SBS's 'Tails of Tales', where the 'Jang Trio'—Jang Hyun-sung, Jang Sung-kyu, and Jang Doyoun—recounts the stories of 'that day' in history that we must never forget. For those who missed the broadcast or those who wish to reflect upon its content once more, SBS Entertainment News presents a complete summary.

The story of 'that day' we want to share with 'you' this time is the episode titled 'Black Bones – An Obituary Delivered After 49 Years', which aired on September 10. Former national swimmer and SBS commentator Park Tae-hwan, singer Kim Jong-seo, and actor Byun Yohan appeared as story-listening friends. (In keeping with the style of 'Tails of Tales', this review is written in an informal conversational tone.)

▲ A Letter from an Unfamiliar Place

The time is November 1991. A letter arrives for 50-year-old Park Jeong-il, who lives in Incheon. But the moment Jeong-il looks at the sender's address written on the envelope, he tilts his head in confusion. There are two sheets of paper inside. One is in Japanese, and the other is a Korean translation. The more he reads this letter, the more perplexed Jeong-il becomes. Why on earth would that be? Here is the content of the letter from that day.

"I know you may be surprised by this sudden letter. We are a gathering of people living in Ube City, Yamaguchi Prefecture, Japan. Unable to know the real names of those who passed away, we are sending this letter with only their Japanese names written. We earnestly ask that you share with us the real names of those who met an unjust end, and the circumstances under which the bereaved families came to learn of their deaths at the time."
- October 28, 1991, from Takenobu in Ube City, Yamaguchi Prefecture, Japan

The place the letter was sent from was Ube City, Yamaguchi Prefecture, Japan. The sender's name was Takenobu. A letter that suddenly flew in from Japan. What is more, it was sent by a complete stranger. Jeong-il wondered: Who is Takenobu? And how did he find out my address? Jeong-il was astonished and even bewildered. The contents were shocking as well. Yet, behind this letter reaching Jeong-il, and behind the sender Mr. Takenobu, lay an incredible and profound story.

The contents of the letter felt somehow peculiar. Ube City, Yamaguchi Prefecture, the deceased... Jeong-il read the letter over and over again. Then suddenly, one person flashed through his mind: his father.

"Since I didn't have a father growing up, I'd wonder, 'Why don't I have a father?' People around my family would tell me, 'If you want to see your father, look in the mirror at your own face.' But I don't know anything. There are no photographs, nothing at all."
- Park Jeong-il, the man who received the mysterious letter from Japan

In fact, Jeong-il knew almost nothing about his father. He only knew that in 1942, not long after Jeong-il was born, his father passed away in Japan. Even when he asked the elders around him, no one would clearly tell him where or how his father had died. Having lived his entire life that way, one day a Japanese person whose name he had never even heard of was asking about his father's real name and his death. How must Jeong-il have felt?

"Back in 1991, when I had completely forgotten about it. 1991 would be about 35 years ago from now, right? I must have been around 51 or 52 years old. How did they find out my address? When I got that letter, I was truly astonished at first."
- Park Jeong-il, the man who received the mysterious letter from Japan

A short while later, however, Jeong-il learned an even more startling fact. He was not the only one who received such a letter. People began appearing across the country saying they had received the exact same letter. They all had one thing in common: on February 3, 1942, a family member had passed away in Ube City, Yamaguchi Prefecture, Japan. It was an incident that occurred on the same day and at the same hour. Yet, no one knew exactly what had happened there.

Then one day, unbelievable news arrived: there were people in Korea who had personally witnessed the incident on that day. And one of them was this very person.

This gentleman's name is Seol Do-sul. The elder is nearing ninety years of age. Yet even now, decades later, his memories of that day remain crystal clear. And he left behind those memories in vivid testimony. What on earth happened there on that day? Now, following the voice of elder Do-sul, let us turn back the clock 87 years from now.

▲ Young Men Suddenly Taken Away

The time is October 1939, in Janggi-myeon, Yeongil-gun, Gyeongsangbuk-do. Two Japanese police officers appeared in a quiet rural village. They marched across the village and barged into a house. It was the home of 21-year-old Do-sul.

"Seol Do-sul, come out right now!"

