50 Years Into Postwar Void, an Interlude for Lucky Few

The last time Park Bo Bae saw her son, half a century ago, the then 16-year-old promised to come right back home for dinner after stopping by a job fair nearby.

He asked his mother to have ready for him the only food they could forage that terrible summer in the early days of the Korean War.

“I baked him some sweet potatoes to eat that day,” recalls the spry Park, now 90. “He never came back for them.”

Much joy is expected this week in the capitals of South and North Korea as family members separated five decades ago by war see one another again. Amid hugs and tears, mysteries such as what happened to Park’s son will begin to unravel.

One hundred North Koreans are scheduled to fly into Seoul on Tuesday for tightly controlled, three-day reunions, while 100 South Koreans are to fly to Pyongyang for similar meetings. Not only are the reunions expected to help mend family ties, they will be a big step forward in the fledgling rapprochement between the two Koreas--and the fruition of a plan conceived at a historic summit in June between South Korean President Kim Dae Jung and North Korean leader Kim Jong Il.

The reunions will occur even as a million soldiers still stand sentry along the barbed-wired and heavily mined border that divides the two nations. There is widespread optimism here in the South that they represent the start of a far more extensive reunion plan than the last such program, in 1985--a brief exchange that ended after 50 people from each of the Koreas were able to cross the border to meet with relatives.

The bad news is that the reunion format is very rigid--even on the part of the democratic South. In Seoul, most of the meetings will be conducted en masse in a hotel reception hall: Each South Korean family will be allowed to have only five members present. They will be seated at round tables to await their loved ones’ arrival.

The North Korean visitors will be housed in a separate hotel. They will not be permitted to travel to hometowns; more culturally important, they will not be allowed to pay homage at the graves of their ancestors. Much of the three days will be devoted not to their families but to group sightseeing.

One reason for the controls: prevention of possible defections, which could sabotage the nascent thaw in relations between the two Koreas.

Nevertheless, the South Korean participants--whether they are going to the North or anticipating the arrival of relatives from the North--seem ecstatic.

An estimated 7 million people in South Korea have family ties of some sort to the North, and an estimated 1.2 million refugees who fled North Korea during the Korean War are still alive.

In 1950, Park and her family concluded that her 16-year-old had died, a victim of the tragic conflict that consumed the Koreas for three years and would ultimately kill 2 million Koreans. The war left the peninsula not only still divided but in ruins.

Over the next 50 years, Park, a devout Roman Catholic, lighted candles for the repose of her son’s soul and wept each time she ate sweet potatoes. She retained absolutely no hope that he could be alive--much less living in North Korea. When his name appeared on the list of North Koreans who would be permitted to visit relatives in the South this week, Park and her family were flabbergasted.

They did not believe the news until a Chongju city official handed them a fax from Pyongyang, showing a very fuzzy picture of a man in a suit and tie and bearing the son’s name, Kang Young Won, and age--66. Park’s name and those of the man’s other living relatives were listed as well.

“It is a miracle,” Park said.

Stocking Up on Gifts to Give Relatives

Many of the southerners to be reunited with family members have spent hours shopping and trying to cram all sorts of gifts--from medicine and clothing to candy and wristwatches--into one suitcase to give to their North Korean family members.

The other day, Song Sung Soo, 70, and his family were packing a large, wheeled bag for his trip to Pyongyang. He was overjoyed to learn that his three brothers and one sister, who range in age from 50 to 62, will be meeting him.

“I had vague hopes that just one would still be alive,” he said.

Song came south to join the army in 1950 and was never able to return to Kaesung, just a 10-minute drive north of the demilitarized zone that now divides the Koreas.

He was one of the few lucky ones selected from the 76,000 South Koreans who enrolled in the lottery to select those who will travel to the North. Just the fact that they won the lottery--older residents and those searching for parents or children were given priority--meant that at least some of their loved ones were alive. Most are in their 70s or older.

It isn’t clear how those arriving from the North were chosen. They are younger, averaging in their 60s, and many are believed to be party loyalists: The list reportedly includes scholars, high-ranking government officials and a poet.

Unlike in the divided Germany, where families in the eastern half of the country were permitted to receive mail and phone calls from relatives in the west, virtually no contact has been permitted between residents of the two Koreas: Promoting relations with North Koreans is technically still a crime in South Korea, and hundreds of people have done time in prison for it.

Each separated Korean family has a heartbreaking story to tell.

Some people on both sides of the demilitarized zone simply disappeared and were never heard from again. Others were separated just by fate: They happened to be on one side or the other of the border established when the war ended without a peace treaty in 1953. Some “changed sides” for ideological reasons--they either sympathized with the Communist North or didn’t.

One man coming south for the reunions is Ha Kyung, 74, who apparently deserted his wife and three sons to go to the North, according to the Joong Ang Ilbo newspaper. His wife remarried because she “found it so hard to live alone,” according to the newspaper. Though her second husband died eight years ago, she still “doesn’t have the courage to stand in front” of her first husband, the newspaper said. She won’t attend the reunion, but their three sons are very excited by the prospect of meeting their father again.

Many of the lucky ones are elderly people who have been hoping to see their loved ones before it’s too late. Reached by telephone, several were too hard of hearing to understand a reporter’s questions.

For some, the 50-year wait was just a few days too long.

A 90-year-old South Korean woman, Hwang Pongsun, died three days after she was told her son might be coming to Seoul.

In another case, Chang I Yun, 71, was pictured on South Korean newspaper front pages weeping with joy upon finding out that he would be able to see his 109-year-old mother in North Korea. But he was rushed to the hospital after he learned that the news resulted from a clerical error and that she had died.

What will those who make it to their reunions talk about first?

Said Park Nam Kue, 77, whose younger brother, Park Myung Kue, disappeared and wound up in the North: “This isn’t a play--it’s not something set beforehand. I’ll know when I see him.”

An Offering of Thanks to God

But Park Bo Bae, the woman who thought her son was dead, knows exactly what she’ll say.

Deeply religious, Park walks 30 minutes each way several times a week to attend Mass at the cathedral in Chongju, in southwest South Korea. Her bedroom in her daughter-in-law’s house contains several pictures and statues of Jesus and Mary.

With delicate features and prominent cheekbones, she looks striking, even beautiful; expressive lines are etched deep in her face. She doesn’t know her height, but it couldn’t be more than about 4 feet, 10 inches. She exudes an aura of serenity.

She thought she had outlived all but one of her four children, two sons and two daughters. One daughter died as a child, and her other son died of lung cancer just last April. And now, her elder son has seemingly risen from the dead.

She and her daughter, Kang Son Ja, 62, remember him as being patient, innocent and good-looking. He was always trying to support the family and worked part time in an umbrella factory. He and a friend his age both failed to return from the job fair on that sweltering day in 1950 when they were seeking better employment.

Her son wasn’t very religious and rarely attended church. It isn’t likely he has become more religious in the Communist North, where religion is considered an opiate.

But she’s going to tell him anyway that “he’s alive because of God.”

She said she’ll put it this way: “It’s all because of God, who’s behind me, behind you, behind us.”