The Great Leap Backward: A Look Inside the Old Gwangju Prison

By Isaiah Winters

Getting into prison can be as hard as getting out. This I discovered with Dr. Shin Gyonggu, executive director of the Gwangju International Center, as we traversed an unknown underpass, illegal farming berms, and mud-strewn construction sites just to get to a no-man’s-land of foxtails that ran along an angle of soaring prison walls. A master networker in his element, Dr. Shin had gotten us this far after engaging no fewer than six passersby in just a few minutes: a pair of ladies on the street who led us to the tunnel, two farmers who pointed us to all the construction work, and a duo of hardhats who brought us to the hellish foxtail haven. We tramped through this desolate sniper strip till the entrance, where we finally met our prison guides. Just getting to the rendezvous point made me appreciate what extroverts like Dr. Shin could offer, so I felt obliged to prove what introverts like myself could reciprocate. That reciprocation is what follows in this article on what I observed within the walls of the old Gwangju Prison.

If you search Korean map sites for the old Gwangju Prison, all you’ll find is an amusement park icon nestled within a poorly photoshopped forest in Munheung-dong. In reality, the old prison is a sprawling complex built around a long, central corridor with wings branching off to the left and right. Along each wing are rows of cells designated for all sorts of inmates. There were rooms for the elderly, for those busted on drug charges, for solitary confinement, and even one special cell called the “punishment room” (징벌실) with a rusted crucifix carved into its door. On the door of each cell were bits of information alluding to the number of occupants, which ranged from one to eight, and the publications they subscribed to. Based on the remnants of these subscriptions, what the inmates were keenest on were images of attractive women, which were found scattered and pasted all about. What they were also surprisingly keen on was decorating, as many rooms had unique wallpaper not seen in other cells. Some were papered with chintzy floral prints and others with old-fashioned Hangeul script. One room even had a singular corner with wallpaper different from the rest of the cell, which suggests a certain level of decorative autonomy not only within the prison, but within individual cells. The customization was quite striking and hinted that the prisoners there were given certain privileges not usually associated with life in the clink.

As I took a closer look at the cells, I began to notice a recurring month when everything at the prison must have stopped: October 2015. In fact, one roll call whiteboard in a corridor still bore the precise number of personnel in that particular wing on the exact day of closure: 44 convicts on Sunday, October 18, 2015. An even closer inspection of the scribbling in tiny recesses of certain cells revealed a flurry of graffiti linked to the prison’s final days. On the wall behind the curtain of one cubby were the names of a few cheeky inmates and the timestamp “2015, October 9, Hangeul Day.” Knowing they would soon move to the new Gwangju Prison, there must have been an electric, devil-may-care atmosphere sweeping every cellblock. By the end, one inmate even grew bold enough to scrawl his name right beside his own cell entrance in giant block letters. Given how rare prison relocations are, I’m sure the inmates savored the experience. Gwangju Prison actually began long before in 1908, back when it was first located in Dongmyeong-dong. In 1971, it was moved out to Munheung-dong, and then to Samgak-dong in 2015, where it resides today. Interestingly, if you look up the newest Gwangju Prison on Korean map sites, all you see is a “Ministry of Justice Daycare Center” icon in the middle of another badly photoshopped forest.

Beyond the cells themselves, the prison offers a few additional sites of note, particularly the guard towers, which I was eager to scale. Not sharing my interest, Dr. Shin and our guides wisely stayed beyond the formidable thickets of foxtails, two heavy doors, and three sets of rusted stairs leading to the deck. To my delight, the towers were wide open and offered excellent views of the entire compound. In each, the dusty old phones, spotlights, cameras, and gun racks once used by eagle-eyed guards were all still in place beneath a dense patina of mold and decay. What surprised me most about the towers were the sturdy tunnel networks deep beneath them. Each tower had its own pair of self-contained tunnels, some that were locked and others that were flooded. One, however, was neither locked nor inundated, so I had a field day passing through it, which led deeper to a large stairwell that descended into a capacious bunker with several rooms. Yet another set of stairs then led back up to an opening within the prison grounds – a dead end for any potential escapees. For anyone looking to get out this way, I now know they’d have to scale the tower and break an upper window before leaping some four stories down to the outer grounds, or two stories down to the narrow perimeter wall and then down another two to the outside, both of which sound improbable. What’s more certain is that with neither heating nor air conditioning to ameliorate the elements, manning the tower must have been the most miserable assignment for most of the year – a sort of prison sentence for prison guards.

The prison’s most poignant site also proved to be its most elusive: the execution room. Although our guides had come prepared with a ring of keys for certain maximum-security facilities still locked within the compound, we soon learned that like us, it was also their first time at the prison, seeing as their department had just taken the site over only three or so months before. This meant they had very few facts to share that weren’t already available online and didn’t even know where the execution room was. In the end, we never found the prison gallows and gave up our search after two hours. Truth be told, after looking through my photos, I now have a strong hunch where the execution room must have been, but even if I were to sneak back into the prison, I’d likely need a key to get to the room itself. It’s a pity to leave such a weighty stone unturned, as there are very few execution rooms in the entire country. So much about the old prison remains a mystery to me even after my visit, and the irony is that I likely won’t find out more until I tour the new one, where old hands can provide far deeper insight into Gwangju’s evolving prison system. This arrangement is in the works and may be featured in a later Lost in Gwangju months down the line – something I very much look forward to.

Photographs by Isaiah Winters.

The Author
Born and raised in Chino, California, Isaiah Winters is a pixel-stained wretch who loves writing about Gwangju and Honam, warts and all. He particularly likes doing unsolicited appraisals of abandoned Korean properties, a remnant of his time working as an appraiser back home. You can find much of his photography on Instagram @d.p.r.kwangju.