Do-sul, the second of six siblings, had given up on his studies and was helping with his parents' farm work. To this young man came a summons order demanding he report immediately to the Janggi-myeon police substation—the village police branch. Without knowing why, Do-sul hurriedly made his way to the substation. But the moment he opened the door and walked inside, he was astonished. Do-sul was not the only one summoned that day. Over thirty young men, including his friend Jeong Im-chul, had been called in.

"An order came saying, 'Arrive at the police station by such-and-such date and time, report there.' Since an order came from the authorities, you couldn't disobey, you just had to go. So when I actually got to the police station, about 30 people from our township were there. Then they called us out one by one to see if we could hear anything or not, see anything or not—that was the physical exam."
- Seol Do-sul, witness to the incident

The officers called out the young men one by one, suddenly ordered them to strip, and inspected their bodies one by one. Then they singled out only the robust, able-bodied young men. Do-sul and Im-chul were also chosen by the officers. Handed over to a Japanese escort, the selected village youths were abruptly put on a train without even knowing their destination. How much time passed? After traveling for a long while, the train finally came to a stop. When they got off, it was Busan Port.

Amid the escort's shouts of "Fall in quickly!", the young men scrambled aboard a large ship. The vessel they boarded was the Busan-Shimonoseki ferry, which traveled from Busan Port to Shimonoseki Port in Japan. Only then did Do-sul realize that he was heading to Japan. And looking around, he saw he was far from alone in this plight. There appeared to be more than 200 youths in the same situation.

After enduring a night of anxiety and seasickness, Do-sul arrived at Shimonoseki Port the following morning. Just as he thought he might finally set foot on land, something felt wrong. They would not let them move an inch until all the other passengers had disembarked. How long did they wait like that? Suddenly, a voice shouted, "Get on that boat!" Instead of stepping onto the port, they were ordered to transfer immediately onto a small vessel.

"Then where were we going? We didn't know where they were taking us. So everyone was anxious in their hearts."
- Seol Do-sul, witness to the incident

After riding the small boat for several hours, they finally reached their final destination. As the young men filed off the boat in a row, every single one of them was stunned by the sight before their eyes. This was the very place where Do-sul stepped off the boat that day.

Something stretched out directly from the boat: railway tracks had been laid down. As Do-sul stepped off the boat, unfamiliar Japanese men approached and lined up the youths. One Japanese man stepped forward.

"I am Supervisor Hara. Follow me!"

How long did they walk following the man called the supervisor? Dense rows of wooden planks appeared before Do-sul. The closer they got, the more ominous the atmosphere became. The wooden planks formed a fence that stood well over 3 meters tall. Stepping inside the fence revealed single-story wooden barracks. Guard posts could be seen here and there, with someone glaring down with piercing eyes. Supervisor Hara led the young men toward the buildings. The buildings stood tightly clustered together, with only a single door for people to enter and exit. In front of that single door stood someone who looked like a guard. Only then did Do-sul begin to grasp the reality.

"Ah... we're trapped."

▲ Chosei Coal Mine

A few days later, Supervisor Hara's shout rang out.

"Everyone assemble!"

After assembling the young men in an open lot, he called them forward one by one. This time, he handed out equipment one piece at a time: pickaxes, baskets, hard hats... The place where Do-sul and the young men had been brought was the Chosei Coal Mine, located in Ube City, Yamaguchi Prefecture.

From the outside, only the dormitory buildings and the surrounding fences were visible. No matter how much they looked around, no coal mine could be seen—only the sea. Just then, an astonishing sight unfolded before Do-sul's eyes. Something pitch-black was seen slowly rising from the direction of the sea. As it drew closer, it took the shape of humans. Pitch-black from head to toe. Only hard hats with light bulbs and the whites of their eyes were barely visible. Covered from head to foot in coal dust so thoroughly that it was impossible to tell who was who, people were emerging in a long line. Where on earth had these people come from?

That was when Do-sul learned for the first time: Chosei Coal Mine was an undersea coal mine that stretched beneath the ocean like an anthill.

A few days later at dawn, Do-sul stood at the entrance to the mine shaft. The shaft measured 2.2 meters wide and 1.6 meters high—a size so cramped an adult male had to bend his waist just to enter. Even staring intently to see what lay inside, nothing could be seen within. Fear set in before even entering the total darkness. Tense with apprehension, Do-sul picked up his pickaxe and followed the man in front of him down into the shaft. The deeper they went, the more suffocating the air became. His work clothes were already drenched in sweat. Unable to keep wearing them, he eventually stripped everything off and was left in his underwear. And as for its depth, he had to walk for a very long time.

