TRIGGER WARNING.
Child abuse and violent content.

Posted to Paperslip on August 17th, 2025.
Translation via ChatGPT.
Some bolds and ALL red highlights ours.
Please refer to the original Korean article for photos and captions.

Please note that what is referred to in the article as “Hyungje Welfare Center” is the SAME thing as what in English is called “Brothers Home”.

Please note that what is called “Namgwang Child Welfare Center” in the article is what we call “Namkwang Child Welfare Center”. Namkwang Orphanage in Busan had several different locations and names over the years, so we are not sure the exact location of the location where the woman featured in the article was sent.

For related Paperslip pages about Nam Kwang / Namkwang Orphanage in Busan, please see:

Nam Kwang Orphanage In Busan: Campus Signs

Sources of KSS Orphans + Orphanage List

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Registered: January 4, 2019, 3:00 PM
Updated: May 2, 2020, 4:29 AM

”Room 1245
8310…I Was Called by a Number
Hyungje Welfare Center – Lee Hye-yul… Insomnia Was Followed by Depression

What I Want: Truth, Restoration of Honor, and Compensation

My name is Lee Hye-yul. I was born on April 18, 1976.

As a child, I dreamed of becoming a singer. I lived with my grandmother, and everyone in the alley of Singil-dong in Seoul knew me. I was good at singing. I especially liked that song, though I’m not sure why. My father worked in Saudi Arabia and wanted my younger brother and me to dress nicely. We wore children’s clothes like ‘Burudeng’ and wide-brimmed hats.
My mother separated from my father when I was five and lived in Daejeon.

Wake-up and Roll Call at 5:30 – Even the Angle of Your Gaze Was Regulated

In October 1983, I was 7 and my brother was 5. We took a train together, holding hands. We had 600 won, pocket money from our father. We were trying to get to our mother in Daejeon. We were scared of the uncle and grandmother we were living with. We fell asleep on the train. When I woke up, we were in Busan. Since there were two young kids alone, we were taken to the police station. It was around 10 p.m. I gave the police my grandmother’s address and phone number. They told us to wait on a wooden bench. We fell asleep again. When we woke up, there was a freezer truck parked outside. The door opened, and it was pitch black inside. There were a few people already inside. I thought they were taking us home, so we stayed quiet. As soon as we got in, I saw them grab a high school student crossing the crosswalk and throw him in too. He was wearing a school uniform. My little brother cried in fear.

Around 11 p.m., we arrived at a place with enormous iron gates. They opened several more gates and then gave us a little push on the back saying, “Go inside and sleep.” When I asked, “Why did you bring us here?” they just said, “Don’t talk back, go in.” It was too dark to see anything at first.
As my eyes adjusted, I saw rows of bunk beds. That night, I slept in one bed hugging my brother.

8310… I Was Called by a Number. I Don’t Remember Ever Being Called by My Name.

On the second day, I was given a blue training suit with “Hyungje Welfare Center” written on it, and black rubber shoes. No socks. Everyone had frostbite. They shaved my brother’s head completely, and gave me a bob haircut. I cried when they cut off my long hair. Whenever I begged, “Please send me home,” they would just hit me. I was quick to catch on. I thought, “Someday, my father will come for me.” But as time passed and he didn’t come, the resentment grew.

I was assigned to Girls’ Unit 23, and my brother to Unit 24. We were constantly punished. They didn’t distinguish between boys and girls—we all went through the same things. What do I mean by “basic”? Daily beatings.
Fists, sticks flying. Squad leaders, platoon leaders, and unit commanders always carried clubs. If they were in a bad mood, they’d beat us until they felt better. You could get beaten for just standing still. For crying.

‘Wonsan bombing’ (bending over with hands behind your back and head touching the ground) was a basic punishment. Even worse was touching your head to the ground and lifting your legs to the top bunk bed. Blood would rush to your head and you’d feel paralyzed. Unit 23 was on high ground—we could see most of what went on. I saw many people die.
They’d wrap them in blankets and beat them with clubs, five or six people at once.

