The memorial I walked past a hundred times

My initial encounter with a protest in Seoul differed greatly from my expectations. Back in my homeland, protests were characterized by shouting matches, the deployment of riot shields, and the rapid emptying of streets. As I turned a corner near Gwanghwamun on a Saturday afternoon and found myself face-to-face with a crowd that filled the square from end to end, my instinct was to depart.

However, I chose to remain and observe. Rows of police stood alongside the crowd, seemingly serving as a form of escort rather than opposition. Not a single person hurled objects, nor did anyone flee. Families accompanied by children stood at the forefront. I recall pondering: Where is the aspect I was supposed to fear? Several months later, as I journeyed behind the central library on my personal campus, I found myself traversing a path students refer to as Democratization Road.

Midway along this route stands a modest bust, a remembrance that I had bypassed a dozen times without noticing. It pays tribute to Park Jong-cheol, a student who endured torture and met his demise at the hands of police in 1987. That evening, I dedicated myself to reading everything I could uncover about him, unable to resist the notion that this unassuming stretch of pavement commemorated a pivotal moment in the nation's history. Weeks following Park's passing, another student, Lee Han-yeol, would be struck down.