"It was deadly grueling. Once you entered the tunnel, you didn't need clothes because it was so hot. We went stripped down, wearing only fundoshi (Japanese loincloths). Sometimes I walked and walked for an entire hour just to reach the site where I worked. That's how far it was."
- Seol Do-sul, forced laborer at Chosei Coal Mine

After walking inside for about an hour, a faint light came into view. "Halt right here!" At Supervisor Hara's shout, everyone grew intensely tense. The place they reached was the end of the shaft—the coal face. "You over here! And you over there!" That was how they were assigned their work locations for the day.

While Do-sul was waiting for the supervisor's assignment, he heard a strange sound. It sounded like it was coming from above. But right now, the only thing above them was supposed to be the ceiling of the mine shaft. Wondering if the veteran worker walking in front might know, he asked, "Don't you hear something?" At that instant, the supervisor's roar flew at him: "Shut your mouth!" Why was he forbidden from speaking? Was it to enforce discipline? In reality, there was a severe lack of oxygen inside the shaft. Because they were beneath the ocean. Do-sul was now more than 1 km deep from the entrance. As mentioned, he had walked for an hour. The deeper one went, the harder ventilation became, which was why unnecessary conversation was strictly forbidden.

Of course, blowers pumped in air from the entrance and chimneys called 'piya' served as ventilation shafts, but there were limits to supplying enough oxygen all the way to the coal face at the end of the tunnel. Do-sul kept his mouth tightly shut and listened closely. 'Thud, thud, thud'—what was the true identity of the sound echoing above Do-sul's head?

"Because we were digging beneath the ocean, when we worked over there (in the shaft), the sound of boats moving on the seawater could be heard right in our ears, thud-thud-thud-thud-thud... That's when you heard the thud, thud, thud of machine engines. The boats moving across the seawater could be heard thudding right inside that tunnel... Doesn't hearing the sound of boats passing up there mean that the ceiling was thin? My heart sank with dizziness, thinking 'Oh my goodness'... That just shows what a dangerous place we went to work in."
- Seol Do-sul, forced laborer at Chosei Coal Mine

The sound of ships passing directly overhead could be heard. Only then did it truly sink in for Do-sul: the place where he was standing right now was beneath the ocean.

The miners worked in 12-hour shifts, divided into day and night crews, digging coal. Working the day shift, Do-sul entered the mine at 4:00 AM and emerged at 4:00 PM. But because the shaft ceiling was so low, he could never properly straighten his back. He swung his pickaxe continuously in that posture. Blisters quickly formed on his hands, and his body was covered in cuts and bruises from coal chips flying whenever he dug. Water constantly dripped from the ceiling as well. The ground was already soaking wet with seawater.

Fortunately, there was safety equipment inside the shaft to drain the water. This sunken hollow was the pump room. When water gathered deep in this basin, electric pumps pumped it up and discharged it outside. Because water constantly seeped into the shaft, the pumps could never stop, running 24 hours a day, 365 days a year. The lives of Do-sul and the young men dragged to the coal mine were just like those unceasing pumps. They worked with almost no days off. It was a life of sinking beneath the sea every day and surfacing continuously covered entirely in black.

"The work was so vicious, the ceiling was low, and the ground below was squelching with water—how could anyone feel good about that? When we worked inside the tunnel and came out, we were pitch-black... Don't even get me started. We suffered terribly."
- Seol Do-sul, forced laborer at Chosei Coal Mine

Here is a letter that offers a glimpse into the conditions at that time. It was sent home by a Korean laborer behind the supervisors' backs.

"Mother, I am currently working in a coal mine in a place called Yamaguchi Prefecture, Japan. The lodging is like a prisoner-of-war camp. Violence is inflicted upon us, and being starved without food is a frequent occurrence. Regardless, I will definitely escape and return to where Mother is."
- The late Kim Won-dal, forced laborer at Chosei Coal Mine

Do-sul also thought of nothing but running away every day. But that was far from easy. As mentioned earlier, the perimeter around the dormitories was blocked by a high fence. And that was not all. Even sensor wires like these were installed atop the fence.

