Mob Scene

In desperately attempting to block an armistice, Syngman Rhee had just about used up all the arguments he knew. Last week South Korea's stubborn old man used an uglier and more dangerous tool: the mob.

First to appear outside the U.S. correspondents' billets in Seoul one day last week were ranks of pigtailed schoolgirls, trim and neat in starched white uniforms. While a few girls passed out handbills in English, leaders with cardboard megaphones set up a steady chant: "Puk chin, tong il (March north for unification)." The leaders glanced frequently at their directions on bits of note paper. Soon one among the leaders began to sob and weep. Younger girls took the cue, contorted their faces with grimaces of rage and fury. The chant became shrill, strident, then hysterically out of hand. The girls perspired, waved their arms, shouted, clenched their fists. One little girl about twelve hurled herself at a guard, and all order vanished. "You are murdering our country," cried another girl. "Why are you murdering our country?"

Waterhoses & Wails. U.S. guards, abashed and jittery, stepped back. Stolid Korean police took their place. A few girls fainted and collapsed on the roadway. Others threw themselves down, kicking and screaming. The mob surged toward the gate, the gatepost snapped, and the schoolgirls poured into the compound. For a moment they milled about aimlessly. Then the leaders led them down the street toward Eighth Army headquarters.

That day thousands of Koreans, marshaled by brassy-voiced parade sergeants, were tramping the streets of Seoul. Many were grim-faced hooligans and toughs, trotted out frequently for "spontaneous demonstrations." Others were shuffling, disinterested older folk, householders mustered by their neighborhood ward heelers, or casual pedestrians ordered into the line of march. A long column of marchers fell in behind the high-school girls. At a big barricade in front of Eighth Army headquarters, the scratched and bleeding girls were pushed from behind, and clashed again with M.P.s and police. Water hoses dispersed the mob.

As the demonstrations continued all week long, hoodlums in the crowds armed themselves with clubs, staves and stones. In most rear areas, U.N. troops were ordered to carry arms at all times, and barbed-wire barricades appeared in front of U.S. installations. But though U.S. soldiers were frequently surrounded and jostled by mobs, not one American was injured.

Nevertheless, Rhee seemed to realize that the anti-Americanism might get out of hand. At week's end he called off the mob. One directive, sent out by his Education Ministry, revealed how closely the government controlled the riots. It read: ". . . Students will not demonstrate against the cease-fire until and unless there are further instructions from the ministry." The violence ceased, but the government hinted it might start again. Meanwhile, the tension and suspicion remained.

"Being Foolish." U.N. military and diplomatic observers, many of whom had sympathized with the old man's stand, were angered by his conduct last week. U.S. officials were also angered when Rhee insinuated that President Eisenhower's promise of a post-armistice mutual-security pact was worthless. Even Rhee's own generals were reportedly telling him that it would be impossible for Korea to go it alone. And there were increasing signs that the ROK army would remain loyal to the U.N. Command in a showdown. Said one ROK army officer last week: "Of course we are for unification, but we know we cannot achieve it by ourselves. I am afraid our President is being foolish. Where would we be without the U.S.?"

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