'After Silence': Play Urges Gwangju Crackdown Soldiers to Confess Past Actions

The stage in Seoul's Daehangno district is currently alive with a powerful new production, 'After Silence,' a창작 연극 (creative play) that delves into the profound and enduring scars left by the 1980 Gwangju Uprising. Unlike typical theatrical fare, this play immediately engages its audience with a raw, dialect-infused direct address from its actors, breaking the fourth wall and immersing viewers in the emotional landscape of its story. The intimate setting of the Dream Theater's small stage ensures that every breath and whisper is felt, creating a dense and impactful 70-minute experience.

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But we are different. Whatever you imagine, it's completely different. First, turn off your phones. From now on, I'll strike a really cool pose, so take a picture and upload it. #DaehangnoPlay #AfterSilence #MoonSeoYulIsSoPretty.

'After Silence' masterfully weaves together the tragic love story of Seung-geun and Ju-hee, a university couple whose lives are shattered by the events of May 1980, with the present-day narrative of their daughter, So-jeong. Seung-geun, a soldier who voluntarily went to Gwangju, is wounded and later finds Ju-hee, who is pregnant, in a mental hospital. Their story, marked by separation, trauma, and the lingering fear of Seung-geun's past actions, unfolds through parallel timelines. The play boldly confronts the silence surrounding the Gwangju massacre, particularly the complicity of the martial law forces, and questions the impact of that silence on subsequent generations.

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But you know, if I wear glasses like this, I'm So-jeong, So-jeong. Who am I? Remember well. If you don't know this, you can't follow along.

Central to the play's message is Seung-geun's monologue, a poignant adaptation of Hamlet's famous soliloquy, pleading with the surviving martial law soldiers from the 1980 Gwangju crackdown to confess their actions. Playwright and director Kim Won-young explicitly states the play's objective: to foster a social atmosphere where these aging soldiers, now in their seventies, feel compelled to make a public confession. 'There is still time,' Kim emphasizes, expressing a hope that this message reaches them and guides them toward repentance. The play's innovative approach, using humor and romance to tackle such a heavy subject, makes the pain of the Gwangju Uprising feel like a 'present ongoing' issue, urging reflection and reconciliation.

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Should I speak the truth, or remain silent until the end, that is the question. Is it nobler to disappear while hiding the truth, or to face judgment by revealing all? Should I let death, the imminent death, choose for me cowardly?