To escape this place, one had to use the pitch-black night to climb over a fence taller than 3 meters, and if one accidentally touched this wire atop the fence, they would be detected immediately. Even if one managed to scale the fence, that was not the end. On one side was the sea, and on the other were the mountains. If caught, harsh beatings followed. They did not stop even when the victim collapsed.

"When someone who fled was caught and brought back to the office, they would slam him down onto the office floor and beat him mercilessly, shouting, 'That guy is bad, this bastard is wicked,' while he screamed and wailed that he was dying. Some people even suffered permanent disabilities from being beaten like that."
- Seol Do-sul, forced laborer at Chosei Coal Mine

Some reportedly even lost their lives from the beatings.

"Many died from beatings, people died every day. Seeing them continuously dying and being beaten to death is still vivid before my eyes even now as I sit here... I can see it even with my eyes closed, which is why there are many nights I cannot sleep and stay awake all night. We were... beaten so much."
- The late Kim Gyeong-bong, forced laborer at Chosei Coal Mine (Interview in 2016)

In the end, Do-sul did not run away. But it was not because he feared the beatings. It was because of his family back home. He thought, 'For my family to be comfortable, I must earn a lot.' In this coal mine, how much you dug was equated with money. Even if it was far from fair compensation, it was a system that paid wages. To earn even a little more money, one had to swing the pickaxe faster and harder. Do-sul gritted his teeth and endured to send even a little money to his parents and siblings.

By December 1941, Do-sul had already been working at the coal mine for over two years. He had turned 23 years old. He was now experienced enough to teach the work to new arrivals. Around that time, however, one thing had changed compared to when Do-sul first arrived: every time he went to the cafeteria, long lines stretched out. New people were constantly pouring into the coal mine. Most of them were people dragged from Joseon.

From 1939, when Do-sul was taken, until 1941, the confirmed number of Koreans mobilized by force to this Chosei Coal Mine reached as many as 1,258. Like Do-sul, some were dragged away after receiving summons orders from the police, while others crossed the sea after being deceived into believing it was a high-paying job. To some of the prominent workers among them, the mine even offered company housing, encouraging them to bring their families or get married. Perhaps that was an ulterior motive to hold onto them for a long time by using their families as hostages.

That was how a whole village came to form around the mine. Because of this, Chosei Coal Mine was also called something else: "Chosen Tanko," meaning the Joseon Coal Mine. In the end, most of the people sent beneath the sea were Koreans dragged across the ocean.

▲ A Choice That Changed Fate

As the year turned and a day in January 1942 arrived, something occurred that would alter Do-sul's destiny. As mentioned earlier, Do-sul gritted his teeth and worked extraordinarily hard. Perhaps because of that, he caught the eye of the night shift supervisor, Nakamura. Supervisor Nakamura pressed him: "Do-sul, switch to the night shift. If you do, I will send you to a coalface rich in coal." Do-sul declined several times, but Nakamura was persistent. Eventually, Do-sul transferred to the night shift. His new work schedule required entering at 4:00 PM, working through the night, and emerging from the mine at dawn. His hours were completely reversed. Yet just days later, this decision would decide his life or death.

February 3, 1942: the fateful day arrived. At 4:00 AM, Do-sul emerged from the mine shaft after finishing his grueling 12-hour night shift. While inside was stiflingly hot and humid, the winter wind outside bit fiercely. As Do-sul rushed to sort through the coal he had dug that day, he spotted a familiar face: his friend Im-chul, who had come from the same hometown.

"Do-sul, you worked hard today."
"It really was exhausting today. Hang in there, too."

In moments like that, there was nothing to lean on quite like a friend from home. After exchanging their usual greetings, Do-sul headed straight back to the dormitory. At that point, no one could have imagined what would unfold at the mine just a few hours later.

Barely after closing his eyes to sleep, urgent shouts suddenly rang out from outside. "Hey! Wake up! Get out here quickly!" Supervisor Nakamura was shouting as he roused the workers.

"I had bathed, eaten, gone to my room, and fallen asleep, when Supervisor Nakamura came barging in, shouting for everyone to wake up and get ready to go out dressed in work clothes as if going to work. So..."
- Seol Do-sul, forced laborer at Chosei Coal Mine

Without knowing why, Do-sul hastily pulled on his work clothes and rushed outside the dormitory. As he passed by the cafeteria, an unbelievable sight unfolded before his eyes.

