For mass transit-linked South Korea, Hapcheon is not an easy place to get to. From Seoul we took the ultra fast KTX train 2 hours south to Gimcheon, then were picked up by activists for another hour and a half car ride to Hapcheon. Over rivers, through mountain tunnels, past farms and the odd township, I rode with a Korean Green Party activist, a yoga teacher who called himself "Namaste" Jin. Mr. Namaste didn't speak much English, but was sure to tell me of his disdain for Hapcheon as the home town of South Korean dictator Chun Doo-hwan.
Hapcheon is called the Hiroshima of South Korea. During Japanese occupation of the Peninsula, many forced laborers came from Hapcheon to work in factories in Hiroshima. After the bombing, which claimed the lives of an estimated 40,000 Koreans, roughly 30,000 survived. Many of them returned to Hapcheon with little more than the clothing on their backs.
For two mornings, we were served breakfast at Hapcheon House, a sort of sanctuary for A-bomb affected people, particularly the 2nd generation. Han Jeong-sun, president of the Hapcheon 2nd Generation A-Bomb Victims Association dutifully prepared the meal both mornings, working from 6am to 830. Korean meals are almost always served with many sides, from the staple Kimchi, to bright Daikon radish, to the carefully peeled vines of the sweet potato marinated in spices.
Han Jeong-sun shared her pain with us. She has a painful condition affecting her joints and nerves in her legs. Her life has been constant doctors appointments. Her son Yeon, now 42 years old, has spent his life non-verbal and unable to stand, communicate, or take care of himself. Birth defects like these are common for people scarred by high level radiation, which can break apart the strands of people's DNA. She wishes the US would apologize. She wishes Japan would apologize. She wishes both countries would pay reparations, and that Japan in particular would recognize 2nd generation victims. She said her life has been a living hell, but she'd found purpose in understanding, caring for the Hibakusha of Hapcheon, and working for Peace. Her predecessor in the Association passed away at the age of 35 from cancer. Han hurts every day, but said if we come back, she would make breakfast for us again.
While there are thousands more first, second, and third generation Korean Hibakusha, only a few thousand have affiliated with the handful of A-bomb victims associations. The reasons are all too similar across nuclear-impacted communities. People wish to forget. They feel shame. They worry about discrimination. Many simply weren’t told by their parents and grandparents. The public advocates of the Korean A-Bomb Victims bravely push through social stigma to advocate for themselves and others.
This advocacy has been and is still essential. Korean A-bomb victims didn’t receive the same benefits as Japanese A-Bomb Victims until 1994, 37 years after Japanese victims. It is still difficult for them to access these benefits. Through money from the Japanese government, the Atomic Bomb Victims Welfare Center in Hapcheon was constructed. The several-story hospital-like building is still utilized today. As mentioned before, in spite of inheriting the health risks from their parents, the second generation victims still are not recognized under Korean and Japanese law.
A peace conference and August 6th Memorial Service has been held in Hapcheon for 13 consecutive years. In 2026, Han and others will testify at an International People’s Tribunal on the 1945 Atomic Bombings in New York City. The advocates of Hapcheon feel that many people in their own community don’t recognize them. People are apathetic about the issue. Hapcheon is a conservative place. Their desire is to change one of local parks, currently named after the family of the dictator Chun Doo-hwan, into a Peace Park to rival Hiroshima’s. May they prevail. Nuclear weapons, and the threat of nuclear war are on the rise again. May we all prevail.
Written by Sean Arent, Nuclear Weapons Abolition Program Manager, WPSR, NWANW