, when the military unit moved to another location. They probably massacred the women to prevent their secrets from being exposed if they were left alive.”

 

That secret was that the women had been used as sexual playthings by the Northwest Youth League and the police. This didn’t only happen in Tosan Village. Young women massacred at Seoubong Peak in Hamdeok Village had faced the same fate. Among the 15,000 victims of Jeju 4·3, there isn’t a single official record stating that any were killed because they were women. There are multiple reports of young women dying at the same locations. Tracing these reports reveals clues, which 《Voices》 explores and presents. There is a scene where someone talks about his older sister’s death.

 

“My eldest sister’s name was Lee Hyeon-hwan. On Dec. 26, 1948, she was executed at Monjugial, a coastal cliff north of Seoubong Peak in Bukchon Village. She was about 21 years old. She had committed no crime, except the crime of being beautiful. Her only crimes were being young and beautiful.”

 

Yang Yoon-sik, another family member of a Seoubong victim, recalls the lamentations his mother used to share. In those stories, there were young women. The young women were taken to detention centers for no other reason that they were young. They hadn’t committed any crimes, nor did they have any reason to. Like the faces of the women illuminated by the bright moonlight in Tosan Village, their youth alone was the reason. The real reason for their deaths was the authorities’ desire to bury their secrets.

Why have we been unaware of this history until now? Silence exists here. Could it be that Jeju women chose silence as another way to live their lives? For those who had endured the bloody horrors triggered by countless ‘revelations,’ silence might have been Jeju women’s unique way of protecting themselves from the new horrors that speaking out might bring. The documentary 《Voices》 skillfully reveals the stories of Jeju women who had no choice but to remain silent. The documentary can be summarized through the narration of Cho Jung-hee, Jeju 4·3 researcher who has spent 20 years collecting oral histories. Everything is encapsulated in her words.

 

“Whether they were sexually harassed, assaulted, or forced into unwanted marriages and suffered lifelong trauma, women are not included in the category of Jeju 4·3 victims. They couldn’t even leave their names on memorial monuments. What isn’t recorded in official history will disappear with time. That’s what scares me. At first, I thought we didn’t know because they didn’t tell us. But the elderly ladies spoke of their wounds through silence, tears, and sighs. We just didn’t try to understand. Although history doesn’t record it, I believe their voices still live on in Jeju’s waves, stones, and winds.”

 

Come to think of it, there are forgotten women in my own family history too—the wives of my eldest and third uncles. Where might they be resting after withering away in the prime of their lives? No one ever looked after them. I feel deeply sorry.

Photographer Kang Jeong-hyo

Interview and Compilation by Jang Yoon-sik, Memorial Project Team Leader

 

Documenting Jeju 4·3 requires deep affection and persistence. Photography, in particular, demands presence at the scene. Photographer Kang Jeong-hyo has long captured the shadows and lights of Jeju 4·3 through the expressions of bereaved families. His camera has consistently been present at sites of excavation of victims’ remains and investigation into the truth of Jeju 4·3. Additionally, Kang has raised awareness of Jeju 4·3 through the publication of photo books and exhibitions. He also co-chaired the Memorial Project Committee for the 70th Anniversary of Jeju 4·3. Here, we delve into his journey.

 

– Editor’s Note –

 

 

Kang Jeong-hyo’s Profile

Born in Jeju in 1965, Kang has worked as a journalist, photographer and mountaineer, and as a lecturer at Jeju National University. He has served as Chairman of the Jeju Federation of Cultural and Artistic Organizations and Co-Chairman of the Memorial Project Committee for the 70th Anniversary of Jeju 4·3.

Starting with 《Jeju Now》 (1991), Kang has published 10 personal works and numerous collaborative books covering Jeju’s nature, Jeju 4·3, mythology, history, and cultural heritage. His notable Jeju 4·3-related works include 《Bones and Gut》 (2008), 《Jeju 4·3 Literary Map Volumes I and II》 (2011, 2012), and 《The Land Departed by Jeju 4·3, Revisited by April 3》 (2013).