"He said, 'Look down over there.' So I went over to the cafeteria and looked down, and seawater was shooting tens of meters into the air, and not just in one spot. Several spots were turning white and churning, so I asked, 'Why is it doing that?' and then..."
- Seol Do-sul, forced laborer at Chosei Coal Mine

Looking toward the sea from the dormitory, seawater was surging into the sky like massive pillars. As multiple water spouts erupted, the entire surface of the sea was covered in white foam. The coal mine was flooding. A breach had opened in the undersea tunnels, and as seawater rushed violently inside, the air trapped within was forced out, blasting water into the sky in towering pillars. Do-sul ran straight to the mine entrance. The entryway that miners entered and exited daily was overflowing with water. A large crowd had gathered around the entrance: the families of the miners who had entered for work that morning.

"Oh, Father!"
"Brother! Why aren't you answering!"
"What do we do? My husband is still inside!"

People cried out the names of the miners and rushed toward the water-filled entrance. Despite the dead of winter, nobody hesitated.

"'My son went to work and hasn't returned,' 'My husband went to work and hasn't returned.' Fathers, brothers, sons—they peered into the tunnel crying out like that. It was a matter of life and death, so regardless of the water or danger, they kept rushing in."
- Seol Do-sul, forced laborer at Chosei Coal Mine

Even when pulled back to dry land, they tried repeatedly to jump back into the water. Wives calling their husbands' names, children searching for their fathers—the entire mining village became a sea of tears. At that moment, a woman collapsed in front of the mine entrance. Beside her stood her three-year-old youngest son, Jae-bong. Let us hear what happened on that day directly from him.

"My name is Shin Jae-bong. I was born in 1939 and am now 87 years old. I was born in the coal mining village of Ube City, Yamaguchi Prefecture, Japan. I had four older siblings above me: three brothers and one sister. Now, I am the only one left to give this interview. My father passed away when I was three years old. He was someone who ate a hearty breakfast and headed out at dawn... My father died at age 37. My mother was in her early 30s. Left alone at such a young age, she went to the mine entrance where water was sloshing right up to the opening, and she just collapsed right there."
- Shin Jae-bong, son of the late Shin Yong-eop, forced laborer at Chosei Coal Mine

Yet no matter how much time passed, no one informed them of the situation inside or whether any rescue operation would take place. While the families paced anxiously in despair, dozens of military police officers suddenly appeared.

"Go back! Do not come near here!"

The military police pushed the weeping families away and stepped in front of the mine shaft opening. In their hands were wooden planks, timber, and various tools. Using these materials, the military police sealed off the entrance. People were still trapped inside, but the rescue team the families had been waiting for so desperately never came. On February 3, 1942, the entrance of Chosei Coal Mine was sealed right before the eyes of the watching families—leaving them with no knowledge of how many had died or how the disaster occurred.

What happened to the surviving families afterward? Jae-bong's mother, who had collapsed before the sealed shaft, could not even dream of recovering her husband's body. Returning home to five children staring at her, she had no time to cry. Making a living was immediate and urgent. So she went to work at another nearby coal mine—the very kind of mine that had swallowed her husband. What must her son have thought watching his mother?

"As for my mother... whenever I try to speak about her, my heart aches so much that words do not come easily. Among women born into this world, few could have suffered as much as my mother. As soon as she opened her eyes, she would cook our meals, set out food, and leave for work at the mine. There was nothing else to do, and she had to feed her children. There was no time to sit weeping and wailing. What could a three-year-old child understand? Looking back now at my old age, it is truly heartbreaking."
- Shin Jae-bong, son of the late Shin Yong-eop, forced laborer at Chosei Coal Mine

What became of Do-sul, who survived? From that day forward, Do-sul refused to step outside his quarters. Many of his hometown friends—including Im-chul, Doo-man, Man-jo, and Young-chul—had lost their lives. Do-sul survived only because he had switched shifts. Because of that, whenever friends' family members ran into Do-sul, they would say, "Oh, Do-sul... how did you manage to survive?"