Then they'd nudge them with their feet and say, “This one’s dead,” and take them somewhere. How can I describe it? It was fear. Pure fear. No matter how many times you're beaten, you never get used to the pain. It always hurts. Avoiding beatings was the top priority. My brother’s nickname was “blockhead.” He got beaten even more than me. His eyes were always swollen from crying, blue and puffy.

When we lined up, they called us by number. Even the angle of your gaze was set. If your eyes moved, you were hit. When folding clothes, every corner had to be perfect. Then came prayer and running. We had worship services in the facility’s church. Even there, they carried clubs. We ate barley rice—it was rough. I still can’t eat barley rice. We had to memorize the Charter of National Education, the Lord’s Prayer, and the Apostles’ Creed.
If you couldn’t recite them, you’d be beaten again.

There were textbooks, but no notebooks, at the school.

Children who were caught by police crackdowns and brought to the Brothers Home. Provided by the Committee for the Truth of the Brothers Home Incident.

I was actually one of the lucky ones. I was chosen for the choir. They gave us white sailor uniforms. It was my most treasured possession. We sang whenever foreigners or important people visited. I also attended the Gyegeum Branch School inside Brothers Home. But the school was smaller than the 23rd platoon barracks, so not all kids could go. The teachers were also people from the Brothers Foundation. All kinds of people had been detained in there.

There were textbooks, but no notebooks. I don't think we really learned anything. When our blue tracksuits got worn out, we played with the rubber bands from them. Rats and centipedes were our toys. I remember catching a lot of lice. I had a lot of sponsors. How do I know? I got beaten a little less. Some kids were jealous because of that.

I also remember Choco Pies. On my birthday, the trio of boys I’d met on the day I was taken — the one caught at the crosswalk with me — gave me that rare treat. I asked how they got it, and they just said, “We have our ways. Eat it quick.”

The trio worked in the mother-of-pearl factory inside Brothers Home. I liked one of them. After the group for survivors of Brothers Home formed and I started asking around, I heard that two of those boys had taken their own lives.

That day, I will never forget. I was eight years old when they told me I was being adopted to England, and my younger brother to France. There was no meeting adoptive parents or anything — you just got sent. I clung to my choir teacher, begging them to kill me instead of separating me from my brother. When I cry, I cry uncontrollably.

That choir teacher was like an angel. She pulled some strings for me. I was so grateful I sang even harder.

We were completely confined. In the 4 years and 6 months I was detained in Brothers Home, I was allowed out just once — when I nearly died of a fever. That one hospital visit was it. Starting with me, a fever spread through the 23rd platoon and one kid died. I was racked with guilt, thinking it was my fault.

How could kids even think of escaping? I did see one attempt. Someone tried to throw a rope over the wall and climb, but they all slipped and fell — they were wearing rubber shoes. Thankfully, they weren’t caught.
One of the security guards, an elderly man, got a day off once a month. I gave him a note with my home address and a hand-drawn map, asking him to visit my family. But I never heard anything back.

In 1987, when the Brothers Home scandal broke, one day a row of vans showed up in front of the building. They told us to pack our things in a rush. They called names, loaded us up, and off we went — one van after another. My brother and I were sent to Namgwang Child Welfare Center in Nampo-dong, Busan. We stayed there until I was in 9th grade. I liked being able to attend a regular school, but I had no friends.

There were a few other orphans at the school, and since we always had the same food, other kids figured it out and didn’t talk to us. My elementary school seatmate really hated me. I still remember her face. My brother kept running away. My teacher and I were constantly chasing after him.

Back then, I didn’t understand why he kept trying to escape. But now I think it was because we had been so trapped inside Brothers Home.

I honestly thought the director had been executed.

Detainees forced into labor at Brothers Home. Provided by the Committee for the Truth of the Brothers Home Incident.

