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U.S. Troops in South Korea Encounter Increased Hostility
By JAMES BROOKE
EOUL, South Korea, Jan. 8 — Lt. Col. Steven Boylan's combat patch comes from flying helicopters in El Salvador, but his parents think his Purple Heart should come from walking the streets of Seoul.
That became clear one night last month when three Korean men cornered him in a tunnel on his way home. "They started cussing me in English, `G.I. get out, G.I. go home,' " the colonel, a 41-year-old Wisconsin native, recalled today. "They attacked me, and I made a defensive maneuver. It was only when I made it back to post that I saw I had been stabbed."
The world worries about whether North Korea is making nuclear weapons. Television correspondents do live stand-ups from the demilitarized zone, the "last cold war frontier." But to hear some G.I.'s tell it, the highest risk of violence is on the streets of South Korean cities, where political leaders have allowed anti-Americanism to run unchecked.
"They are being spat on," Colonel Boylan said. "They are being cussed at. They are being hit."
He has become a one-man clearinghouse for abuse reports, partly because of his stabbing and partly because of his high-profile job as the Eighth Army's public affairs officer.
"People are not allowed entry into restaurants," he said. "A soldier coming to work had some guys jump out of their car and start beating on her car."
Most of the G.I.'s interviewed here could recount several troubling incidents, but many also said they generally felt quite safe.
"My daughter who is 16 can go out at night with her girlfriends by subway without any problems," said Lt. Col. Francis J. Smith Jr., 50, a Special Forces officer. "She can't do that back home in Philadelphia."
Nevertheless, driving out of Eighth Army headquarters here, soldiers today checked a new "conditions" sign. For each of the eight major American bases here, two kinds of conditions are updated regularly: "road conditions" and "demonstrations." Another sign urged Americans — soldiers and civilians — to go out in pairs, reminding them, "The buddy system is in effect."
The rising anti-Americanism stems partly from the friction of having 37,000 United States troops living in close quarters with the people of one of the world's most densely populated countries. It was fanned in the presidential election last month, and before that by the trial and acquittal of two American servicemen who ran over and killed two Korean girls with their armored vehicle.
But it is also unmistakably part of a generational shift of attitudes, a belief especially potent among South Korea's young that the country can manage its own affairs, and do it better than its longtime protector has lately. It is a resentment that at times, American servicemen and women say, verges on hatred.
"My friends American, Canadian, British, New Zealander and Australian have all been affected," Sally Milne, a British teacher in Seoul, wrote in a letter printed today in The Korea Herald. "They have been glared at, spat on, refused seats on the subway and refused service in some stores."
The recent explosion of anti-Americanism has been fueled as well by a general ignorance of why American soldiers are here. Many young South Koreans sincerely believe what North Korea has taught for decades: that American troops arrived here in 1950 and split the nation in two.
In reality, the Communist North attacked first and almost wiped out South Korea. The historical fact that without American soldiers fighting under the United Nations flag there would be no South Korea today is often lost. "This is not an imperial occupation army," Colonel Smith said after his fast-food lunch at the "food house" at Eighth Army headquarters. "They ask us to go home, and we go home."
The leaders of South Korea know this, and they send their representatives to international hotels here to tell American reporters soothingly how much they value the American military presence, which costs American taxpayers about $3 billion a year.
American troops, they say, not only reassure foreign investors, but also serve as a human tripwire to draw the United States back in if troops from the North should ever cross the border. But before Korean audiences, Korean politicians shy away from defending or explaining the presence of American soldiers.
With the harassment of American soldiers fostering a fledgling "Boycott Korea" movement in the United States, some people here speculate that the day will come when panicked South Koreans will punch 911 on their ubiquitous cellphones and the only American military response will come from the air.
"I am concerned about the short political fuse in the United States," said Hyun Hong Choo, a lawyer who once served as ambassador to Washington. "If the talk becomes serious, then we will see some negative reaction from the international business community."
Tami Overby of the American Chamber of Commerce in Korea warned, "If there were serious consideration of troop withdrawals we would see investors seriously reconsidering their plans here."