Since holding his first solo exhibition (Dongin Gallery) in 1987, Kang has hosted 16 solo exhibitions and numerous group exhibitions. Among these, his Jeju 4·3-related exhibitions include the following:

2016 〈Jeju 4·3, Those Left Behind〉, Mabui-gumi, Okinawa

2013 〈The Land Departed Due to Jeju 4·3, Revisited Due to Jeju 4·3〉, Jeju 4·3 Peace Park Exhibition Hall, Jeju

2004–2015 Jeju 4·3 Photo Exhibition, Jeju Culture and Art Center, Jeju

1994–1998 Jeju 4·3 Art Festival, Jeju Culture and Art Center and Sejong Gallery, Jeju

 

 

01: Jang Yoon-sik, Memorial Project Team Leader of the Jeju 4·3 Peace Foundation, and photographer Kang Jeong-hyo engage in a conversation at the artist’s studio, ‘Isojae.’

 

 

 

How did you first learn about Jeju 4·3?

 

When I was little, my family observed two ancestral rites on the same day—one for my maternal grandfather and the other for my paternal uncle. Because there were two ceremonies on the same day, the family would split up: my father and older brother would go to my uncle’s house, while my mother and I went to my grandfather’s. As a child, I thought it was a coincidence that they passed away on the same day. But I learned the truth when I entered college.

‘Ah, this was because of Jeju 4·3.’

I was part of Jeju National University’s class of 1984. At that time, it wasn’t easy to access anything about Jeju 4·3. The only thing available was Hyun Ki-young’s novel <Sun-I Samch’on>, which was briefly allowed on the market before being banned again. Back then, government agents were stationed on the first floor of the student union building.

 

But in 1987, the situation began to change. The Chun Doo-hwan regime was promoting university and education liberalization policies as a means to control campuses. However, following the national transition to democracy, a movement for genuine liberalization began emerging from within universities, significantly altering the atmosphere among students. Universities at the time became liberated zones. Students’ voices grew louder, and their creativity, especially in organizing protests, was remarkable.

 

It was during this period that a memorial altar for Jeju 4·3 victims was set up on campus for the first time, and wall posters calling for uncovering the truth about Jeju 4·3 were put up. Some students involved in these activities were arrested, prompting demands for their release and midterm exam boycotts. I believe this marked a turning point for the rapid spread of the truth-finding movement. I was head of reporting for Jeju National University’s newspaper, which is when I began to engage with Jeju 4·3 in earnest.

 

 

 

 

When did you start taking photographs seriously?

 

During my university years, I joined the school newspaper. The position of photojournalist was vacant, and someone asked if anyone could take photos. All I had was some experience handling a camera in high school, but I volunteered, saying, “I’ll do it.” That’s how my journey with photography began.

 

When I give lectures at universities, I always emphasize this experience to my students. I tell them: “I became a photojournalist simply because I had used a camera a few times before. With passion and commitment, I became a professional. You must have confidence in yourself because everything depends on how you approach it.”

 

Even when I joined a daily newspaper after graduation, I started as a general reporter, not a photojournalist. I passed the exam as a general reporter but later transitioned to photojournalism. Many people asked why I chose photojournalism, which they saw as more demanding. But a photojournalist can’t do their job without being on-site, and I loved going to the field. That’s why I made the switch. As a result, I naturally found myself present at the forefront of the Jeju 4·3 truth-seeking movement, documenting survivors and other stakeholders.

 

 

 

What message do you aim to convey through your Jeju 4·3 photographs?

 

I began taking Jeju 4·3 photographs in earnest at the first Joint Memorial Tribute Ceremony in 1994. In the early days, the Jeju 4·3 memorial services were divided into the Memorial Tribute Ceremony by civic groups and the Soul Consolation Rite by the bereaved families’ association. The bereaved families’ association held their memorial event at Sinsan Neighborhood Park, while civic groups organized theirs at the Jeju Citizens’ Hall. Later, they were disallowed to use the said venues and selected other places, like Jeju Teachers College and Gwandeokjeong Square. But police intervened, leading to tear gas incidents. These separate memorial events merged into a single joint ceremony starting in 1994.

