In October 2024, I had the privilege of participating in the Catholic Korea Peace Forum. The opportunity brought together youth from South Korea, Japan and the United States, ranging in age from teenaged university students to young professionals in their 20s and 30s, to the Korean Peninsula for five days of learning and sharing about peace. While I find many aspects of Korean Catholicism fascinating – from its history of martyrdom during the Chosun dynasty to its role in supporting South Korea’s democracy movements – I was interested in seeing the intersection of a youth-led, Catholic approach with peace, and how it would address the conflict and division on the Korean Peninsula. Three aspects of the program stand out to me, making it special and impactful.
Centering the Voices and Capacities of Youth
Hyun-jin Chung, Catholic News Korea
Kroc faculty members George Lopez and Gerard Powers had participated in past iterations of the program, but this was the first year that was geared toward youth participants. I want to give a huge kudos to the organizers of the event – the Catholic Institute for Northeast Asia Peace (CINAP), Peacemomo, and the Catholic Diocese of Uijeongbu – for modeling what it means to not only “include” young people, but to prioritize their voices and needs. After coordinating and participating in several programs for youth around the world, as well as events related to peace on the Korean Peninsula, I know just how rare it is to have a space like this one. Too many times, I have seen young people mentioned in passing or tokenized when it comes to “serious” discussions about peacebuilding, especially in a hierarchical culture as age-oriented as Korea’s. This program certainly had its elements of joy, creativity, and friendship that you would expect from a youth program (ranging from nights out in Seoul and sweating it out together at the Korean sauna, to learning more about each other through nonviolent communication emotion cards, and about ourselves through neurographic art).
What contributed to making this event special, though, was the thoughtfulness given to ensuring the necessary resources and attention to making the program accessible for young people from various backgrounds. This included support for transportation, accommodation, and language interpretation, and a public session for participants to share what we had learned from the program. I’ve participated in many academic and policy conferences where the only chance young people have to speak is during the Q&A. This experience was completely refreshing to have our voices centered, on stage, while an audience that included a Catholic bishop, several veteran academics, and seasoned peacebuilding practitioners, listened. It was especially meaningful to have this public presentation at the Haja Center, a space in Seoul that has supported young people’s creative and entrepreneurial initiatives since 1999.
Witnessing Firsthand the Scars of Division and Conflict
in Paju, where the first half of the program was held.
Like the story of Saint Thomas touching the wounds of Jesus in order to believe in the resurrection, learning about peace is so much more powerful when we can feel the impact of conflict on our own bodies and souls. In some ways, the venue of the program itself – at the Peace and Unity Center at the Church of Repentance and Atonement in Paju, just south of the border, and built in the style of a historic church in North Korea – was not only symbolic but also a reminder of the proximity of conflict and division. One day of the program was devoted to field trips, whereby our group of 38 participants split into six teams and visited various sites affected by militarism, colonialism, and division.
I visited Gyodong Island, unknown to me prior to this trip (and not my first choice, so I wasn’t sure what to expect). In fact, it became an unforgettable and emotional experience for me, particularly because my grandfather’s family is originally from Hwanghaedo, the province directly across from the island in what is now North Korea.
the Manghyangdae Observatory in Gyodong,
overlooking Hwanghae Province in North Korea.
We crossed two bridges to get to Gyodong – the bridge from Seoul to Ganghwa Island, which has been a gateway to Korea from the rest of the world for hundreds of years, and then another bridge, a new one built in 2014, from Ganghwa to Gyodong – before 2014, one could only access Gyodong via boat. It was surprising to me that in order to enter Gyodong, we had to pass through a security checkpoint despite being only 2.6 km from North Korea.
Our first stop in Gyodong was led by Ms. Kim Young-ae to the office of the Woorinuri Peace Movement (우리누리 평화운동) , an NGO that works on peace education and advocacy. Ms. Kim’s parents are originally from Gyodong, and she moved there to establish the NGO nearly 10 years ago. Ms. Kim gave us an introduction to the long history of Gyodong as a neutral island of peace, and described how 30,000 refugees from across the river in the Hwanghae province resettled and integrated with the local people during the Korean War, how geopolitics have sustained the division and conflict in Korea, and her vision for how Gyodong could connect with the rest of the world through a peaceful and unified Korean Peninsula.
