South Korea The Struggle Gains Its Martyr

By William R. Doerner

"My sincerest wish is for Lee Han Yol to become the last person to die violently for the cause of democracy in our country." So said Opposition Leader Kim Young Sam last week following the death of the Yonsei University sophomore in Seoul. Lee, 20, had remained in a coma for 27 days after he was struck in the head by a pepper-gas canister during the demonstrations that jolted South Korea for three weeks last month. As the sole death among the tens of thousands of protesters who took to the street, Lee became an instant martyr to the revolt, which had forced promises of sweeping democratic reforms from President Chun Doo Hwan. Lee's funeral prompted a new round of clashes between students and police -- a confrontation that was viewed by most as a final convulsion before the reforms take place, but nonetheless provided a reminder of the country's continuing potential for unrest.

Lee's death forced a halt in negotiations over constitutional reforms, as both Kim Young Sam and Kim Dae Jung, the other primary opposition leader, observed a four-day period of mourning. But the government continued to relax its authoritarian grip on South Korean life. Chun granted formal amnesty to 2,335 South Koreans, including Kim Dae Jung, who had been banned from politics. Another group of 357 people jailed for politically related offenses was released; among them was the Rev. Moon Ik Kwan, one of the country's most prominent dissidents before he was found guilty of sedition following student protests last year in the city of Inchon, near Seoul. More prisoners are expected to be freed in the near future, though the government and opposition disagree on the exact number of offenders who are behind bars for strictly political reasons.

Chun also surprised his countrymen by relinquishing his position as president of the ruling Democratic Justice Party more than six months before he is scheduled to leave office. Speaking to a routine session of party members, Chun announced that he was stepping down from his party post so he could devote full time to affairs of state, including the 1988 Summer Olympic Games, which are scheduled to take place in Seoul. He also wanted to make himself look less partisan. Said Chun: "We are winding up one era in Korea's political history and making preparations for another." It is the first time a South Korean President has resigned his party post since the country became a republic in 1948.

The new party leader is all but certain to be Roh Tae Woo, Chun's classmate at South Korea's military academy (class of 1955), political protege and handpicked candidate for President in national elections to be held late this year. It was Roh who had electrified the nation two weeks ago by recommending the program of democratic reforms, including the direct election of the next President, that was later endorsed by Chun. The President paid tribute to Roh "for having made the courageous decision that has given all our citizens a refreshing jolt and has greatly enhanced their pride."

The ruling-party candidate can use all the endorsements he can find. A virtual shoo-in under the old system, he will now almost certainly be challenged at the polls by Kim Young Sam. Meanwhile, Kim Dae Jung announced last week that he is reconsidering an earlier pledge not to seek the presidency in this year's election. While such an about-face runs the danger of splitting the opposition, Kim Dae Jung is no newcomer to the campaign | trail. When he ran for President in 1971 he won 46% of the vote.

Lee's funeral, which included half a dozen speakers and prayers offered by Buddhist and Christian clergymen, began solemnly on Thursday morning inside Yonsei's leafy campus in western Seoul. At the end of the service, pallbearers hoisted the victim's coffin, draped in a South Korean flag, and carried it on their shoulders in a mass procession leading to the city hall.

Some 100,000 joined in the two-mile march, including phalanxes of students carrying pictures of Lee on forests of poles, youths bearing red-black-and- yellow banners, and a group of funeral dancers, who gracefully spun to the sounds of drums and cymbals. After reaching the city hall, the crowd sang patriotic songs, and a hearse departed for Kwangju, Lee's hometown 200 miles away.

Many of the mourners soon dispersed, but some 40,000 continued to occupy the city hall plaza. Then, goaded by a far-left student faction, the crowd began marching up Taepyongno Street in the direction of the Blue House, the official residence of South Korea's President. The route was blocked off by riot police, who until then had remained out of sight. Within minutes the confrontation erupted into full-scale combat that lasted about two hours. Police fired pepper gas from five "black elephants," truck-mounted guns that spew out canisters at machine-gun speed. The protesters attacked police by hurling stones and tossing fire bombs.

Disturbances also broke out in Kwangju, but the most touching confrontation there involved not protesters but Lee's mourners. The victim's family had planned to bury him in a family plot in the city's main cemetery. His fellow students, however, insisted that he should be interred at another part of the cemetery, near the graves of many of the 180 people who had been killed in the bloody Kwangju riots in 1980. Although Lee's mother and sister struggled hysterically with student marshals, the youths eventually prevailed. The lone victim from this year's street struggles was buried among the cluster of graves that commemorate a tragic struggle of the past.

With reporting by S. Chang and Barry Hillenbrand/Seoul