 

If you look at the photos taken during this process, you can see the changes in the expressions of the bereaved families, reflecting the evolving journey of uncovering the truth about Jeju 4·3. The shifts in their expressions are evident. In the early photos, they uniformly appear somber, heads bowed in sorrow. However, after the enactment of the Jeju 4·3 Special Act in 2000, their expressions became somewhat brighter. With the president’s attendance and official apology, the commemoration of the 70th anniversary of Jeju 4·3, and the recent decision on reparation for victims, their demeanor now feels markedly different.

 

My first photo, ‘The Years of Suffering—Silence’, which was part of the Capturing Jeju 4·3 exhibition at the Jeju 4·3 Peace Memorial Hall from March 25 until May 5 this year, also illustrates this well. This piece was first displayed at the 4th Jeju 4·3 Art Festival in 1997. It combines two photographs: one of bereaved families attending the 1994 Soul Consolation Service at Tapdong Square and another of ivy roots entwined around a stone wall. Through the bowed heads of the bereaved families and the tangled ivy roots, I sought to depict the silence they were forced to endure.

 

I believe that photojournalists must focus on two elements: memory and documentation. As photographers of the present, we have a responsibility to capture the current reality. With this sense of duty in mind, I photographed Jeju 4·3 while reflecting on the emotions of the bereaved families.

As a photographer, it’s a bit embarrassing to my profession to share, but something happened during the 1997 Soul Consolation Ceremony at the Jeju Sports Complex. In the crowd, there was a frail, elderly woman dressed in traditional Jeju clothes, with a white headscarf tied around her head. As she approached to inscribe a name on the memorial tablet, six or seven photographers swarmed around her, taking pictures. It was staged from the start. I was furious and started an argument. I felt that such methods couldn’t capture the genuine emotions or the decades of anguish etched on the faces of the bereaved.

 

Scene from the 48th Joint Soul Consolation Ceremony for Jeju 4·3 Victims held at Tapdong Square (ⒸKang Jeong-hyo)

The Years of Suffering—Silence (By Kang Jeong-hyo)

 

 

 

Could you share a particularly memorable project?

 

I believe the local hackberry trees silently bear witness to Jeju 4·3 and still testify to the fact that these places were sites of the tragedy. Known as pongnang in the Jeju dialect, these hackberry trees served as communal resting spots at the centers of villages. One of my photos features the hackberry tree in Dongbok Village. This tree stood in the center of the village and served as the initial gathering point on January 17, 1949, when 86 residents were taken to a place called gulwat and massacred. The villagers were assembled under that tree before being led away. In that sense, the hackberry tree is a silent witness to a horrific chapter of history. As you travel through Jeju’s mid-mountain villages, you’ll see many towering hackberry trees. These areas are often remnants of villages burned to the ground during Jeju 4·3. Many were never rebuilt, left as ruins, or later converted into farmland. It’s not far-fetched to call them “lost villages.” These trees undoubtedly hold the memories of the atrocities committed back then.

 

Today, countless tourists visit Jeju for its beauty, but beyond that facade, lone hackberry trees in the fields quietly speak of the pain of that day. That’s the perspective from which I approached my pongnang project in 2020. Through this project, I published a photo book on hackberry trees in 2020.

 

One memorable moment was in 2022, when the bereaved families’ association held a ceremony to plant a hackberry tree in the yard of former President Moon Jae-in’s residence. On that occasion, they framed one of my pongnang works and presented it to President Moon.

 

Pongnang at destroyed neighborhood Sambatguseok in Donggwang Village (ⒸKang Jeong-hyo)

Bonhyang Shrine for the guardian sprit of Waheul Village (ⒸKang Jeong-hyo)

 

What are your future plans?

