It was a mystery that had lain undisturbed in plain sight for 50 years. 1950: The South Korean and American armies on the Korean Peninsula were in full retreat. North Korean army troops had hounded them to a 100-mile pocket centered around the port city of Pusan. Both Americans and South Koreans were paranoid, following reports of Communist troops dressing in peasant clothing and hiding within the refugees fleeing south in order to create havoc.
On July 26, this paranoia came to a head. Six hundred villagers, evacuated from areas near the front, were stopped near a railroad crossing at a place called No Gun Ri. The civilians were searched. Though no weapons or other incriminating evidence was found, the 600 were slaughtered in air and ground attacks.
For 50 years, this story of a massacre of friendly civilians would lay buried and unknown to the general populations of either America or South Korea. It would not become public knowledge until 2000, when the Associated Press, during a routing retrospective of the 50th anniversary of the Korean War, began interviewing troops who claimed to have witnessed the massacre.
Now, with the discovery of distinctively American bullets embedded in the railroad bridge at No Gun Ri, we know that the United States Army was involved. For 15 months, the Army has steadfastly denied any culpability in the killings. But with irrefutable evidence presented, the Army has admitted our troops were involved. Admission is only part of the process, though. Our president has still to make a formal apology to the families of the victims.
“What befell civilians in the vicinity of No Gun Ri in late July 1950 was a tragic and deeply regrettable accompaniment to a war forced upon unprepared U.S. and Republic of Korea forces,” is how the formal report, freshly released by the Department of the Army, describes the event. This is not an apology. At best, it is an admission of guilt.
We, as a country, must apologize for this act. Whether this takes the form of a formal speech or a monument or reparations, something must occur. We committed a grievous wrong at No Gun Ri, one for which we must atone.
A trial for those involved in the action, sadly, is out of the question. Many of those involved at captain rank or higher have already passed on. Arresting individual soldiers for the shootings would be a daunting prospect. Perhaps they could be arrested and tried, but to what end? Those who admitted to having been there have shown that they are haunted by the actions.
The Army as a whole is not like those at No Gun Ri who let their emotion and paranoia run wild. As a whole, the Army is professional and disciplined. Yet by obfuscating and denying and being forced, “Perry Mason”-style, to finally admit wrongdoing, the Army’s leadership gives the appearance that they condone this action and that they have other skeletons to hide. What of depleted uranium bullets and their health effects? What of the Gulf War syndrome? These are problems the Army doesn’t want to face. But like No Gun Ri, it must face them, and soon.