An Unplanned Protest

The shouts came into my apartment. It sounded more raucous than a normal Friday night. I wasn’t going out, but I needed some food. Maybe bimimbap if a place was open, or mandu from a local stall.

Coat wrapped about me, I headed out. Hearing the shouts coming from my right , I forgot about food and ducked through an alleyway.

People were running, banners in hand. Police, like heavy armoured beetles, formed solid blocks along the road. Even in the January chill, the air had a heated energy.

Police were behind and in front, light catching on riots shields as they stood. People were walking and so was I . Slogans were shouted in Korean, someone was carrying a broom. I had no idea what was going on.

‘So what do you think of all this?’ a woman said to me. She had a strong face and a determined walk. If she was from England, she’d have lived in a squat in Brighton.

‘I don’t know what it’s about,’ I said.

‘You know the fires in Yongsan?’ she asked.

‘Yes, where the people died.’

‘Yes. This is about that. Also , people are tired of Lee Myong Bak.’

‘What do you think of Lee Myong Bak?’

Her voice became corrosive.

‘I hate Lee Myong Bak and this government. They care only about the rich people, they don’t care about the poor.’

I couldn’t see how that set them apart from most other leaders in this world, and wanted to see if there was more substance to the hatred. We were walking between lines of riot police.

I was about to ask more when I saw a teacher from my school, a Korean-American called Sherwood.

‘Sherwood,’ I called.

‘Hey,’ he said.

‘What are you up to?’ I asked.

‘Just came out to see this craziness.’

‘You just finished teaching?’

‘Yeah.’

Sherwood wasn’t exactly pro- protest. He told me the protest was illegal because it was blocking off streets and infringing people’s rights to lead normal lives.

‘But people should be allowed to protest,’ I said.

‘Yes, but…’

Then he told me he wasn’t going to take any crap if anyone attacked him. I asked him why he thought someone might attack him.

‘They kicked the shit out of me at the American beef protests.’

‘What, really, why?’

‘I took photos. I think they thought I might be recording their faces and showing them to the police. They threw me to the floor. At least fifty people were going past, taking a swing at me.’

‘Jesus.’

‘I’m nervous to take pictures now.’

The protestors stopped outside Hongik University, blocking off the crossroads with their presence. Me and Sherwood climbed onto a mini platform and watched. Sherwood filmed a video on his camera.

‘No flash,’ he explained.

After a minute I decided to explore the melee before going home. I walked through the crowd and filmed protestors on my phone. The police were increasing their numbers, building an impenetrable wall, and people were staying still, shouting.

Food was what I had come out for. I walked over to a pie stall I’d been to before, asked the owner what he thought.

‘People always protest, you know,’ he said.

‘Do you like Lee Myong Bak?’

He shrugged.

‘…but, what does this achieve?'

I was watching the proceedings carefully.

‘Hey, if things start, to happen, you walk, this way. Other night, fighting, people falling, getting hurt.’

‘Thanks.’

Nothing was happening fast, the tension building like a slow game of chess. The next day , I was going snowboarding. I paid for my pie and walked home through straight-faced riot police. I wondered about their lives, their personalities, what was behind the uniform of their stares.