A man protesting against low funding for education for the disabled is chained with a chair to the main gate of the Seoul government complex in Gwanghwamun. (See story below)

Police break up disabled protest

The Korea Herald, Oct. 12, 2005

Police　break　up　disabled　protest

By　Tracey　Stark　
and　Kwon　Ji-young

Activists　demanding　proper　education　for　the　disabled　chained　themselves　to　the　gate　of　the　Seoul　government　complex　and　painted　slogans　on　the　sidewalk　yesterday　in　a　protest　that　resulted　in　police　detaining　43　people.

The　demonstration　began　at　11　a.m.　when　about　six　people　in　wheelchairs,　out　of　a　group　of　50　protesters,　were　chained　to　the　front　gate　of　the　Gwanghwamun　complex　by　able-bodied　compatriots　to　protest　low　government　funding　for　disabled　education.

"We　decided　to　stage　a　surprise　protest　which　went　to　extremes　because　we　didn't　receive　any　response　from　the　government　during　a　long　protest　in　front　of　the　Blue　House,"　said　Kim　Ki-ryong,　representative　of　the　coalition　for　the　educational　rights　of　disabled　people.

A　sign　complaining　about　a　lack　of　funding　was　spread　across　the　ground　in　front　of　the　protesters　while　four　members　of　the　group　spray-painted　slogans　in　red　and　black　on　the　sidewalk.　The　main　English-language　sign　next　to　the　gate　was　also　defaced　with　red　paint　to　resemble　dripping　blood.

In　the　early　minutes　of　the　protest,　several　officers　attempted　to　stop　the　spray　painters　but　were　met　with　shoves　and　shouts.　The　outnumbered　police　and　complex　security　guards　backed　off　and　waited　for　more　police　to　arrive.

"Over　300　police　came　and　dragged　43　of　us　to　10　different　police　stations.　There　was　a　struggle　between　the　police　and　protesters　as　they　were　forcibly　dragged　away,"　said　Kim.　As　of　press　time　the　detainees　remained　in　police　custody.

Of　the　protesters,　10　were　disabled　students,　15　were　their　parents,　and　25　were　university　students　of　special　education.　

The　group　wants　an　increased　budget　for　disabled　education,　more　special　education　teachers　and　education　laws　for　disabled　students.　

"This　year,　the　government　cut　back　the　budget　for　special　education　by　8　billion　won,　and　reduced　the　number　of　teachers　from　444　to　36,　and　the　number　of　assistants　from　3,000　to　2,500,"　said　Do　Gyeong-man,　executive　director　of　the　coalition　for　disabled　education　rights.　

Yesterday's　protest　follows　a　two-week　demonstration　Sept.　22-Oct.　5　in　front　of　the　Blue　House　during　which　the　group　asked　to　meet　President　Roh　Moo-hyun.　"The　government　did　not　respond　at　all　to　our　requests,"　said　Kim.　Receiving　no　response　from　the　government,　the　group　decided　on　more　desperate　measures　to　draw　attention　to　their　case.

Within　15　minutes　of　the　start　of　the　Gwanghwamun　protest,　two　busloads　of　police　officers　arrived　and　parked　in　front　of　the　protesters,　effectively　blocking　the　view　of　passing　motorists.　Several　other　police　units　arrived　from　around　the　corner,　making　a　total　of　more　than　100.　The　helmeted　police,　many　armed　with　shields　and　meter-long　batons,　surrounded　the　disabled　protesters　and　began　pulling　them　from　the　gate.　Several　other　officers　with　bolt　cutters　were　sent　inside　the　complex　to　cut　the　chains　in　order　to　remove　the　wheelchairs.

One　severely　disabled　protester,　once　unchained,　accelerated　his　electric-powered　chair,　pulling　along　four　policemen　and　knocking　a　police　photographer　off　a　ladder.　When　he　was　subdued,　the　protester　was　removed　from　his　chair　and　ended　up　writhing　on　the　ground.　

Another　protester　escaped　the　confines　of　his　wheelchair　and　crawled　under　a　police　bus　while　a　man　with　a　loudspeaker　voiced　the　group's　complaints　to　a　growing　crowd　of　onlookers.

After　a　little　more　than　an　hour　most　of　the　protesters　were　removed,　although　the　spray-painted　slogans　were　still　visible.　There　was　no　immediate　word　from　the　government　about　the　budget　for　the　education　of　the　disabled. (traceystark@heraldm.com)　(jkwon@heraldm.com)