She shared a film about one of her projects, where she interviewed several of the refugees from North Korea about their memories of the war and adjustment to life in Gyodong. When she mentioned that only one of her interviewees is still alive, I thought of my own Letters to My Hometown oral history project, and the urgency of recording the stories, memories, and messages of elderly Korean Americans separated from their families in North Korea.
Prayers of Commemoration, Yearning, and Unity
One impetus for the program was Pope Francis’ call for prayer as a way to heal the division and conflict on the Korean Peninsula. As such, there were multiple points built in throughout the program where the group gathered to pray, either formally through the Catholic mass or informally through silent remembrance. It was remarkable to hear prayers in Korean, Japanese, and English during mass at the Catholic church inside the Joint Security Area (JSA) and to sing Ubi Caritas – my favorite song from the Taizé Community. My previous visits to the JSA had only focused on the political and security situation at the North/South Korean border. While this was impossible to ignore, it felt somehow both serene and sad to pray for unity and compassion at a place filled with such division and bloodshed.
What was just as special were the moments throughout the trip when we stopped to remember the victims of the conflict, whether they were soldiers on the battlefield, civilians whose bodies were never found, or refugees who left their homes and families behind and never returned to see them. One of the words I learned from my friend from Okinawa is 憧れ (akogare), which can translate to yearning, longing, or adoration. This desire to return to their hometowns and reunite with their separated families was manifested at the Manghyangdae Observatory (望鄉臺), a memorial overlooking North Korea that was established by displaced persons from the conflict. As we stood in the pouring rain to look at the names of the people who contributed to the memorial and the altar where to pay respects to their ancestors from afar, I was struck by this poem (written by the aunt of our guide Ms. Kim Young-ae), which I feel reflects the akogare of the people and the land:
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격강천리라더니 바라보고도 못 가는 고향일세 한강이 임진강과 예성강은 만나 바다로 흘러드는데 인간이 최고라더니 날짐승만도 못하구나 새들은 날아서 고향을 오고 가련만 내 눈에는 인간을 조롱하듯 보이누나 비 오듯 쏟아지는 포탄 속에 목숨을 부지하려 허둥지둥 나왔는데 부모형제 갈라져 반백년이 웬 말인가? 함께 나온 고향 친구 뿔뿔이 흩어지고 백발이 되어 저세상 간 사람 많은데 남은 사람 고향발 디딜 날 그 언젠가 |
Separated Only by a River Separated only by a river, yet if seems to be A thousand miles away, That is my home. I see it, yet it can’t be reached. The Han River unites the Rimjin and Yesong rivers To reach the ocean, The Birds can freely fly there, Yet we, the poor lords of all creation are stuck here. They will fly back and forth to visit our home. It seems as if they are making fun of us. In the midst of pouring bombs We barely escaped in the hurry How can this separation continue for a half-century? Friends from home are scattered all over Many have passed away with silver hair When will the survivors finally set foot back on our homeland? |
Synapses of Peace for All
in Gyodong Island. Photo credit: author.
I couldn’t help but to think of the relationships we formed across languages, cultures, and backgrounds as synapses (which coincidentally sounds quite similar to the name of the organization, CINAP) – points of connection and energy transmission between neurons. I also reflected on the name of the co-organizer, Peacemomo (which in Korean refers to learning by and for all), and how it intersects with how being Catholic is meant to be universally applicable. At a time when I needed solidarity with other peacebuilders, a reminder of my personal motivation for peacebuilding, and a sense of hope that transcends politics and borders, the Catholic Korea Peace Forum could not have come at a better time.
Paul Kyumin Lee is a first-year Ph.D. student in Peace Studies and Sociology at the University of Notre Dame. Lee is interested in bridging research and peacebuilding practice around facilitating healing and reconciliation from the intergenerational trauma of conflict through collective remembering and dialogue.
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