we returned to the bus, which took us to a nearby cafeteria crowded with several hundred tourists. After lunch, we were shuttled toward Camp Bonifas.
“This is the most dangerous area in the world … are you ready?” joked our Korean tour guide over the bus loudspeaker, as we approached the DMZ.
Well, more hazardous locales did exist: Iraq, Syria, and Somalia, came to mind. But there have been thousands of incidents along the DMZ since the war ended in 1953. Granted, many of the incidents were minor — North guards spitting on the shoes of American and ROK guards, name-calling, guns going off. But border clashes have claimed a reported 1,375 lives since 1953; more than ninety Americans, five hundred South Koreans, and at least nine hundred North Koreans. A tragedy occurred in 2008, when a group of South Korean tourists were on one of the government-sanctioned excursions to the Geumgang Mountain Resort, located just north of the border along the east coast. A housewife, Park Wang-ja, decided to take a solo early-morning stroll from the hotel, and mistakenly wandered into an off-limits area. A North Korean soldier in a guard tower reportedly ordered her to halt, but the poor woman likely panicked and ran. One of the guards shot her dead.
I don’t mean to be an alarmist, but according to the English-language JoongAng Daily, the North had 1.19 million soldiers, 3,900 tanks, 420 battleships, 840 fighter jets, and 8,500 pieces of field artillery as of a few years ago. South Korea possessed less of everything: 655,000 troops, 2,300 tanks, 120 battleships, 490 fighter jets, and 5,200 artillery weapons. Excuse me, but by my calculation, North Korea has way more military hardware! It also has Rodong and Scud missiles aimed south — possibly equipped with chemical, biological, or even nuclear weapons — according to an international military journal. I was obviously on the wrong side of the border!
But the ROK does enjoy a significant military advantage due to the high-tech naval and air power and artillery, thanks in part to the Americans. A U.S. tank commander in Seoul told me that his weapons system could hone in on a North tank across the border simply by detecting heat generated when the vehicle’s engine roared to life. At U.S Osan Air Base south of Seoul are A-10 Thunderbolt 11 fighter jets nicknamed “Tank Killers” for its missiles that can penetrate tank armour. Most of the North’s weapons are aged. The regime has quantity, not quality, firepower. And it takes big money to keep those tanks and planes fuelled — money the regime doesn’t have. Still, the enemy is formidable and war would be a spectre.
Naumenkof walked up the aisle of the bus handing each of us a sheet of paper. “This is a visitor’s declaration page that you all have to sign,” he informed us. I glanced over it and saw that one paragraph read: “The visit to the Joint Security Area at Panmunjeom will entail entry into a hostile area, and possibility of injury or death as a direct result of enemy action.”
About 150,000 foreigners take government-sanctioned tours into the JSA each year (native South Koreans take separate tours). Though I had yet to read about anyone on these sojourns being kidnapped and hauled into the North, I thought, there’s always a first time. On December 14, 1969, a North agent abducted fifty people aboard Korean Air flight YS-11 flying from the east coast city of Gangneung to Seoul, and ordered the pilots to fly the plane to Pyongyang. Two months later, thirty-nine passengers were returned through Panmunjeom. But, to this day, the plane, four crew members, and seven passengers have not been returned. If a commando was capable of stealing a plane, one would certainly be able to nab little ol’ me in the JSA. I’d probably be whisked away to a remote mountain gulag, where I’d spend the remainder of my sad existence hoeing desiccated fields and unearthing shrivelled potatoes with a small trowel. I did not like the prospect of this, not at all.
I signed the form, releasing the South Korean government of any liability if a North soldier decided to use me as a punching bag or for target practice.
Once we had all inked our signatures, Naumenkof escorted us off the bus and into a small auditorium, Ballinger Hall, named in honour of Robert M. Ballinger, a U.S. Navy Commander who died on November 20, 1974, along with an ROK soldier when there was an explosion in Tunnel No. 1, about twenty-five kilometres northeast of Panmunjeom, and the first North tunnel discovered. Naumenkof took the stage.
“Did you guys read the waiver you signed?” he asked. “What does it say?”
I guess discussing the rules we must adhere to in the JSA was necessary — it would only take one nutcase among us to do something really foolish, provoking what could be an embarrassing international incident. “If something happens to you it’s not our fault,” he deadpanned.
We all laughed.
One fellow in our group called out that no photos were allowed. Naumenkof confirmed this. Another announced there was no fraternization with North guards.
“No fraternization,” echoed Naumenkof.
If anyone was daft enough to approach a North soldier, drape an arm around him, and attempt to take a selfie, I thought he deserved to wind up on a permanent North Korean vacation.
“No gestures, no pointing,” offered another tour member.
“No pointing,” reiterated Naumenkof.
“Stay in your group,” someone called.
“Stay in your group.”
“Follow instructions.”
“Absolutely,” agreed Naumenkof.
“Don’t defect to North Korea!” I blurted out.
The audience guffawed. The young sergeant stared at me with a gaze that I deciphered as being half restrained humour and half wanting to deliver a taekwondo kick my way. Thank goodness witnesses were on hand to deter such unwarranted action. “Do not defect to North Korea,” he repeated dryly, after a long pause. “That’s the number one rule around here. The biggest thing is, this area we’re going to go up to, it’s a dangerous area. As recently as three weeks ago we had incidents up there. So it’s important you follow instructions. Your safety does depend on it. And if you don’t, then you just signed a waiver saying we’re not responsible for anything that happens to you. But most important, do not point, do not wave, and do not gesture to the North Koreans. These are violations of the Armistice Agreement.”
He then surrendered the stage to a young American UNC soldier who began to recite a speech about the DMZ. UNC soldiers presiding over tour groups in Panmunjeom memorize a thirteen-page history of the Korean War. This soldier obviously had taken the task of learning it to heart, because he morphed into autopilot, and sounded like he was trying to win a Guinness World Record for the quickest-delivered speech. Without a single pause, it took him just nine minutes and forty-seven seconds (I timed him).
“Your-tour-group-will-be-escorted-into-Panmunjeom-by-soldiers -of-the-UN-Security-Force-who-are-above-the-average-aptitude-of-normal-soldiers,” he concluded speedily.
What a relief knowing we would be accompanied by Ivy-Leaguers.
In front of Ballinger Hall, we transferred to a military bus that would convey us the final two kilometres to the JSA. En route, we passed a hamlet called Daeseong-dong, population about 250, and through a retinue of trees I could make out tightly grouped village homes and farm units. The village is the only settlement permitted to exist in the DMZ by South authorities, and is only four hundred metres south of the DMZ’s midpoint. The reason for its existence seems to be for propaganda; it’s as if the South government thumbs its nose at the enemy, and refuses to be cowed. Only those who grew up in the village or have direct descendents in it, are permitted to reside there. They receive government perks for doing so: they pay no taxes, the men are exempt from mandatory two-year military conscription, and farm sizes
