Despite the fact that we are expats, Ric and I are suckers for Americana, and one of the countless things we find interesting about Korea is the bond formed with the United States as a result of the Korean War. Especially since Ric is still sporting his Army flattop, we get stopped regularly by older Korean men who, in halting English, explain to us what branch of the American military they trained with during the Korean conflict or in the years that followed. In a culture with an extensive collective memory, this nation-defining war has irrevocably interlinked Korea and America in the minds of most South Koreans. To us, Korea is just one of a long series of conflicts America has involved itself in overseas, yet another war to make the world safe for democracy. To our neighbors here in South Korea, it is a moment that defined their nation, that split their culture into two and set the two Koreas on markedly different paths for the future.
To express appreciation for the sacrifices the United Nations coalition made in securing a free South Korea, the government of the Republic of Korea donated 35 acres of land here in Busan to the United Nations to establish a memorial cemetery honoring the soldiers from all over the world who fought for Korean independence. It is the only cemetery in the world administered by the United Nations, and it seemed like a fitting place for Ric and I to spend Korean Independence Day.
We took the subway to the Daeyeon station, then followed the signs uphill to the cemetery. Two RoK soldiers guard the front entrance, they saluted us as we entered. Shortly after passing through the gates, an older Korean gentleman stopped us and asked where we were from. When we told him we were Americans, he took off in the direction of the U.S. flag, motioning for us to follow and explaining that he was leading us to our section of the cemetery.
When we reached the flags at the heart of the cemetery, we stopped. The man put one of us on each side of him, then instructed us to bow three times before the UN flag, the same way Buddhists bow before a statue of Buddha or holy relics at a temple. Then, he turned with us and we bowed three times before the American flag, his way of venerating the sacrifices our countrymen had made, more eloquent and moving than any verbal expression of gratitude. Then, he quietly left us to wander the cemetery.
It was solemn and beautiful. Memorials existed all over, sent from Europe, South America, Asia; trees had been planted on the grounds by dignitaries the world over. The cemetery was organized by country and each grave was marked with a granite headstone and an immaculately kept rosebush. The grounds were spotless, lovingly cared for.
The Korean government had also erected a Wall of Remembrance which had etched into it the names of the over 36,000 American soldiers who died in the Korean War. Organized alphabetically by state, the size and scope of the Wall was staggering, a reminder of the high price of freedom.
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