OCTOBER 31, 2022 – When I heard about the horrible incident in Seoul last Saturday, it stirred a terrifying memory.
Exactly 22 years ago, our family was in Seoul on a tour with a half dozen other families with adopted, Korean-born kids. It was the trip of a lifetime, and we saw many wonderful sights, met numerous extraordinary people, and sampled much unusual culinary fare. We visited as well, countless markets and shopping districts, including Itaewon, where the recent disaster occurred.
We also experienced tense moments while visiting the DMZ and tunnels dug years before by the North Koreans in an attempt to send spies and saboteurs clandestinely into “ROK”—the “Republic of South Korea.” But the scariest time was in a crush of the likes that killed 154 young people and injured many more while attending a massive Halloween party in Seoul last Saturday. Our experience occurred a generation ago, and given the population density of Seoul, local authorities should’ve had ample awareness of the probability, not mere possibility, of the recent Halloween horror.
The occasion in 2000 was National Foundation Day, a holiday celebrating the formation of Gojoseon—the first Korean state—in 2333 B.C.E. In Seoul, the festivities take place in Yeouido Han River Park, and a huge fireworks display is unleashed at the conclusion of the celebration.
With nightfall on that October 3, our family and our young host for the evening landed in the thick of things along the river park. The crowds were massive, and we decided it might be prudent to beat the rush and head for the nearest subway station.
We had the right idea, but our timing was off. As we descended into the multi-level station, we encountered ascending throngs. They were hellbent on reaching the surface in time for the fireworks. We hugged a side wall and crept down step-by-step against the human surge.
Suddenly, pyrotechnics rent the outside air. The surged turned into a stampede. We were powerless to resist without being crushed on the stairs. We turned and were carried back outside, like helpless rafters in Class V whitewater. In the process, our older son, Cory, and I got separated from my wife and our younger son, Byron. Not even in India had I been caught in such a huge mass of humanity.
I lost sight of Beth and Byron. Cory was smushed so tightly against my back, I couldn’t see him either, but he and I stayed within earshot of each other by yelling over the din of the human rapids. We had absolutely no freedom of motion. As the multitude pushed one way, we too went with the current. As the horde went another direction, Cory and I were carried likewise. At one point, all movement stopped but compression on all sides increased. I thought we’d be crushed in a standing position.
Just then, I felt my wallet leaving my pocket. I couldn’t tell if I was being pick-pocketed or if the press of people next to me was simply squeezing my wallet out. In either case, I couldn’t move my arm enough to reach my back pocket, and surely a pickpocket’s arm couldn’t reach it either. I decided that my billfold had been dislodged and was now on the ground. I told Cory, who volunteered to “go down for it.” I panicked. “No!” I shouted. “You’ll get crushed !” In any event, he couldn’t have altered his position enough to “go down.”
After some minutes in this terrifying scene, I noticed that we were moving toward a kiosk, the upper few feet of which rose above the mob. Just then, our part of the crowd turned, and as it did, I saw the kiosk leaving its moorings. It reminded me of a scene in the 1960s film, How the West was Won, in which the Dakota Sioux drove a herd of buffalo to stampede through a staging area for railroad construction. The ferocious momentum of the animals swept around a large, elevated wooden water tank (for steam engines) with such force, the structure was pulled from it’s base, then toppled and shredded. I feared that the kiosk would experience the same fate.
By one of the many miracles in my life, Cory and I edged our way out of the human stampede, then out of it altogether—just as Beth and Byron and our host were doing the same.
I’ve never been so terrified or, with my entire family, been in so much immediate physical danger as on that occasion. Never have I experienced such relief when we all emerged from harm’s way.
That stampede didn’t result in deaths or injuries, and it didn’t make the evening news . . . or reach the attention of local authorities. But given the density of population in so many parts of Asia, especially, my wife and I wondered how in the world—or at least in East Asia—disastrous stampedes weren’t a common occurrence.
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© 2022 by Eric Nilsson