 

I plan to continue documenting Jeju 4·3, organizing my materials, and expanding them to convey messages from diverse perspectives.

 

A few years ago, I conducted research on a lava cave in Jeju. It was less than 200 meters long, but as soon as I entered, I sensed something different. Stone walls lined the sides, and there were fragments of traditional water jars (heobeok). At first, I thought it might have been a shelter for refugees during Jeju 4·3. But as I ventured further inside, I found numerous cow bones. It struck me—could this have been a hideout for armed resistance groups rather than refugees? After all, refugees likely wouldn’t have had the resources to slaughter cattle in such a setting. These findings haven’t been disclosed or officially investigated. That’s why I’ve decided to gather and organize my records of visiting Jeju 4·3 sites.

 

Two years ago, I bought an infrared camera to pursue a new project. This type of camera visualizes infrared radiation (heat) emitted by objects to create images. When using this camera for normal shooting, the entire image appears red, as if everything has been painted red. But when processed with Photoshop, the green leaves are rendered white, making them look as if they are covered in snow. I thought that capturing Jeju 4·3 massacre sites in this way could convey several powerful messages. While some might see only red through tinted lenses, I wanted to reinterpret what the scenery of their hometowns might have looked like to those who faced death during that time. I am continuously experimenting with new ways to convey messages.

 

 

 

Are there any disappointing memories?

 

Many of my predecessors who organized photographs of Jeju used to say that during Jeju 4·3, there were only three or four photography studios in Jeju, and very few people could operate a camera back then. Even at the existing studios, soldiers would often bring their film to be developed, stand by until the photos were ready, and take all those of others away. Realistically, individuals couldn’t take photographs during Jeju 4·3, which is why there are almost no surviving photos from that period. However, this suggests that photographs may exist within military archives, making the discovery of such materials a task for the future.

 

When I was creating the photo book for the 70th anniversary of Jeju 4·3, I visited all the local newspaper offices in Jeju with official cooperation requests and met with the editors-in-chief. Most of the newspapers hadn’t properly organized their photo archives. But one paper did provide some photographs. That newspaper had considered discarding its old film reels when transitioning to digital. Fortunately, they preserved them and converted the content into a database. Many people, especially photographers, need to realize that photos are historical assets. Just because they don’t have immediate use doesn’t mean they’re irrelevant. That misconception is disappointing.

 

 

 

As someone who has documented Jeju, do you have any regrets about its changes?

 

I pursued a master’s and doctorate in tourism development. One might expect me to lean toward sociology or environmental studies. But my choice was driven by a desire to protect tourism from the negative impacts of tourism itself.

 

For Jeju to continue thriving as a tourist destination, we must clearly identify what needs protection and ensure development happens within those limits. In 1967, there was a plan to build a 1,000-pyeong (3,300m²) hotel within the Baengnokdam area, the summit crater lake of Mt. Hallasan, under the pretext of boosting mountain tourism to revitalize the local economy. But if a hotel had been built there, would Jeju have achieved the World Natural Heritage status we’re so proud of today? Even with development, we must prioritize sustainability. My idea is that we should protect what needs protecting without being reckless.

 

I feel that the value of Jeju is often underappreciated by its own residents. Looking at the process of Jeju becoming a UNESCO World Natural Heritage site and a UNESCO Global Geopark, international experts have highly praised the island, yet we seem unaware of its true worth. For instance, there are still fewer than five guidebooks about Mt. Hallasan, most of which I created. I did this because whether it’s Mt. Hallasan or stone walls, I felt that we didn’t truly understand our own heritage. There weren’t enough resources available, so I started working on it out of frustration. You have to first understand its value before expanding to how to protect it. That’s why I’ve been consistently working on projects related to our local community.

 

 

 

What would you like to say to the next generation leading the Jeju 4·3 movement?

 

When people talk about Jeju 4·3, they often mention reconciliation and coexistence. But I believe those are just steps in the process; our ultimate goals are peace and human rights.

