A Lonely Reunion? A 77‑Year‑Old Farmer Wondering About His Mother
Picture this: a retired South Korean farmer, huddled near the North border on Gyodong Island, whispering to the world, “I don’t think she’s still alive.” That’s Hwang Rae‑ha, 77, patiently waiting to see the one woman who vanished almost 70 years ago.
The Long‑Lost Family
During the Korean War, Hwang’s family fled to Gyodong Island. He pleaded for more time after his mother, hoping for peace, returned to the North only to be kept in the shadow of a fortified wall. Now, with moments ticking away, he confides, “Too much time has passed by, and it is over now.”
The New Reunion Push
South Korea, moving forward, decided to revive the cross‑border family reunions that were paused in 2015 amid concerns over Pyongyang’s nuclear ambitions. The plan? A fresh round of meetings starting on August 20 at North Korea’s Mt Kumgang resort.
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Why the Numbers Matter
- Since 1988, a staggering 132,484 South Koreans entered the registry.
- Out of them, 75,425 have already passed away, most never finding their loved ones.
- Experts say the era of reunions is ticking down as many survivors head into their 80s and 90s.
The Enduring Pain
For many, these reunions are a lifeline, a window into a war‑scarred past. They hold a burning curiosity: “I will probably ask them how they have been and when my mother died,” Bae confided.
Survivor Stories That Hit Home
- Kim Hyun‑sook, 91, danced with disbelief when her daughter in North Korea asked to meet her.
- After a heart‑wrenching, brief encounter, she’s left with a silent bus ride and the knowledge that she might never see her family again.
- Park Kyung‑sun, 81, spent three six‑month tours trying to glimpse her old home. The only thing she saw was the shadow of the wall and a stubborn grief that refuses to fade.
The Reality Check
- Only a few thousand reunions can happen each year.
- Many people who signed up in the late 1990s may, by the time the doors open, simply be gone.
- Even if a reunion is scheduled, the watchful eye of North Korean guards makes the experience feel like a high‑stakes game of hide and seek.
Hwang Rae‑ha’s poignant question echoes through all of this: “When can we meet our loved ones? After all, we’re all going to die soon? A hundred people per event? It’s meaningless. We’re 50,000 people waiting in the entire country.”
Until the next wave of reunions begins, many will keep their hope alive as a quiet picture, a memory whispered into the wind, in the hope that the ghosts of the past might still speak back.
