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. |
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