'Gwangju Collapse Accident' Safe and Swift Rescue Hoped with 'Yellow Ribbon Presented'

As a citizen, not a reporter, I earnestly pray with both hands clasped for a safe return

Building 201 of Hwajeong I-Park in Seo-gu, Gwangju Metropolitan City, with collapsed exterior walls.

[Asia Economy Honam Reporting Headquarters Reporter Park Jin-hyung] When other reporters ran, I ran in that direction too. I didn’t want to bother the victims’ families any more than necessary. If someone was having a conversation, I stood nearby. I pressed my ear closely to the victims’ family tents, where entry was restricted, wondering if any important information would come out.

Near the police line in front of the situation room where the fire authorities were holding a meeting, I hurriedly stopped anyone wearing an orange jacket marked with 119 to ask about the rescue situation.

This was the site of the Hwajeong I-Park collapse accident in Seo-gu, Gwangju Metropolitan City, where every minute and second was hectic.

On the 22nd, the 12th day after the horrific tragedy, the intense reporting atmosphere had somewhat calmed down, and I could feel it firsthand. There seemed to be few reporters staying overnight at the site.

The reporters who had been standing and waiting constantly had mostly left, and only some ladder chairs and a few cameras with unknown owners remained, giving off a lonely feeling.

After a stormy few days passed and I regained my composure, I finally noticed scenes that had been invisible before.

I often said to the so-called 'PR men' who helped with the reporting, "Thank you for your hard work," and "Have you eaten?" but I felt somewhat sorry for not paying attention to the volunteers who silently cleaned up trash, issued access passes, and handed out cup noodles.

I turned my back to Building 201, which looked as if a huge object had scratched it and exposed the inside, and calmly looked around the site surroundings that I hadn’t been able to observe while focusing solely on reporting for the past ten days. I opened my heart to places I normally wouldn’t have paid much attention to.

A yellow ribbon wishing for a "safe return" is hung on the wire fence installed near the accident site at Hwajeong I-Park in Seo-gu, Gwangju Metropolitan City.

The nearby wire fence decorated with yellow ribbons inscribed with phrases like "Don’t let go of the hand" showed traces of many people.

Among them, the empty spaces where the yellow waves were not filled looked unusually large, and soon I understood why. The ribbon tape had all run out, leaving only stiff paper cylinders.

I headed to a stationery store to buy ribbon tape. Although the width was a bit narrow, it seemed to have enough space to write phrases on, so I picked it up and finished paying. The store owner kindly offered a 2,000 won discount. I thanked him and left.

To clarify in advance, the yellow ribbons did not carry any political meaning. Their origin traces back to the United States, where wives or families of husbands participating in war tied yellow ribbons to trees, hoping and waiting for their safe return.

I carefully unrolled the newly bought yellow tape and cut it with scissors. After tying it once and securing it to the wire fence, I wrote "Wishing for a safe return" with a name pen.

Someone said, "I want to write one too," and joined in. It turned out he was a victim’s family member. He wrote, "I earnestly pray you come back alive," with tears welling up in his eyes.

He said, "Honestly, I have let go of a lot," expressing despair, but also said, "I believe they are alive," showing hope again. He added the saying, "Those who do not hold hope cannot despair."

Watching the dismantling work of the tower crane from a distance, which was for the precise search of the upper floors where victims were presumed to be, I could see his firm determination to hold tightly to the thread of hope.

I stayed by his side, carrying a burden as heavy as the massive steel rebar piles, listened to him for about 20 minutes, nodded, and offered words of comfort.

Other than that, no clear way to help came to mind. Leaving behind complex feelings like emptiness, helplessness, and regret as if they were homework, I walked back to the site.

Members of the Seogu Volunteer Center are preparing warm tea and carrying out volunteer activities at the site of the collapse accident of the newly built Hwajeong I-Park apartment in Seo-gu, Gwangju.

Before I knew it, a booth that handed out hot packs and Choco Pies had also withdrawn and disappeared. I only guessed that it was removed to secure the entrance road because residents’ vehicles frequently passed by.

Chocolate desserts are said to boost the body’s energy in cold weather. They would have been a welcome snack for volunteer firefighters who showed 'fighting spirit' despite strong winds and bloodshot eyes, and for volunteers silently dedicating themselves until sunset.

I bought Choco Pies at a convenience store and filled a bag with them. I went to a tent where coffee was being served and handed them over. When asked, "Where are you from?" I just said, "I’m just a citizen."

At that moment, I don’t know why I stammered. The closest thing to a donation I had made was giving a hamburger to a homeless person lying down in the subway about ten years ago, so I guess I felt awkward(?)?that was probably the closest answer.

I headed to the temporary press room, which was being used as a children’s library, to gather my things. I also stepped on the stairs along the way. It was probably the second day after the accident. I was writing an article while listening to a recording file of the fire authorities’ briefing.

At that time, my hands were so frozen that it was hard to button my clothes, so I typed with an 'eagle typing' style. While struggling by endlessly pressing the '-3 seconds' button on the recording app, someone appeared like a savior.

"Why are you doing this here? Follow me. Yesterday, I saw female reporters trembling outside while writing articles, and it looked pitiful." That was the moment the children’s library turned into a temporary press room. Over time, more tables were added, and electric heaters were brought in, completing the setup.

When there weren’t enough seats, two long tables were placed in a coffee shop where reporters moved to. It might have been uncomfortable for the reporters who occupied seats all day after ordering a cup of coffee, but that was just a simple assumption. When I went to a snack bar, the owner said with a sympathetic expression, "Because of the accident, many customers came, so it was uncomfortable eating in a small space."

Having eaten, I gathered strength again. In 10 minutes, there was a press conference where the son and daughter of the victims’ families would stand in front of the cameras for the first time.

One victim’s son met with reporters and said, "I saw reports that fire union members said that Hyeonsan’s support was not properly provided. We also think that the rescue was delayed because Hyeonsan’s support was insufficient," and urged, "I hope they actively support from today to find the family members inside as soon as possible."

Another victim’s daughter said, "The accident happened because of Hyeonsan, but they only say they will provide maximum support, and even when the chairman came and went, nothing changed," and criticized, "Hyeonsan, as experts, should propose various solutions, but it’s frustrating that they are just waiting for the firefighters to act."

Families staying awake all night beside the father, husband, or brother who might be buried under the concrete debris. When will news of the rescue come?

The accident occurred around 3:46 p.m. on the 11th at the apartment construction site when the outer walls of Building 201 from the 23rd to 38th floors collapsed.

As a result, one worker died and five went missing. They were presumed to have been in charge of window installation and fire equipment work on the 28th to 34th floors of the collapsed building.