US feels sting of South Korean protest By Donald Kirk
DEACHURI, South Korea - The prayers and chants of the elderly farmers and young
activists waft from the circle of land in front of a small white-walled church
at the heart of this village on the prow of a hill some 65 kilometers south of
Seoul.
"No US base," they shout in Korean. "Save our land."
It is a daily ritual staged in defiance of thousands of South Korean police
against a plan to turn the region of rice paddies and orchards into one of
America's largest overseas bases.
The police control the countryside, blocking off traffic, but the farmers cling
to this enclave of sturdy brick homes in a standoff
that embarrasses the United States and South Korea - and reveals some of the
weaknesses in a deteriorating alliance.
"It's up to the Korean police to get them out of there," grumbles an American
officer, observing the standoff from the security of nearby Camp Humphreys,
shielded by double rows of wire fencing. "I can't see why they don't get them
out of there."
The reason appears to be the desire of Korean leaders to avoid a showdown of
tear-gas grenades and bashed heads and also underlying questions about South
Korea's relationship with the United States.
Korean officials swear they're living up to their agreement for the US to build
the base, and South Korean soldiers are busy setting up a 24km barbed-wire
fence surrounding the whole area set aside for the base.
The fact is, however, they're appalled by the prospect of the base becoming an
easy target for the same activists who've been demonstrating off and on for
years outside US bases elsewhere. An assault by 10,000 police officers on May 4
managed to dislodge hundreds of activists from an abandoned school building but
failed to stop the protest, much less get the farmers to leave the homes that
they view as their reward for more than half a century of hard work tilling the
soil since the Korean War.
That refusal of farmers to leave makes their cause an easy one for activists,
who for years have demanded the departure of all US forces from Korea.
A firebrand Catholic priest leads daily slogan-shouting protests at the
epicenter of the worst standoff in nearly four years between South Korean
forces and an array of student groups and labor organizations.
The priest, Moon Jeong-hyun, 69, returned here less than a week after holding
out for most of a day on the roof of the school building with nine other
priests and two National Assembly members defying the riot police, who drove
the activists from the building, some of them kicking and screaming.
A distinctive figure with a flowing beard, often seen holding a video camera as
he records prayer meetings and confrontations, Moon and his cohorts were
promised they would not be arrested before descending down a ladder from the
roof on May 4.
Moon has lived in the village for the past two years, making it the center of
the same anti-US struggle that he led during enormous protests in Seoul after
the deaths of two schoolgirls, run over by a 50-ton US armored vehicle during
military exercises nearly four years ago.
"Pray for this land," Moon preaches to the villagers. "You have prospered on
this land. Pray for your homes. You have built these homes. The land is yours.
Your prayers will protect you."
Now Moon is protected by activists manning checkpoints at entrances to the
village within shouting distance of police blocking off narrow paved roads
across the rice paddies into the village, on the western fringe of the bustling
town of Pyongtaek, on the main railroad to Seoul.
The activists carry banners, not weapons, but they're clearly ready to battle
any attempt by police to enter the village. They appear to have returned
quietly by night across the rice paddies, staying in the homes of farmers who
view them as defenders against government forces. They meet in the church and a
small government building, having lost the school to demolition by bulldozers
and loaders that tore it down as soon as Moon and his cohorts came down from
the roof on May 4.
Police officials directing the thousands of officers in well-ordered array at
strong points on the roads are under strict orders to avoid violence, stopping
protesters with shields, throwing them back in occasional clashes, but
refraining from bashing heads, much less using weapons.
Conservatives fear the fracas over the base plays into the hands of North
Korea, while South Korea and the US are at odds on how to pull the North back
into six-party talks on Pyongyang's nuclear program.
Some wonder if the South's governing Uri Party is actually encouraging the
standoff in which an assembly member from the party, Im Jung-in, is playing a
leading role.
Im was up on the roof with the priests before they all came down on May 4 - and
has appeared again at rallies in the village. He talks frequently on his mobile
phone with party officials, and his presence in the village symbolizes support
for the farmers and activists in the government.
US officials, fearful of upsetting already strained relations with the
government, say only that they expect South Korea to live up to the agreement
and turn over the land for a base. They wonder, however, how the US can move
its military headquarters from Seoul to the base while protests persist.
"We'll have to build a new headquarters building," says a US officer. "That's
not going to be easy."
More difficult, the US Army has to move combat forces, now headquartered at
Camp Casey on the historic invasion route from North Korea to Seoul, down here.
The base, when it opens, will have facilities for 20,000 US troops, the vast
majority of the 25,000 expected to be left in Korea by the end of the decade.
Most of the remaining US forces remain just 16km closer to Seoul at Osan Air
Base, headquarters for US combat aircraft.
The ruckus over the base provides a rallying cry for anti-American forces at a
time when the US and South Korea are at odds over how to deal with the North on
such issues as nuclear weapons, counterfeiting and human rights.
Although none of these issues immediately affects the base, the relationship is
clear.
The US Command regularly advances the argument that US forces have to move
south of Seoul to keep them out of the way of North Korean artillery. No one
conjures the specter of a North Korean attack, but the threat remains - and
could increase if other issues persist.
"A nuclear North Korea is a problem for everyone," says Jon Wolfsthal, a fellow
at the Center for Strategic and International Studies in Washington. He sees no
solution, though, while North Korea refuses to attend the six-party talks and
the administration in Washington loses interest in a solution.
"We're likely to see a prolonged death that nobody wants to watch," says
Wolfsthal. "We're not likely to see any progress any time soon." He sees those
favoring regime change in North Korea as "on the ascendancy".
Washington hardliners, he believes, are proud of the impact on Pyongyang of
economic restraints imposed on banks and trading companies dealing with North
Korea in retaliation for that country's counterfeiting and still hope for
collapse of the regime.
"The United States is back into isolation and [it's] a waiting game," says
Wolfsthal, while "North Korea is content with its nukes." In the meantime, the
Pentagon sees the base relocation as part of a "global repositioning plan" in
which forces here would be free to deploy anywhere in the region, possibly, in
some unforeseen war, against China, a short hop across the Yellow Sea.
At this village, Moon and other activists see the whole military issue as
irrelevant.
"South and North Korea are reconciling with one another," says another priest
visiting the village. "We don't need US forces in Korea at all."
That's a view that US officials fear may come to dominate the outlook of a
South Korea government already seen as left of center as thousands of police
face the unpleasant task of finally removing the diehards from their homes -
and the troublesome priest from the village chapel.
Journalist Donald Kirk has been in and out of Korea since 1972.