 

I also want to emphasize that photography gains depth when it combines nature with the humanities. Don’t just focus on Jeju’s landscapes—also pay attention to the lives and stories of the people connected to them.

 

In the 1990s, it was possible to mentor younger generations because there were people eager to learn. Nowadays, everyone is so busy that it’s much harder. Back then, many artists didn’t have full-time jobs, but now, that’s no longer feasible—you’d starve. It’s not easy to sustain that kind of life today. Whether it’s Jeju 4·3 or Mt. Hallasan, these are topics that require long-term dedication. People often give up when they don’t see immediate results. But if you persist, it eventually becomes an invaluable asset to you. Chasing quick results makes it difficult. Younger people now need to develop their own interest. If an early-career photographer ever asks me, ‘How do I approach this?’ I’d gladly offer my help anytime.

 

Kang Jeong-hyo has authored several works on Jeju Island, pongnang (hackberry trees), Mt. Hallasan, and Jeju 4·3.

 

Written by the Editorial Office

Photos by the Editorial Office and Photographer Kim Ga-min

A memorial ceremony for the victims of Jeju 4·3, marking its 76th anniversary, was held at 10 a.m. on April 3, 2024, at the Jeju 4·3 Peace Park. Hosted by the Ministry of the Interior and Safety and organized by the Jeju Special Self-Governing Province, this year’s ceremony prominently emphasized “Blow, the Spring Breeze of Jeju 4·3; Fly, the Seed of Peace” as the slogan. The slogan aimed to commemorate the spirit of Jeju 4·3, spreading seeds of peace to different parts of the world, and ultimately preventing the recurrence of tragic history. The event included a progress report, memorial speeches, poetry readings, family stories, and commemorative performances.

 

Approximately 10,000 attendees filled the site of the ceremony, including survivors and bereaved families of Jeju 4·3 victims, Jeju residents, and officials from the government and political parties. The attendees representing the national government featured Prime Minister Han Duck-soo, Minister of Oceans and Fisheries Kang Do-hyung, Vice Minister of the Interior and Safety Ko Ki-dong, Truth and Reconciliation Commissioner Lee Sang-hoon, and National Human Rights Commission Chairman Song Doo-hwan. Despite the rainy weather, many elderly bereaved family members and survivors attended, adding to the solemn significance of the ceremony.

 

A joint performance by the Jeju Provincial Art Troupe and the Jeju City Choir takes place as a pre-ceremony event.

 

The overarching themes of the ceremony included honoring unregistered victims, restoring the dignity of Jeju 4·3 victims, addressing substantive damages and family relationships, and supporting the bid for UNESCO Memory of the World inscription. The pre-ceremony began at 8:40 a.m. with religious rituals, a recitation of commemorative poetry, and a joint performance by the Jeju Provincial Art Troupe and the Jeju City Choir. Kim Ji-won, a student from Jeju Girls’ High School, recited a poem expressing hope that all generations would remember and empathize with Jeju 4·3. At precisely 10 a.m., a minute of silence was observed across Jeju Island and other islands with its province, accompanied by the sound of sirens, to appease the souls of the deceased Jeju 4·3 victims.

 

In his memorial address, Prime Minister Han Duck-soo stated, “Honoring the spirits of the victims of Jeju 4·3 and consoling the bereaved families is a fundamental responsibility of the state.” The Prime Minister also reaffirmed that the national government has made every effort to heal the wounds of Jeju 4·3 and to move forward toward a future of harmony and integration. He further emphasized the government’s commitment to completing additional fact-finding investigations by 2025, establishing and operating a trauma healing center, constructing an international peace and cultural center, and pursuing UNESCO Memory of the World inscription.