"I could not go out into town. I simply could not. Why couldn't I? Because the mothers, fathers, siblings, wives, and children of those who died knew my face. They would rush forward, cling to me, and weep, crying, 'Oh, how is it that you didn't die and survived?' It made me break down in tears as well..."
- Seol Do-sul, forced laborer at Chosei Coal Mine

From that day onward, the mine fell into utter disarray. The supervisors who guarded the office began disappearing one after another. Consequently, workers never received their wages properly. Many eventually scaled the fences and fled. Could Do-sul return to his hometown? Remember how Do-sul had arrived at the mine: he had been forcibly brought over by ship. Could a forcibly mobilized Korean board a ship and return to Korea? That was virtually impossible. While Do-sul survived, in reality, he could not leave Japan.

If the living could not return home, what about those who had died so abruptly inside the mine? They remained trapped deep inside the sealed tunnels. Long years passed over them. In the meantime, Korea achieved liberation, and the children born in the mining village grew into grandfathers. Yet for those left beneath the sea, time stood frozen on that very day: February 3, 1942.

▲ In Search of Real Names

That frozen time began to move again in the autumn of 1991, 49 years later. Remember the letter mentioned earlier that arrived written in Japanese? The person who sent it was Takenobu Yamabuchi. This was the man.

He was a high school teacher in Ube City, where Chosei Coal Mine had been located. Yamabuchi was born and raised in Ube. He was an elementary school student when the Chosei mine flooded. At the time, he knew little about the details. Then, 20 years later in the mid-1960s, Yamabuchi returned to his hometown as a high school teacher and made a home visit to a student's house. The moment he stepped inside, he was stunned. The house looked identical to the company housing he had seen in the mining village during his childhood. As it turned out, the student's residence was a former company dormitory of Chosei Coal Mine. Stepping inside awakened long-dormant memories.

Yamabuchi tried to investigate the incident thoroughly. However, all that remained were a few brief news articles published shortly after the accident. Even those merely stated that the cause and casualty count were under investigation. Nothing had been properly uncovered. From that moment on, Yamabuchi began gathering records about Chosei Coal Mine one by one. How many had died that day? Who were they? He began revisiting the disaster that had remained buried in time.

Then in 1991, like-minded individuals came together to establish an organization: the Association to Engrave the Chosei Coal Mine Submersion Incident in History, or simply the "Engraving Association." Yamabuchi combed through old documents and searched for people who remembered that day. Then one day, unexpected news arrived: a temple was holding the roster of the deceased. Rushing to the temple, Yamabuchi turned the pages of the register one by one, rendered speechless. Names continued on and on without end. Just how many names were listed? Let us hear from Yoko Inoue, who worked alongside Yamabuchi for years and currently serves as representative of the Engraving Association.

"My name is Yoko Inoue, representative of Japan's Association to Engrave the Chosei Coal Mine Submersion Incident in History. It happened purely by chance. A roster of the deceased from Chosei Coal Mine was kept at a temple where an ethnic Korean Buddhist monk resided. In Japan, the deaths of just one or two individuals were rarely well-recorded, but because as many as 183 people died due to the coal industry—which was Japan's national policy—the record was preserved intact."
- Yoko Inoue, current representative of the Association to Engrave the Chosei Coal Mine Submersion Incident in History

On February 3, 1942, a total of 183 people lost their lives when the mine was submerged. Among them, an estimated 136 were Koreans. Because surviving records cite differing casualty counts, the figure remains an estimate. However, something caught the eyes of Yamabuchi and Inoue as they inspected the register: most of the Korean victims' names were written in Japanese style.

"All the names recorded there were Japanese names forced upon them under the name-changing policy (Soshi-kaimei). Because we believed that having their names changed was itself excruciating agony for the Korean victims, we felt that using those names would violate their dignity. We wanted to find their original names if at all possible and engrave them on the memorial monument."
- Yoko Inoue, current representative of the Engraving Association

The primary objective of the Engraving Association was to erect a memorial inscribed with the victims' names. Why was this their foremost goal? They considered it the first step in offering an apology as Japanese citizens, especially when the government refused to act. Inscribing forcibly altered Japanese names onto a memorial monument was simply unacceptable.

Believing they could not erect a memorial with these names, they resolved to find their "real names." But how could they locate them? Examining the register closely, they noticed something written alongside each name: the victims' original hometown addresses in Korea.

Having passed half a century, there was no telling whether family or acquaintances would still be living there. Still, those addresses were their sole ray of hope.

