Asia Times: Spies R Us, 2: Seoul's old spooks tell all


	November 17, 2001	atimes.com

The Koreas

PYONGYANG WATCH
Spies R Us, 2: Seoul's old spooks tell all
By Aidan Foster-Carter

A recent column looked at North Korea's persistent efforts down the years to infiltrate South Korea. They were doing it as recently as 1998, and may be at it still. But what about the other way round?

These days, I'd be very surprised if South Korea still sends agents into the North. Access to data from US spy satellites means they hardly need to. The fact that North Korea has no equivalent information source is one reason for all that tatty B-movie sub-James Bond derring-do - like sending agents by unreliable submarine.

But back in the old days, South Korea did this kind of thing too. How do we know? Because the ROK's former spooks are starting to spill the beans - as, in a now free society, they can. The Korea Times recently carried a couple of articles which shed a fascinating light on this little-known story.

It begins, needless to say, in the thick of the 1950-53 Korean War. Or probably before. In those early days, the 38th parallel between 1945 and 1950 was more porous than the DMZ became after 1953. Neither side really accepted the division and there was a fair amount of both overt and covert toing and froing.

But by November 1950, the peninsula was at war. Na Chol-ho, then 29, had just started work on a US base in Pohang as a "houseboy" (sic). As he tells it now, an angry old man of 80, an American soldier asked him to go on a mission behind enemy lines to collect data on Northern troops. There was talk of a house and big bucks. At a time of dire poverty, it must have seemed worth a try - and patriotic to boot.

So just a few days later, Na was on board a plane with "hundreds" of others - big plane, or do they maybe mean dozens? - heading North. He was parachuted into Kaechon, 75 kilometers north of Pyongyang. Apparently the hundreds were each on their own. Most are presumed to have died in North Korea. Na was one of the lucky ones. Walking for 10 days, sometimes through thigh-deep snow, he made it to Pyongyang. There he met a woman and together they crossed the lines back to the South some six weeks after he'd set out.

No house, no big bucks. Instead, both Na Chol-ho and his companion - about whom no more is said, not even her name - were questioned by the Headquarters Intelligence Detachment (HID), a top-secret ROK special operations and counterintelligence agency, which then promptly enrolled them. In seven years with HID - UNTIL 1958, five years after the war ended - Na crossed back into the North more than 20 times.

House, megabucks? Nope. Not one lousy won. Na Chol-ho says that he never even received a salary, much less danger money. But at least he volunteered - unlike Park Chong-ho, now 66, who aged just 16 was drafted into HID, again with promises of compensation that were never honored. Park is even angrier than Na.

For decades, anti-communist military regimes meant men like these daren't say a word of their grievance, let alone seek redress. That changed with the restoration of democracy in 1987. In the same year another HID veteran, Park Boo-seo, founded the Association of Former Undercover Operatives in North Korea, to campaign for recognition and recompense for these forgotten secret servicemen of the ROK.

They were not few. As many as 10,000 Southern agents are reckoned to have worked undercover in the DPRK between 1951 and 1972, when the first of many inter-Korean agreements led the South (or so they say) to end such missions. And 7,726 of these are dead or missing. Their names are enshrined at two temples and a military camp in Seoul, but for Park that's not good enough. He wants their memorial tablets moved to national cemeteries, alongside their fellow servicemen who likewise died for their country.

It's been an uphill struggle. As if not being paid weren't bad enough, there's a Catch 22. Officially, HID never existed - thus nor did its operatives. To this day, the defense ministry (MND) is reluctant to admit that any of this ever happened. One reason is said to be political parity, as North Korea's party line is that it never sent agents South. Seoul should simply reject such a brazenly ludicrous stance. What about those submarines? Or the 61 old communists, many of them former agents, sent home by the ROK last year?

This is one of several instances where Kim Dae-jung's "Sunshine" policy, misapplied as tip-toeing around Northern sensitivities, ends up doing a rank injustice to its own loyal servants. Former HID agents have to contend with other slings and arrows too, such as being dismissed as Northern anti-communist youth out for revenge, mere civilians (technically true), recruited from orphans (as if they counted for less) or even criminals.

True, this kind of work is no tea party, and HID doubtless had its share of thugs and low-lifes. Even so, they were hired to do one of the toughest jobs going, by and for their country. To be first not paid, and then to now have to face the sheer denial of their sacrifice is a gross injustice that adds insult to injury.

Fortunately, the old spooks have allies. Legislators such as Kim Seong-ho, of the ruling Millennium Democratic Party, have pressed their case for recognition and compensation. Two bills are currently before the ROK National Assembly. So these forgotten people of the shadows may yet get justice. Meanwhile, they can stir the pot - and hopefully earn the odd won - by telling their fascinating stories.

Part 3: Tales from behind the lines

Part 1: Inter-Korean infiltration (Nov 9)
Full text

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