DMZ: The hope of the hopeless

If you type 'DMZ tour' into Google it reveals that Korea's most popular tourist destination has over ten major tour operations offering daily tours. Busloads flock to the demilitarised zone that stretches across the 38th parallel and demarcates the border between the Republic of Korea and the People's Democratic Republic of Korea. The uneasy mile between South and North. Dark tourism has fostered an experience of expensive souvenir shops, jolly tour guides and photo-ops galore besides one of the most well-armed and volatile states on earth. It is shockingly easy to find a sneering satire when leering through binoculars at the humourless North while the South has erected viewing platforms and blares K-Pop through throbbing speakers. The DMZ tells us nothing of the North which remains a nightmare of secrecy except for survivors' tales which are promptly consigned to the transient celebrity/anonymity of the bestseller shelves of the World. How the South would like to be perceived in its attitude towards Kim-il-Jung's regime is of real interest. Beneath the slogans dreamt up in tourist boardrooms and blasé apathy is the heartache of families lost and condemned to a hell on earth. 

Laughter masks the tears and there was a dark irony that laced the observations of the tour guide. As we drove beside the river that marks the boundary between the two countries she remarked, with total seriousness, that the grass is greener in the South. This in an absurd way is true, the North has cut down the trees to render escape across the river impossible. The only thing to have been saved by the South Korean Army is a cow that was caught in one of the many floods. A helpless cow floating in a river while an entire military task force strives to save it is a pathetic image. This impotent gesture is so treasured by the South that it has become a poignant symbol of the South's desperation for reconciliation. On the other side of the road is a whitewashed building streaked with grime called 'Hotel DMZ' which must rival the Grand Hotel in Raqqa for least desirable couples retreat destination. The jarring paradox of tragedy and humour generates moments of surrealism, the most head-scratchingly bizarre is the fair ground rides in the Peace Park. Suspended in the air, the chairs of the rides hang lifeless unlikely to be used except at occasional intervals. At first glance it seems wildly inappropriate to construct a fun park in a space dedicated to the resolution of a brutal civil war. What it may do, however, is represent the exact thing that millions of Koreans and U.N forces died for the freedom of laughter. 

Another element which complicates understanding the attitude of the South to the North comes from the apathy of the present and impartiality of the past. Most Koreans below the age of thirty express very little interest in reunification and in some cases an open hostility. Two generations have been raised in a climate of manic competition and rapid growth which cannot bear the hindrance of inheriting the North. Like the two squabbling step-sisters the thought of more competition as well as the painful process of rehabilitating Cinderella is repugnant. Meanwhile the historical enemy of South Korea has been Japan and every museum is unequivocal in its condemnation of the "savage", "barberous" and "murdering Japanese". The role of the traditional national enemy has been cast and Japan is too firmly established in the main role to give way to the understudy. This anger remains very real a good example is provided by the furore created by Shinzo Abe (Japan's  PM) comments about comfort women (girls forced into prostitution during the Japanese occupation) last year caused a major diplomatic incident. This deep-rooted hatred leaves little room to consider the real threat and to younger Koreans who share much culturally with Japan this must be very confusing and diminish the seriousness with which the North is viewed. Resentment of military service and its tedium has caused the North Korean to be clouded with pessimism that reunification will ever occur. The city on the boarder, Paju has resorted to bribing its residents by creating a tax and military service exempt haven with the 'cleanest rice in Korea'. Paju's motto 'preparing for reunification' is undermined by a visibly underpopulated place. Amid such powerful current concerns and a history still too painful to do anything but commemorate,  future dreams have been indefinitely delayed. Anger and bitterness are normal symptoms of bereavement and teenage apathy can distract from a shared wish to see a united Korea in principle. 

Hunched over tourists are invited to creep down through the Third tunnel, which was discovered in 1978, you can still touch the charcoal coated on the walls which aimed to disguise the North's plan to invade Seoul in a multiple pronged attack. Only four of the tunnels have been discovered so far. After 350 metres the path is sealed by three rows of cement but a small chink is left open to gaze into the darkness. Staring through this sliver is how it must feel for Koreans as they witness the arbitrary violence of the regime that starves there fellow Koreans who remain waiting deep in the darkness of the future. A monument to hope shines in the bright white modernity of Dorsan station which hopes to reconnect the Seoul-Sinuiju line. The cleanliness of the empty station is haunting and desperately sad, the departure board to Pyongyang does not dare show a sign. Hope for the future permeates the building and silently waits amid the uneasy humour and shaking heads a real belief that a Korea united could fulfill its potential. The South will be open and ready, waiting for families when they can finally come home.