At Namgwang Child Welfare Center, I told them my parents’ names, but they never tried to find them. One time, that angelic older boy who had taken care of me at Brothers Home came and said he’d find my family. He took me to Seoul, but the neighborhood had changed so much we couldn’t find the way. He promised to come back, but I never heard from him again. Even now, whenever a new Brothers Home victim comes forward, I ask if they know him. I really want to find him.

One Monday, just after I started 9th grade, I came home from school and saw someone familiar standing at the top of the stairs. “Don’t you recognize me?” he asked. I said no and just bowed politely. It turned out he was my uncle. When I opened the door and went inside, my father was there. I’ll never forget his face. My little brother remembered him too—we both broke down crying as soon as we saw him, asking why he came so late to get us.

When we returned home, everything had fallen apart. We used to live quite well, but now we were poor. On top of that, our father was strict. I remember resenting him—wondering why he even came to get us if this was what it was going to be like. My younger brother kept running away from home. I used to think, If only I hadn’t taken him out with me when I was seven, maybe he wouldn’t have suffered like this. It breaks my heart.

My dad said he spent eight years searching for us. He even put ads in the newspaper. He went to Brothers Home twice, but they told him no such person was there—and they had my resident registration number listed incorrectly in their records.

He said he gave up his job, borrowed money from friends, and even sold his car just to find us. He cried as he told us this. It was the first time I ever saw my dad cry.

When I was in 11th grade, I went to a restaurant with a friend and saw Brothers Home’s director, Park In-keun, on TV. I couldn’t hear the sound, but I was instantly overwhelmed with fear and chills. I had assumed he had been executed.

After graduation, I moved out and lived with a friend. I tried to forget about Brothers Home. Life kept me busy. When my dad and stepmother went out for work, they’d sometimes not return for months. So from the 9th grade, I started cooking for myself. I got pretty good at it. I worked in restaurants and kitchens of rock cafés, and even ran a food cart and a PC café.

Even though I had a lot of friends and was outgoing, I never talked about Brothers Home. No one would believe me anyway. It would’ve made me sound like a liar. I was also ashamed of the “vagrant” label. But at some point, I realized—I had nothing to be ashamed of. I wasn’t an orphan; I had parents. I was kidnapped. That realization made me want to let people know what had happened inside Brothers Home. I even tried writing a screenplay. The memories I’d tried so hard to forget came flooding back.

About eight years ago, I suddenly developed insomnia, which turned into depression. Brothers Home lingers in everything I do. For example, I always turn off lights immediately. And every time I flip a switch, I think, This, too, is from Brothers Home. We got beaten if we didn’t turn off lights right away back then. Those memories rush in. For a while after I got out, I couldn’t even go to a convenience store alone—I was too scared. I attempted suicide several times. I just didn’t care about living anymore.

Even just turning off the lights brings back the memory of the facility.

What I want is truth, justice, and reparations. The country must reveal why such a thing happened and apologize.

By joining the Brothers Home Victim Survivors Group, I’ve learned that many others had it worse than I did. I was taken in after the building was already completed, but those who were detained earlier had to build that facility with their bare hands.

And it wasn’t just Brothers Home—many others suffered similar abuse. We must pass legislation in the National Assembly to make sure nothing like this ever happens again.

On December 27th last year, I felt so down that I couldn’t even leave the house. I don’t drink, so I usually just swallow my anger in silence. But I heard that the “Framework Act on Clearing Up Past Incidents for Truth and Reconciliation” was blocked again—by the Liberty Korea Party. I wanted to storm into the National Assembly and scream. Just passing that law would lift a huge burden off my heart.

— Kim So-min, freelance writer (regardmoi@gmail.com)

If They Died, They Were Buried in Secret Graves or Sold for Dissection

“The Brothers Home was operated for national security and social stability.” (Director Park In-geun).

