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This poster designed to resemble a funeral photo bearing the slogan “The government wasn’t there for us” was lying amidst bouquets commemorating the victims of the Itaewon crowd crush near Itaewon Station, Seoul, at 6:34 pm on Friday, Nov. 4. (Photo provided by John R. Eperjesi)

John R. Eperjesi

By John R. Eperjesi, professor in the Department of English Linguistics and Literature at Kyung Hee University in Seoul

At 6:34 pm on Friday, Oct. 4, the sidewalk outside Exit 4 of Itaewon Station, Seoul, was lined with young people. They were dressed in black. They were silent. They did not make eye contact. Their gazes were fixed in the middle distance, as if in a trance. Masks covered their faces and hid their emotions. I imagine the expressions behind the masks were a mix of grief and anger, sorrow and rage, an emotional borderland that many of us are traversing right now.

The young people were holding hand-written signs. The signs said things like:

“There was nothing wrong with attending the Halloween party. The government must be held accountable and properly apologize for the Itaewon tragedy! — 2030 political community, Youth Movement”

“It‘s not your fault. The government must recognize its responsibility and must apologize and make this society safer.”

“It’s not your fault. This ‘tragedy’ was perfectly avoidable. The government must accept the fact that it’s to blame and apologize.”

“This was preventable. The government wasn’t there for us. Deepest condolences to the Itaewon crush victims. — Progressive university students network”

“6:34. The government wasn’t there. It was avoidable.”

Young people in black hold placards as part of a demonstration near Itaewon Station, Seoul, on Friday, Nov. 4. The demonstration was held to commemorate the victims of the Itaewon crowd crush and demand that the South Korean government be held responsible for the disaster. (Photo provided by John R. Eperjesi)

Many of the signs held by young people displayed three numbers, 6:34, a reference to the time when the first emergency call was made to the police, four hours before 156 people were crushed to death in a narrow alley next to the Hamilton Hotel. The caller saw clearly what was happening and foresaw what could happen:

“It‘s a narrow alley. The people standing in line for the club, the people coming up from Itaewon Station, and the people exiting the streets [above] are all tangled up. They might be crushed to death. I think [the police] should control the people at the entrance [of the alley].”

There are many references to this fateful time, 6:34, in the growing library of post-it notes, letters and signs that are accumulating at the Halloween memorial in Itaewon. Koreans often use numbers to represent historical events — 6.25 for the Korean War, 4.3 for the Jeju April 3 Incident — as well as for collective age groups, such as 386 for the generation that was active in the democracy movement of the 1980s. Could we be witnessing the birth of the 6:34 Generation? A 6:34 Movement?

As I walked along the sidewalk between the silent protestors, I was heartened to see young men and women standing together given the need to support and care for each other during this difficult time. Hopefully this young generation will transform the ugly gender wars that permeate this country into something productive and beautiful. This is a coming-of-age moment for many young Koreans, a horrific crisis through which they are beginning to find their political voices and glimpse their collective strength as they advocate for the 156 people who joyously ventured out to celebrate Halloween in Itaewon and did not come home.

A young person in black clothing is holding a placard that says “6:34” near Itaewon Station, Seoul, on Friday, Nov. 4. The demonstration was held to commemorate the victims of the Itaewon crowd crush and to demand that the South Korean government be held responsible for the disaster. (Photo provided by John R. Eperjesi)

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