But reductions could be on the horizon. "I expect troop reductions," said Scott Snyder, Korea representative of The Asia Foundation, a regional research organization. "You could cut down to 20,000. You could consolidate bases. They are also hostage to protesters from liberal universities in Korea, which means every city in Korea."
In one step to reduce friction, the United States forces in Korea agreed last fall to a 10-year plan to cut the amount of land occupied by American troops in half, to 50 square miles, and to reduce the number of bases almost in half, to 23.
To Americans interviewed at the fast-food court on a base here, assessments of their relations with Koreans ranged from pleasant to frustrating. Sgt. Duane Stubbs said his teenage daughters had come here for Christmas, "and it widened their horizons better than any education."
"They walked downtown without any problems," he added.
"But I was in a clothing store with a buddy and they asked us if we were American servicemen," continued Sergeant Stubbs, a native of Cleveland. "We just left." But he added that as an African-American man growing up in the United States, he long ago learned to assess his surroundings judiciously.
Jamie Murray, 32, a civilian employee at the base, said, "I guess they are all grown up and think maybe they don't need big brother around anymore."
"A buddy of mine said this place could become another Philippines," he said, recalling the protest movements that led to the closing of American air and naval bases there.
Pvt. Nicholas C. Kreiner, a 21-year-old from Michigan, said, "At times it is kind of frustrating. I am married, here without my wife, and then the Koreans don't want me here."
Private Kreiner says the South Koreans were not shy about making their feelings known. "They threw eggs, candles over the fence, rocks against the guard tower," said the private, a military policeman. "In the street you hear, `Go home, G.I.! Yankee go home!' "
To Colonel Boylan, the deepest cut of all came from two Korean children. "I was going to a function in dress uniform when I came across two kids, about 8 or 10 years old," he recalled. "They were laughing, smiling. Then they saw me. They stopped in their tracks and glared at me. Then they cussed at me — in English."
As for the knife attack, his self-defense training spared him a deep wound to the gut that would have required stitches. "I am lucky to be alive," he said. "But I had to tell my mom: `There is no Purple Heart in it. We are not at war with the people of South Korea.' "
By JAMES BROOKE
EOUL, South Korea, Jan. 8 — Lt. Col. Steven Boylan's combat patch comes from flying helicopters in El Salvador, but his parents think his Purple Heart should come from walking the streets of Seoul.
That became clear one night last month when three Korean men cornered him in a tunnel on his way home. "They started cussing me in English, `G.I. get out, G.I. go home,' " the colonel, a 41-year-old Wisconsin native, recalled today. "They attacked me, and I made a defensive maneuver. It was only when I made it back to post that I saw I had been stabbed."
The world worries about whether North Korea is making nuclear weapons. Television correspondents do live stand-ups from the demilitarized zone, the "last cold war frontier." But to hear some G.I.'s tell it, the highest risk of violence is on the streets of South Korean cities, where political leaders have allowed anti-Americanism to run unchecked.
"They are being spat on," Colonel Boylan said. "They are being cussed at. They are being hit."
He has become a one-man clearinghouse for abuse reports, partly because of his stabbing and partly because of his high-profile job as the Eighth Army's public affairs officer.
"People are not allowed entry into restaurants," he said. "A soldier coming to work had some guys jump out of their car and start beating on her car."
Most of the G.I.'s interviewed here could recount several troubling incidents, but many also said they generally felt quite safe.
"My daughter who is 16 can go out at night with her girlfriends by subway without any problems," said Lt. Col. Francis J. Smith Jr., 50, a Special Forces officer. "She can't do that back home in Philadelphia."
Nevertheless, driving out of Eighth Army headquarters here, soldiers today checked a new "conditions" sign. For each of the eight major American bases here, two kinds of conditions are updated regularly: "road conditions" and "demonstrations." Another sign urged Americans — soldiers and civilians — to go out in pairs, reminding them, "The buddy system is in effect."
The rising anti-Americanism stems partly from the friction of having 37,000 United States troops living in close quarters with the people of one of the world's most densely populated countries. It was fanned in the presidential election last month, and before that by the trial and acquittal of two American servicemen who ran over and killed two Korean girls with their armored vehicle.
