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This past week, the two Koreas stepped back from the brink . Perhaps in retrospect it amounted to just another brink along the road to eventual unification. President Park receives tributes for firmness in the face of North Korean threats. South Korean diplomats receive praise for achieving some apology from the self-righteous Pyongyang regime.
North Korea congratulates itself. Kim Jong-un and his diplomats faced down the South. They saw at least a temporary end to the irritating cross-border broadcasts. They gave the usual thumb to the U.S. and her key Northeast Asian ally during regular exercises amid disunification.
North Korea's gambit of threats for attention worked again. Maybe the threats give Pyongyang that rank air they breathe.
But this time I didn't think so. I thought further incidents of conflict could occur. I'm so glad they didn't happen. I wrote a poem to express my feelings and thoughts. I did so while listening to a song called "Serenity" by Afternova (Andy Blueman Orchestral Remix). I call this poem "Korea's Face at the DMZ."
We've come here, you and I, with forces of death at our backs and in our faces. We've come again to the DMZ.
Was it a land mine, missile or artillery shells? Was it loudspeaker broadcasts, memory of sacrifices or fear of loss?
Such men and women, our grandparents and great-grandparents, they ask us, "Why do you tarry here in this place? What is your face?"
Shouldn't we grow tired of this little room in a row of buildings, all of little rooms?
With our people outside, guns pointed instead of arms outstretched, missiles hiding, ready and armed. Men and women in uniform, ready and willing if called to the front.
Like plain on plain, we meet here to talk. We meet here to fight with words. We meet here to rail on of face.
Whose face do we save, you and I? Whose face do we save here? Do we see the other faces to save?
Is it our people, one people, divided still, beyond all we shall say? Is it our grandchildren and great grandchildren, many not yet born?
Can you find their faces inside, or hear their precious voices, many still not formed. Hear them cry.
They cry for Korea. They cry for wasted time. They cry for brother and sister. They cry for mother and husband. They cry for those who'll never see each other.
"Keep it up!" they say. "Keep up the games. Keep up the anger and arms and angst. Keep fueling the fighting."
"We shall pay. We shall not have enough to pay. We who should have peace, shall we fight?"
Let's leave the DMZ. Let's leave this place with forces of peace in our hearts and on our faces. Let's leave the DMZ.
Was it a land mine, a missile or artillery shells? Was it loudspeaker broadcasts, memory of sacrifices or fear of loss?
We no longer will worry, at least for now. But when will we make peace and cease to worry forever?
Such great men and women, our grandparents and great-grandparents, they ask us, "What is your face?"
Shouldn't we grow tired of this little room in a row of buildings, all of little rooms?
With our people outside, guns pointed instead of arms outstretched, missiles hiding, ready to and armed. Men and women in uniform, ready and willing if called to the front.
Like plain on plain, we met here to talk. We met here to fight with words. We met here to rail on of face.
Whose face did we save, you and I? Whose face did we save here? We saved nothing but the next moment. We pretend to have done better.
Is it our people, one people, divided still, beyond all we shall say? Is it our grandchildren and great grandchildren, many not yet born? Find their faces outside. Hear their parents and grandparents cry. They want peace for the future. They want peace now.
They cry for Korea. They cry for wasted time. They cry for brother and sister. They cry for mother and husband. They cry for all who cannot see each other.
"Stop it!" they say. "Stop the games. Leave the anger and arms and angst. Leave what fuels the fighting!"
"We pay! We don't have enough to pay! We should have peace! We don't want to fight!"
What did we say? What did we say here at the DMZ? At the DMZ, we showed Korea's face for all to see.
Bernard Rowan is assistant provost for curriculum and assessment, professor of political science and faculty athletics representative at Chicago State University, where he has served for 22 years. Write him at browan10@yahoo.com.
