TIME: Almanac 1993/TIME Almanac 1993.iso/time/060391/0603003.000

Text File | 1992-08-28 | 5.7 KB | 120 lines

                                                                                WORLD, Page 34

SOUTH KOREA

The Tale Behind a Suicide


Chun Se Yong was only 19 years old when he set himself afire as
a protest against his nation's government

By RICHARD HORNIK/SEOUL


    On May 1, Chun Se Yong sounded like the last person who
would set himself on fire as a political protest. Two university
students had just immolated themselves to protest the beating
to death of a student demonstrator by police on April 26, but
Chun, a 19-year-old sophomore at Kyungwon University, near
Seoul, questioned the wisdom of adding to the growing list of
martyrs, or yolsa (Korean for honorable man of justice). "We
need more dedicated fighters, not more yolsa," the left-wing
activist told colleagues at the campus newspaper.

    But something changed for Chun in the next 48 hours. About
3 p.m. on May 3, he walked out on a balcony near the
university's main entrance, doused himself with paint thinner,
ignited himself with a cigarette lighter, and then plunged 15
ft. to the pavement below. Alive, but with burns covering 95%
of his body, Chun was rushed to a hospital. Seven hours later,
he died.

    Since Chun's self-immolation, five more protesters have
turned themselves into human versions of the Molotov cocktails
students throw with alarming regularity during South Korea's
annual spring demonstration season. Although the suicides have
failed to produce the massive demonstrations that pushed the
previous regime from power in 1987, President Roh Tae Woo fired
his hard-line Prime Minister last week and promised other
reforms, hoping to end this season's violence. But street
clashes continued, killing one more person at week's end.

    With the exception of one or two unbalanced victims, the
suicides have had the same motive: to galvanize demonstrators
and rouse the general public to demand an end to what the
students say are the injustices of the government of President
Roh Tae Woo and of the corporate conglomerates that dominate the
economy. The young political activists see themselves as the
conscience of their nation. Enough reforms have occurred in the
past four years to mollify much of the populace. That is the
case with most students as well, and their apathy has frustrated
radical activists, who have now turned to more desperate
inspiration.

    But just why Chun Se Yong changed his mind about suicide
is a mystery to those who knew him. Friends and colleagues
describe him as an intense, articulate young man, well-versed
in the rhetoric of his cause. Raised by his grandmother after
his taxi-driver father and his mother divorced several years
ago, Chun was sensitive to the social injustices he saw around
him.

    He was also susceptible to the ideological blandishments
of the radical left when he entered the university. Korean high
school students come from an intensive, hot-house education in
which they are expected to memorize without question everything
they are told. In college they often join informal study groups
for camaraderie, but many of these are thinly disguised
political-indoctrination cliques dominated by older, left-wing
students. Untrained in critical thought, the young students are
easily turned into ardent converts.

    Chun entered this political crucible eagerly. He drew
cartoons dripping with political sarcasm for the school paper.
One showed George Bush in military fatigues waving an American
flag while marching over a field of skulls. With no money from
home, he worked at odd jobs and slept in a succession of offices
and friends' apartments. But his real vocation was activism: he
was part of a 60-person "torch force" that led demonstrators
into battle with police by throwing rocks and Molotov cocktails.

    Yet the numbers in the rear ranks were dwindling. A friend
remembers that Chun was upset when students at the junior
college affiliated with his university refused to cancel their
annual spring festival celebrations after the suicides. The day
he died, Chun surprised a confidant by asking, "Don't you think
we would have more fighting activists if someone else killed
himself by immolation?" Says Seoul National University sociology
professor Han Wan Sang: "Self-immolation is an extreme form of
the ignition effect -- an attempt to ignite society. If after
the first two suicides the masses had been ignited, Chun and the
others would not have done it."

    Chun left a note for fellow students: "Although there are
many things remaining to be done, if you participate in
fighting and shoulder my share of the responsibility, I will
close my eyes peacefully." But in spite of his suicidal act, and
the five since then, the fighting spirit of the students seems
to be flagging. Three weeks after Chun's death, candles still
burn at the shrine erected to his memory, but students mill
around, sipping sodas and talking about exams. On the steps
below the spot where he died, fewer than 40 people turned up
last week for a demonstration against American imperialism,
which the left blames for all of Korea's ills.

    The deaths have forced an embarrassed government to
acknowledge the sincerity of some of the student's demands. The
Cabinet shake-up and an offer of amnesty to a limited number of
political prisoners are mainly cosmetic responses; yet even
these modest measures will make it more difficult for the
radicals to mobilize opposition to what they call a fascist
regime. Since taking their own lives has not produced the
desired results, Korea's students may turn to even more drastic
tactics. "The disturbing question," says a Western diplomat,
"is, What is the next step?" Chun Se Yong's friends are still
wondering why he took his last one.