But it is also unmistakably part of a generational shift of attitudes, a belief especially potent among South Korea's young that the country can manage its own affairs, and do it better than its longtime protector has lately. It is a resentment that at times, American servicemen and women say, verges on hatred.
"My friends American, Canadian, British, New Zealander and Australian have all been affected," Sally Milne, a British teacher in Seoul, wrote in a letter printed today in The Korea Herald. "They have been glared at, spat on, refused seats on the subway and refused service in some stores."
The recent explosion of anti-Americanism has been fueled as well by a general ignorance of why American soldiers are here. Many young South Koreans sincerely believe what North Korea has taught for decades: that American troops arrived here in 1950 and split the nation in two.
In reality, the Communist North attacked first and almost wiped out South Korea. The historical fact that without American soldiers fighting under the United Nations flag there would be no South Korea today is often lost. "This is not an imperial occupation army," Colonel Smith said after his fast-food lunch at the "food house" at Eighth Army headquarters. "They ask us to go home, and we go home."
The leaders of South Korea know this, and they send their representatives to international hotels here to tell American reporters soothingly how much they value the American military presence, which costs American taxpayers about $3 billion a year.
American troops, they say, not only reassure foreign investors, but also serve as a human tripwire to draw the United States back in if troops from the North should ever cross the border. But before Korean audiences, Korean politicians shy away from defending or explaining the presence of American soldiers.
With the harassment of American soldiers fostering a fledgling "Boycott Korea" movement in the United States, some people here speculate that the day will come when panicked South Koreans will punch 911 on their ubiquitous cellphones and the only American military response will come from the air.
"I am concerned about the short political fuse in the United States," said Hyun Hong Choo, a lawyer who once served as ambassador to Washington. "If the talk becomes serious, then we will see some negative reaction from the international business community."
Tami Overby of the American Chamber of Commerce in Korea warned, "If there were serious consideration of troop withdrawals we would see investors seriously reconsidering their plans here."
But reductions could be on the horizon. "I expect troop reductions," said Scott Snyder, Korea representative of The Asia Foundation, a regional research organization. "You could cut down to 20,000. You could consolidate bases. They are also hostage to protesters from liberal universities in Korea, which means every city in Korea."
In one step to reduce friction, the United States forces in Korea agreed last fall to a 10-year plan to cut the amount of land occupied by American troops in half, to 50 square miles, and to reduce the number of bases almost in half, to 23.
To Americans interviewed at the fast-food court on a base here, assessments of their relations with Koreans ranged from pleasant to frustrating. Sgt. Duane Stubbs said his teenage daughters had come here for Christmas, "and it widened their horizons better than any education."
"They walked downtown without any problems," he added.
"But I was in a clothing store with a buddy and they asked us if we were American servicemen," continued Sergeant Stubbs, a native of Cleveland. "We just left." But he added that as an African-American man growing up in the United States, he long ago learned to assess his surroundings judiciously.
Jamie Murray, 32, a civilian employee at the base, said, "I guess they are all grown up and think maybe they don't need big brother around anymore."
"A buddy of mine said this place could become another Philippines," he said, recalling the protest movements that led to the closing of American air and naval bases there.
Pvt. Nicholas C. Kreiner, a 21-year-old from Michigan, said, "At times it is kind of frustrating. I am married, here without my wife, and then the Koreans don't want me here."
Private Kreiner says the South Koreans were not shy about making their feelings known. "They threw eggs, candles over the fence, rocks against the guard tower," said the private, a military policeman. "In the street you hear, `Go home, G.I.! Yankee go home!' "
To Colonel Boylan, the deepest cut of all came from two Korean children. "I was going to a function in dress uniform when I came across two kids, about 8 or 10 years old," he recalled. "They were laughing, smiling. Then they saw me. They stopped in their tracks and glared at me. Then they cussed at me — in English."
As for the knife attack, his self-defense training spared him a deep wound to the gut that would have required stitches. "I am lucky to be alive," he said. "But I had to tell my mom: `There is no Purple Heart in it. We are not at war with the people of South Korea.' "
The colonzation of Africa ended 50 years ago, but in Asia it´s still going strong. 
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