The eeriest thing about the memorial ceremony for former President Roh last Friday afternoon was the silence. There were thousands of people filling the streets in every direction and the only thing you could hear was the ceremony.
Anyone who's spent more then five minutes in Korea knows that this is not a place where people whisper, or murmur, or talk quietly because they're worried the world might hear the gory details of their conversation. No, this is a place that screams and grunts and shoves.
But the memorial service was quiet. Admittedly it was not without gentle shoving and Stefano-shi took a jab to the kidneys when he was moving too slowly for the ajumma behind him. But, the thing that it had in the greatest supply - aside from yellow sun visors - was quiet.
Seoul's downtown streets were closed to traffic and people who weren't standing in the streets were sitting along the curbs under garlands of yellow balloons emblazoned with Roh's face. Everyone was wearing yellow sun visors with his face printed on the brim and hearts cut out of the sides. Again, if you've spent any time in Korea, you know there's a sizable portion of the population that prefers to minimize its contact with the sun, and a memorial service is no exception.
We'd arrived at this part of the city on foot and when we came across our first intersection crowded with people instead of cars everyone was looking in a single direction. At first we couldn't see what they were looking at, but eventually we noticed their eyes were glued to one of the many giant TV screens on the top of Seoul's office buildings. This screen was broadcasting live coverage of Roh's official funeral which was taking place at Gyeongbokgung palace. Once that ceremony was complete the ex-Presidents body would be brought to City Hall for what was described as the people's memorial. The people's memorial was what the people in the streets were waiting for.
President Roh had never gone to college yet he passed the equivalent of the Korean Bar Exam and was elected to several public offices, culminating in the presidency. His modest background garnered him a loyal following and these people came out in force to pay their respects. Memorial shrines popped up across the country after his death including the two that we saw on Friday. One was in front of the Seoul Train Station and the other was outside the gate to Deoksu Palace. At both memorials there were portraits of President Roh, white chrysanthemums (the traditional Korean funereal flower), and a line of people waiting to bow before the memorial.
The memorial ceremony at City Hall was performed on a stage to the side of the main green and was broadcast on large screens above the plaza. It appeared to be a traditional Korean ceremony and incorporated traditional dress and costumes, music, dance and dramatic readings. We stood in the street watching from a distance, seeing the action unfold on the giant screens. No one said a word and people around us cried quietly as they watched.
There weren't many Westerners in the mix and we were roaming around for at least an hour or more before we saw any non-Koreans among the throngs. Despite the size of the gathering it still felt intimate enough that when we finally turned to leave (before the ceremony had finished) it felt a little awkward to face everyone still watching the Memorial and walk through the crowd.
Regardless of the charges against former President Roh or his decision to jump off a mountain rather than face them, you could tell that he was an important man to Korea and its people. The silence, more than anything, made that very clear.