 

Jeju Governor Oh Young-hoon highlighted the significance of Jeju 4·3, stating that the reconciliation process helps end an era of outdated ideologies and opens the door to a brilliant, people-centered world.” The municipal leader also pledged that the provincial government will pass on the globally cherished value of Jeju 4·3 to future generations and make it a symbol of peace and human rights. He added, “Just as camellias that endured a harsh winter bloom with buds of healing and love, the Jeju region and Jeju 4·3, having overcome a long darkness, will become seeds of peace and prosperity for the global community, gifting future generations a just future.” Concluding his remarks, he solemnly expressed his expectation that the spirits of Jeju 4·3 victims would witness Jeju’s journey toward a brilliant, people-centered future.

 

Kim Chang-beom, President of the Association of the Bereaved Families of Jeju 4·3 Victims, mentioned the necessary additional revision of the Jeju 4·3 Special Act. During his speech, he said, “Through relentless struggles to uncover the substantive truth of Jeju 4·3, the Jeju 4·3 Special Act was amended, opening pathways for reparation to victims, restoring honor to the victims through ex officio retrials, and correcting the distorted family relationships.” He also shared the aspirations of many with the audience, earnestly hoping for the existence of a compassionate nation advancing toward a community of peace and human rights, where tragedies like Jeju 4·3 will never recur.”

 

The stage for family stories began with Jeju-born actress Go Doo-shim introducing the story of Kim Ok-ja. Her granddaughter, Han Eun-bin (Grade 2, Yeongwoon High School in Gimhae) began her letter by saying: “Whenever my grandmother hangs a new calendar on the wall, the first thing she does is mark the day her father passed away. Although I don’t fully understand the meaning of death, I can’t help but feel deeply sorry for my grandmother, who, as the only child left alive, should conduct ancestral rites alone in the shadow of sorrow.”

Approximately 10,000 people, including survivors and bereaved families of Jeju 4·3, Jeju residents, and representatives from the government and political parties, fill the venue.

 

She added: “My grandmother’s greatest sorrow is the forgetting; the inability to recall his face clearly anymore. She once told me, ‘I want to see my father, even in a dream, but I’m afraid I wouldn’t recognize him even if I did.’”

 

As the letter was being read, a digitally reconstructed portrait of Kim Ok-ja’s father, created through artificial intelligence, appeared on the large screen at the ceremony. It was the first time in 76 years that Kim saw her father’s face. Overcome with emotion, she couldn’t hold back her tears, and her granddaughter, Han Eun-bin, embraced her to comfort her. When singer Insooni performed her song “Father,” the emotion in the ceremony deepened, bringing many attendees to tears.

 

01: Actress Go Doo-shim introduces the story of Kim Ok-ja, who lost her father at the age of five during Jeju 4·3.

02: Kim Ok-ja sheds tears as she meets her father, whose face is reconstructed using artificial intelligence, for the first time in 76 years, while her granddaughter Han Eun-bin embraces her.

03: Singer Insooni’s song “Father” brings tears to many.

 

Along with the letter reading, the restored image of Kim Ok-ja’s father, recreated using AI, appears on the large screen at the memorial site.

 

Despite the forecast of rain, Jeju residents gathered at the ceremony, united in their long-standing commitment to addressing Jeju 4·3 properly. Efforts continue to restore the dignity of the victims and their families, provide substantial reparation for damages, and mend the incorrectly registered family relationships between victims and their children, who had legally become de facto children of others. Reflecting the shared sentiments of the 10,000 attendees, the 76th anniversary memorial ceremony became a moment to hope that the efforts to resolve Jeju 4·3 would sow seeds of peace throughout the nation.

In rainy and foggy weather, the bereaved families and residents gather at the Jeju 4·3 Peace Park to honor the spirits of the victims. Standing before the Headstone Monument Engraved with names of the Deceased, they perform ancestral rites, wiping away their tears.

 

01: At 10 a.m., sirens sound across Jeju Island for a minute of silence to honor the spirits of the Jeju 4·3 victims.

02: The Jeju 4·3 Camellia Supporters, the official university student supporters of the Jeju 4·3 Peace Foundation, are offering flowers and incense.

03: Despite the inclement weather, the survivors and the bereaved families of Jeju 4·3 gather at the memorial site.