I visited Olympic Park. To be honest, even amid the citizens’ struggle to defend their right to vote—which began at Wooseong Apartments—I’ve been fighting alongside them through my writing, but I really wanted to see with my own eyes the scene at Olympic Park, where even more patriotic citizens had gathered and the movement was spreading into a second April 19 Revolution. Anticipating the sweltering afternoon heat, I pulled a large cooler out of the storage room. I bought 40 bottles of bottled water and ice at the supermarket, loaded them into my Galloper along with a shopping cart, and set off. My youngest son accompanied me on this trip, and I was also planning to pick up my eldest son, who was returning home after hanging out with his college friends in Seoul.
I parked the car in the parking lot of the Korean National Sport University, not far from Olympic Park, and walked there while pulling the shopping cart loaded with the cooler. The people I passed on the street looked very peaceful. There were many elderly people, but I also noticed a few families here and there. At the same time, in one corner of the park, a performance by a male group called “TWS (TOURS)” was taking place, and countless K-pop fans were sitting on benches, waiting after purchasing merchandise. Surprisingly, most of them were female fans from China. Out of curiosity, I looked them up and found that they were a five-member boy band, and one of the members was from China. Seeing this scene, I was suddenly reminded of the unique sight from the past in the four quarters of Old Jerusalem, where people worshiped in different ways. As memories of that peculiar place—where church bells rang on one side and the Muslim call to prayer echoed on the other—overlapped with the present, I sensed that an intense, invisible spiritual battle was raging right here in Olympic Park as well.
As I approached Gates 1–3 of the handball arena, my heart swelled with emotion at the sight of the fluttering South Korean and American flags. Seeing citizens chanting in unison, “Election fraud, re-election, same-day vote counting, manual recount,” a deep sense of joy welled up within me, accompanied by a feeling of relief that “this is the very place.” The faces, voices, and spirits of these patriotic citizens were truly bright and cheerful. Thanks to the dedication of many volunteers, the crowds were already moving in an orderly fashion, and the police officers stationed to maintain control were cooperating in a friendly manner. From the police’s perspective, seeing the crowd voluntarily maintain order without any specific ringleaders—with even young children holding hands and waving the Taegeukgi—must have looked just like a peaceful festival.
My youngest son, who had grabbed a blue cooler and set out with his adorable dog, was thrilled to see and experience all of this. Perhaps he found it fun to watch the cool bottled water from the cooler he’d brought being passed from hand to hand; his initial awkwardness quickly vanished, and before long, he began actively handing out water to the citizens. He seemed to feel a particular sense of pride whenever children his own age accepted a bottle. Many people thanked me for sharing the water, and one mother who had come with her young child even asked if I was a pastor. Although I was dressed in a sports shirt and shorts, the sight of me sharing water without expecting anything in return must have made a deep impression. There was even an elderly person who, praising my youngest child as “admirable and commendable,” slipped some pocket money into his hand, and others who gave me fans decorated with the South Korean and American flags, as well as badges bearing slogans against election fraud and calling for a re-election.
It was a space with a power that bound us all together tightly with invisible threads. Even though no one had forced us to be there, it was a miraculous scene where the message to fight for the restoration of voting rights and the freedom of the people merged into one mighty voice. As I briefly spoke with an elderly woman standing there holding a hand-made poster, I could feel her deep patriotism with every fiber of my being. As she looked at my youngest son and her eyes welled up with tears, the meaning behind those tears truly resonated with me. Suddenly, she pulled an envelope from her bag and, saying “Thank you,” pressed 10,000 won into my son’s hand. I still cannot forget that powerful moment. Faced with her noble gesture of calling my son a “little patriot,” I found myself bowing my head without even realizing it.
After handing out all the bottled water I’d brought, I felt sorry for the dog panting in the heat, so I quickly tidied up the area. I loaded the luggage back into the Galloper and headed to Yongsan, where my older son was waiting. As I drove, the sunlight streaming through the clouds over the Olympic Bridge looked just like the glorious light emanating from God’s throne. On the way back with my older child, I urged him to visit the site at Olympic Park at least once. I explained to him step by step that this was not merely a protest against the fraud in the recent June 3 local elections, but a national resistance against the politicians who have stolen the people’s sacred right to vote for the past 24 years, the National Election Commission and government officials complicit in election fraud, and the judicial cartel that has systematically covered up this massive evil. My family and I returned home, reaffirming our commitment to always stand on God’s side of truth. Faith in Action!
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