In The Zone With Azhar (DMZ)

Written by mohdazhar.

Edited by stdynn.

Photo by stdynn.

The industrial area of North Korea captured using a tilt-shift effect.
Photo by stdynn.

A tiny grey building squats at the corner of the open carpark, looking grandeur amidst the morning breeze. It wears a striking insignia, DMZ, which stands for Demilitarised Zone. As I stood before my tour guide explaining the importance of the modern structure in Korean history, I wonder what was it like below. I pondered what was it like more than 30 years ago.

The Third Tunnel. That was the name given by the South Korean army when they discovered the underground passage in 1978. With my yellow safety helmet on, I began my 400-metre descent into the man-made shaft. It was built as a connector to the Third Tunnel. The lighting was dim. The sole of my foot, along with those of a hundred others, rubbed against the rubber flooring, creating incessant squeaks. Everything looked and sounded mysterious, and yet this was only the beginning.

I found the water borehole marking the start of the 265-metre tunnel opened to the public. Although measuring less than 20 centimetres in diameter, the borehole played a significant part in the discovery of the tunnel. The South Korean government was developing five pipes to extract water from the fecund land, when they noticed that one of them kept leaking. After a thorough examination, they managed to unravel the secret tunnel.     

Still separated, still not unified.
Photo by stdynn.

As I walked through the burrow, I began to imagine the rustling of tin cans, the thumping from rubber boots, and the clamouring from weapons of the DPRK soldiers as they constructed the 1200-metre tunnel away from the North. Soon after South Korea’s discovery of the The Third Tunnel, the DPRK soldiers – in their dark green khakis – frantically painted the granite in black, to fabricate an excuse that their government had been merely digging for coal. The hope was that it could be used as an excuse that their government was merely exploring underneath for coalmine, after South Korea’s complaint that the North had breached their ceasefire agreement. I knew I was tracing the footsteps of soldiers who had tried to hide the truth.

Fifteen minutes passed and I finally reached the end of the tunnel. Red neon lights adorned the barricade as if warning visitors about an imminent danger or attack. A rectangular peephole was all there was for me to look through to the other side. Less than 100 metres away was another barricade, one belonging to the North. It looked abandoned, confined by pitch darkness, and reeked of distrust and foreboding.

The cold, tranquil air must have replaced the madness back then.  I trudged back up the building and was almost instantly whisked away to another part of the demilitarized zone. This time, it was a tower that allows the public to view past the border. Using the pair of binoculars provided, I looked ahead to the North Korean territory. It felt like no man’s land; little activity was spotted. Looking back at the tunnel, I began to feel wary about this disconnectedness.

There may be a demilitarized zone, there may be calm at the borders, there may be hope for unification, but one thing remains. There is still no peace treaty – not for now.

With a South Korean border soldier guarding the final train station just across the border from North Korea. The writer is on the extreme right.
Photo by stdynn.