Christmas is often framed as a moment of peace, forgiveness, and reflection. But in Korean history, Christmas Eve has repeatedly been chosen for violence, punishment, and erasure.
In Part 2 of Christmas Nightmares, we examine three chilling cases tied to the holiday. We begin with the Seokdal-ri Massacre of 1949, when South Korean soldiers burned a mountain village and executed dozens of civilians on Christmas Eve — a crime buried by the state for decades. We then move to the execution of Park Heung-suk, remembered as “Mudeungsan Tarzan,” hanged on Christmas Eve in 1980 after a violent confrontation born from forced eviction and extreme poverty. Finally, we revisit the Daejeon bank robbery and murder of 2001, a Christmas-season killing that remained unsolved for over twenty years.
These stories expose how Christmas, rather than symbolizing mercy, was repeatedly used as a moment of finality — when the state acted, and history tried to move on.
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Christmas is supposed to mark the end of the year with reflection and compassion. In Korea’s modern history, however, Christmas Eve has often been a chosen moment for violence, silence, and punishment.
Part 2 of Christmas Nightmares focuses on three cases that reveal how deeply trauma can be tied to the calendar.
The Seokdal-ri Massacre, also known as the Mungyeong Civilian Massacre, took place on December 24, 1949 — before the Korean War officially began. In a mountainous village in present-day Mungyeong, South Korean troops surrounded Seokdal-ri under anti-guerrilla orders. Without individual investigations or trials, the village was collectively labeled a supporter base for leftist fighters.
Soldiers set homes on fire in broad daylight. Villagers fleeing the flames were driven into rice paddies and shot. Others were intercepted on nearby paths, including schoolchildren walking home and young men returning from neighboring villages. Eighty-six residents — mostly women, children, and the elderly — were killed. Twenty-four houses were burned.
For decades, survivors were forced into silence, stigmatized as “reds’ families.” The massacre disappeared from public memory until democratization allowed journalists and local activists to push for truth. In 2007, South Korea’s Truth and Reconciliation Commission concluded the killings were an illegal mass execution of civilians and recommended an official apology and reparations.
Each year, a mudang performs a gut ritual at the site, asking the dead not to bring misfortune and offering what many families feel the state never fully gave them: acknowledgment. For Seokdal-ri, shamanic ritual became a parallel space of truth when official history failed.
Christmas Eve violence resurfaced decades later in a different form. Park Heung-suk, born into extreme poverty, lived with his family in an illegal shantytown on the slopes of Mudeungsan in Gwangju. In 1977, as the city prepared for the National Sports Festival and a presidential visit, demolition teams burned his family’s shack during forced evictions. No compensation. No relocation.
In a rage, Park attacked demolition workers, killing four. The press branded him “Mudeungsan Tarzan,” portraying him as a wild criminal rather than a product of violent redevelopment policies. Despite petitions from intellectuals citing his youth and circumstances, he was executed by hanging on December 24, 1980. His death became known simply as the Christmas Eve Execution.
Finally, the episode revisits the Daejeon Kookmin Bank robbery and murder of December 2001. Two men ambushed a cash delivery van, killing a bank manager who resisted. The case went cold for over two decades until DNA evidence finally identified the suspects. In 2023, one received a life sentence, the other twenty years. Justice arrived, but far too late for the victim.
Together, these stories show how Christmas Eve has repeatedly been used as a moment to close cases, erase people, and move on — even when the wounds remain open.
