ABSTRACT
Every year, when May comes round, my hands become sweaty. When I recall the numerous bodies, I grimace. Is this because the shock was too great? Twenty years have passed and I have forgotten many things, but some images are still fixed in my mind's eye like letters—written characters—carved into the shell of a turtle. Based on these memories and on my records I have created my own interpretation of the events that took place in Kwangju in May 1980. My record consists not only of what I witnessed, but what other reporters and witnesses said they saw. I cannot assert with much confidence that my story fits the facts perfectly. However, despite what may pass for disorderliness in my approach, I would like to try to reflect on the meaning of the Kwangju uprising.