The Promotion: a short story

By Tracey Stark

They said he wouldn’t go far, but he had proven them all wrong. There he sat in that office with his name on the door, four floors above the manicured courtyard and opposite the stacks, marveling at his reflection in the smoke-stained window.
“I have arrived,” he said, then grinned broadly to his window-self, his bleached-white teeth glowing and fighting for prominence behind sagging rubbery lips. He repeated this every morning since his promotion to Assistant Director of Accounting, Payroll and Pension Department of the Allegheny Electric Co-op.
BUZZZ
“Ms. Lintel, come in here please.”
“Yes, Mr. Bottoms,” a tinny voice replied through the antiquated call box.
The door opened and a dour woman of about 50 walked in, ruler straight in posture, gray in demeanor. A smile would surely crack the thin coating of skin covering her angular face. (In certain light, towards the end of a winter’s day, she appeared translucent, Mr. Bottoms had noted.)
“I need more, um… notepads and paperclips,” he said, then turned back to the window and resumed smiling at his reflection.
Ms. Lintel looked at the stack of notepads on the spare chair and the boxes of paperclips scattered about the otherwise-empty bookshelf, shook her head, and left. She would fill the order by lunch and remain idle until 5 p.m. Then at 5 she would rise to leave for the day and receive one more buzz from Mr. Bottoms. When she went into his office he would invariably say to her, “Good job today, Ms. Lintel. See you bright and early tomorrow, I’m sure.” She would thank him tersely, make an abrupt about-face, and march from the office straight to her car at the far end of the lot.
This had been going on for the two months since his move from personnel to accounting, a move precipitated by an accident. Not an accident of paperwork, but an accident involving a filing cabinet and a portion of rotten flooring. (It could be argued that paperwork was involved, as the filing cabinet was full when it fell through the ceiling and crushed his right leg.)
The out of court settlement was favorable for all involved. Mr. Bottoms was not a greedy man and his request for a promotion to the fourth floor, a small raise, and a parking space among the executives (as well as medical costs, of course) was accepted with a smile and a handshake and delivered before the steel rods were removed from his fractured bones.
Through the thin walls Ms. Lintel could hear queer mutterings in different voices. She didn’t ask, but suspected the accident had left him a bit shell-shocked.
Back in his office, Mr. Bottoms continued to stare out the window thinking about what it had taken to get here. He worked his way up from the ground floor. Five years in the mail room, and then the little incident with the sorting machine and his pinky finger. Cost him the last digit, but earned him a job in customer service on the second floor. Seven years on and then there was the electrical fire that left him with third degree burns on his left arm. Skin grafts and a promotion to personnel (third floor), followed by his longest stint: 13 years. Lucky 13, he thought. The sagging ceiling should have been a dead giveaway, but everyone seemed to regard it as normal. So he didn’t ask any questions and sat at his desk, two inches closer to the ceiling than everyone else, until the distance closed to zero in a matter of seconds on that fateful Tuesday in October.
And now he was in an office devoid of computers, sagging ceilings, windows that opened, and furniture that could fall on him. (The bookshelf was bolted to the wall and his chair had no wheels.)
Pondering this he realized it was time for him to knuckle down and get to work. But his responsibilities were vague at best. They told him, “We will utilize your expertise in certain areas of accounting from time to time.” But he had no expertise in any areas of accounting, he thought.
He also knew there was little he could do about it this day, so he resumed his self-congratulation and continued to stare out the window.
At five he buzzed Ms. Lintel once more into his office.
“Good job today, Ms. Lintel. See you bright and early tomorrow, I’m sure,” he said and smiled his oversized mouth at her, and gave her a waving salute with his 4 2/3-fingered right hand.
Moments later, when he was sure she was halfway down to the lobby, Mr. Bottoms picked up his briefcase (empty but for half of a sandwich and a few notebooks), and walked to the elevator.
To his surprise, Ms. Lintel was still waiting for the elevator car to come pick her up. It was a strange sensation, for both of them, be assured, to stand side by side in silence at the end of a day during which they had spent the better part of eight hours one on each side of the wall, like a confessioner and priest.
It was Ms. Lintel who spoke first.
“I don’t suppose taking the stairs would be good for your leg, would it?” she asked.
Mr. Bottoms was pleased by her sudden interest in him.
“Well, I guess I won’t know if I don’t try,” he replied and swagger-limped to the fire stairs door. She hesitantly followed and for a moment looked as if she might smile. (She didn’t.)
Upon opening the door he was greeted by crumbling and missing stairs, the stench of mildew and a complete lack of lighting. His first step would have been his last had Ms. Lintel not reached out a boney hand and pulled him back with surprising force.
“Oh my,” he said grasping his tie and loosening it an inch. “That would have been a doozy of a fall.”
“Yes, and you might have made vice president had you survived it,” she said with a hint of sarcasm in her voice.
But Mr. Bottoms only heard the words “vice president” and lost himself in a reverie about a bigger office on a higher floor.
“Vice president?’ he asked the air around him.
Ms. Lintel followed his gaze and saw that it ended in thin air only a foot or two in front of his face.
“I was only being facetious, sir,” she said.
“Vice president,” he repeated.
Ms. Lintel stepped away from him and toward the elevator. He turned and followed, still lost in those two magical words.
“And you would have been the vice president’s executive secretary,” he said to her, his mouth stretched into a frog-like grin.
“Indeed,” she said, pondering the implications, and looked toward their small office suite. She noticed the room was still aglow and she shook her head at Mr. Bottom’s absentmindedness. She was taught not to waste electricity, even if you did work at the power company. “Let me just go turn off the lights. I’ll be right back, in case the elevator gets here.”
“Of course,” he said and watched her walk through the tall wooden door.
A moment later the elevator chimed and the doors opened.
“The elevator’s here, Ms. Lintel. I’ll hold it for you,” he shouted, and stepped backward into a starless void.
As he plummeted the five floors to the basement, only one thought went through his mind: “Vice president.”