In February 2003, at a subway station in central Daegu, South Korea, a suicidal man poured gasoline inside a moving train and set it ablaze.
The flames spread not only through that carriage but also to a train that entered the station from the opposite direction. The disaster killed 192 people, and the arsonist was sentenced to life in prison.
Learning From Loss
Today, the burned-out carriage is displayed at the Daegu Safety Theme Park, a disaster-prevention center built on the city’s outskirts five years after the incident.
The facility’s central purpose is to provide lessons. As the gondola carrying visitors reached downstairs, a message projected on the wall faded into view: “Do you remember that almost unthinkable incident, where nearly 200 lives were quickly turned to ashes?”
Then appeared a real train, blackened by soot. The seats that once filled the carriage had been burned away, leaving only the frame. Metal fixtures that held the handrails had turned reddish brown, a grim trace of the heat and ferocity of the fire.
The “Space of Memory” installed in a corner of Jungangno Station, where the tragedy occurred, in Daegu, South Korea, on March 24. (©Sankei/Norihiro Akiyama)
In a recreated train car and station, visitors can also experience emergency evacuation drills. The lights go out. Smoke fills the space. They use emergency equipment to force open the doors, then follow the guide lights toward the exit.
“It is not a facility that simply dwells on tragedy,” said Woo Byung-wook, the park’s director. “We want visitors to take the memory of the accident home with them, but turn that memory into changes in how they respond to crises.”
The Daegu center became a model. Similar facilities have since spread to 13 cities across South Korea.
Daegu Safety Theme Park Director Woo Byung-wook explains the significance of the facility in Daegu, South Korea, on March 24. (©Sankei/Norihiro Akiyama)
The Cost of Hiding
In the aftermath of the incident, the subway operator, now Daegu Transportation Corporation, came under fierce criticism for what was widely seen as a man-made disaster.
A train approaching from the opposite direction was permitted to enter the burning station. Passengers inside the blazing train were trapped because of the driver’s careless action. It later emerged that flammable materials had been used in the train cars.
These failures had legal consequences. Some drivers and staff were later convicted.
“At first, we were hesitant to expose our own shortcomings,” said Cho Cheol-hee, head of the corporation’s safety planning team.
“But for a true apology and to prevent this from happening again,” he added, “we believed there was more value in remembering than in hiding.”
Japan’s Diverging Path
In Japan, the JR Fukuchiyama Line accident 21 years ago triggered similar criticism of West Japan Railway’s corporate culture, which was seen as putting efficiency before safety.
The 2005 crash killed 107 people after a commuter train derailed on a curve and slammed into an apartment building in Amagasaki, Hyogo Prefecture.
In December last year, West Japan Railway completed a facility to preserve the damaged train from that day. But unlike in Daegu, it’s not open to the public, out of deference to victims and families who have voiced concern that the wreckage could become an object of morbid curiosity.
The lead car of a derailed train lies crushed after slamming into an apartment building in Amagasaki, Hyogo Prefecture, on April 25, 2005. (Photo taken from a Sankei helicopter)
Of course, there are obvious differences. The Daegu fire was a crime, while Fukuchiyama was an accident. Japan and South Korea also have different cultures of public mourning and remembrance. Even so, the two cases reveal a gap in how each society thinks about memory, preservation, and public access.
In both incidents, many of those killed were young. A Daegu Transportation Corporation employee cited a Korean saying: “When a child dies, you bury the child in your heart.” Many of the victims’ families, the employee said, wanted a place where they could mourn their loved ones at the site where they died.
Meanwhile, nearby shop owners and residents in Daegu worried that opening the site to the public could cast a negative image, hurting business and daily life. To address them, the corporation held dozens of meetings with the locals.
In the end, the two sides agreed to create a memorial space in one corner of the station where the attack took place.
The Guardrail of Memory
Seiji Abe, a Kansai University professor emeritus and a longtime observer of the Fukuchiyama accident, said the Daegu facility serves three purposes: mourning, remembrance, and lessons for the future.
Regarding JR West’s preservation facility, Abe noted that some victims oppose opening it to the public, adding, “This is not a matter of saying it should be opened immediately.”
“But once society is ready to accept and carry that memory forward,” he said, “it may be worth considering public access at the right moment.”
The two facilities cannot be compared neatly. Yet both raise the same hard question of whether a society can turn a tragedy of the past into a guardrail for the future.
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Author: Norihiro Akiyama, The Sankei Shimbun
(Read this article in Japanese)
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