Brothers Home began in 1960 as Brothers Nursery and became a shelter facility for vagrants in 1971. Director Park In-geun built the Brothers Home building in 1975 on a hill at 18 San Mountain, Jurye-dong, Buk-gu, Busan, after receiving the land from the city, following the issuance of the Ministry of Interior Directive No. 410 on the control of vagrants. The detainees cut down the hill using shovels and pickaxes. After that, Brothers Home received annual government subsidies of 1 to 2 billion won (in then-current currency).

At Brothers Home, people from infants to the elderly, regardless of gender or disability, were detained. When the truth was revealed in 1987, about 3,500 people were confined there. The Committee for the Truth of the Brothers Home Incident (hereafter “Committee”) stated that considering from 1975 onward, the total number of victims likely exceeds 30,000. The official death toll was 551, but many survivors testified that bodies were secretly buried. Some corpses were sold for 3 to 5 million won as specimens for anatomical practice.

The Ministry of Interior Directive No. 410, which justified the detention of “vagrants” at Brothers Home, defined the target population as “all vagrants who disrupt sound society and urban order.” In practice, those arrested by police and the Brothers Home enforcement team included shoeshiners, runaway children, lost children, and drunkards, among others. Ahead of the 1986 Asian Games and 1988 Olympics, crackdowns intensified; by the end of 1986, 16,000 people were confined across 36 vagrant facilities. Former President Chun Doo-hwan awarded Director Park In-geun a certificate in 1981, praising his “great contribution to development.”

At Brothers Home, which was run in a military style with platoon leaders, company leaders, and battalion leaders selected from among the detainees, corporal punishment was routine. Jong-sun Han, who was detained at age eight with his sister and father, testified in a book that he was subjected to various beatings, including being wrapped in a blanket and beaten (“blanket rolling”), as well as sexual assault. Children who suffered sexual abuse were also mocked. In oral records from survivors, female detainee Ha An-nyeong recalled, “When girls came in, they took their bras away because they feared they would hang themselves,” and “Especially the disabled were the most pitiful; if they soiled themselves, the platoon leader would drag them by the hair and pour cold water on the cement floor.”

In 1987, following investigations by Ulsan District Prosecutor Kim Yong-won that exposed the truth about Brothers Home and led to Director Park’s arrest, detainees were either forced onto the streets or dispersed elsewhere. Disabled people remaining in the psychiatric care center inside Brothers Home were left there. As a vagrant facility, Brothers Home was not closed in 1987 but continued operating until January 5, 1989. Director Park, who was arrested for violating foreign exchange laws and embezzlement, was sentenced to two years and six months by the Supreme Court on July 11, 1989. He was acquitted of special confinement charges. After release, he returned to the Brothers Welfare Foundation and passed the chairmanship to his son in 2011.

After the closure, Jong-sun Han’s sister and father suffered from severe aftereffects of the brutal treatment at Brothers Home and remained in psychiatric hospitals. In 2014, through lawmaker Kim Yong-ik (Democratic Party), the Committee surveyed whether residents at facilities for disabled people, psychiatric care, or homeless shelters had come from Brothers Home. It was found that 270 detainees had lived in these facilities for 30 years. This number excludes psychiatric hospitals or facilities that did not respond to the survey.

The horrors of Brothers Home were forgotten until 2012, when Jong-sun Han held a solo protest in front of the National Assembly, drawing renewed attention. The Committee was established in 2013. In 2014, lawmakers including Jin Sun-mi proposed a “Special Act on the Truth of the Brothers Home Incident,” and in 2017 a partial amendment to the “Basic Act on Past Incident Truth and Reconciliation” was proposed, but both bills remain stalled in the National Assembly. Survivors have continued a tent sit-in in front of the National Assembly for over 400 days, demanding the passage of these laws.”

*Paperslip Note: The TRC 2 Investigation began on December 10th, 2020.

I personally submitted summaries of Adoptees’ cases to the head of the TRC through a Korean contact on December 18th, 2020, becoming the first person to submit any cases of Overseas Adoptees to the TRC in history.

The official TRC 2 investigation into Overseas Adoption would not begin until December 7th, 2022.