"Because their old addresses on the Korean Peninsula were also recorded, we sent letters to South Korea and North Korea in the autumn of 1991. We sent them addressed to the victims themselves, using their old addresses. We sent those letters clinging to the hope that if we could restore the real name of even one or two individuals, it would be worthwhile."
- Yoko Inoue, current representative of the Engraving Association

With such earnest hope, they mailed over 100 letters to Korea. How many replies arrived? One, two, three... astonishingly, as many as 17 replies came back. Inside those letters were the very original names they had sought. Letters sent on faith alone to half-century-old addresses had yielded replies—reaching the families seemed miraculous enough, yet responses arrived. It was remarkable. With pounding hearts, the two read through the replies. Yet the contents written inside were entirely unexpected.

"Unexpectedly, we received as many as 17 replies. In most cases, after their fathers left for Japan, families had lived without knowing where they were or whether they were alive or dead. Fifty years later, through the letters we sent, they learned for the first time that their fathers had died here—that they were victims of Chosei Coal Mine."
- Yoko Inoue, current representative of the Engraving Association

So many people had spent their lives completely unaware of their fathers' fates after they departed for Japan. Some learned of their fathers' deaths only upon receiving these letters. A single letter arriving from Japan had delivered the final word on their fathers after 50 years.

▲ Father Found Again

From then on, bereaved families scattered across Korea gathered together in one place. Thereafter, they began holding an annual memorial service together at the accident site.

"In 1993, I boarded a ferry from Busan and traveled to Japan. We took turns offering liquor and bowing... we bowed together in a joint ritual. Coming all the way here to the seashore where the incident occurred to hold a memorial service for my father, thinking that such a day could come—the emotions were indescribable."
- Park Jeong-il, son of the late Park Maeng-mun, forced laborer at Chosei Coal Mine

"I threw flowers toward the sea with whatever strength I had. That was the first time I ever called out to him. Could the word 'Father' easily leave my mouth? Having uttered that single word once, I have never been able to say it again since."
- Shin Jae-bong, son of the late Shin Yong-eop, forced laborer at Chosei Coal Mine

"Father! Father! Father, I have come!"
- The late Jeon Seok-ho, son of the late Jeon Seong-do, forced laborer at Chosei Coal Mine

"Still, they must have missed them every year. When you hold an ancestral memorial service for someone, you naturally find yourself missing them, don't you? It must be that exact same feeling."
- Jeon Yeong-bok, grandson of the late Jeon Seong-do and son of the late Jeon Seok-ho, forced laborers at the Chosei Coal Mine

Then, in 2006, incredible news arrived. An eyewitness to that tragic day had come forward: Seol Do-sul, who was forcibly mobilized at the age of 21 and was now nearing ninety. In February 2007, he departed for Japan. Despite his family strongly urging him not to go due to his health, he stood firm despite his advanced age. He had only one destination in mind: the very sea where he had left his friends behind 65 years earlier.

It took 65 years to return to the coal mine where he had been taken. In the meantime, the young man had grown old. The mine lay completely in ruins, with only the 'Piya'—the concrete ventilation shafts rising above the sea—remaining.

"Everything has changed over 65 years. The koguchi (shaft entrance) is all destroyed and gone... We walked into the pine grove and searched for so long. But there were only thick trees and we couldn't find anything. We can only guess that this concrete spot right here was the entrance to the cave back then; there is no trace left."
- Seol Do-sul, forced laborer at the Chosei Coal Mine

The site where the mine once stood was overgrown with brush. The suspected entrance remained blocked. Sixty-five years had covered every trace. In the end, they could not locate the shaft entrance. The only visible remnants of the mine were two pillars protruding from the sea. Seol stared out at that sea for a long time.

"Those who died back then, even in death they remain submerged underwater. We cannot bring them out because of the seawater. We can't go in because of that water, because of the water. What kind of strongman could ever drain that massive sea? To think that 183 of our friends are lying out there breaks my heart, and tears are all I have. But even if I weep, can I talk to them, or bring even one of them back?..."
- Seol Do-sul, forced laborer at the Chosei Coal Mine

It had taken so long to return to this sea, yet he could not bring anyone back. All he could do was stare at the water and swallow his tears. Then, the face of one person came to mind: his friend Im-chul, who had crossed the sea with him from their hometown. He immediately headed to a nearby Buddhist temple, where the memorial tablets of the deceased were enshrined.

"Seeing the memorial tablet of Jeong Im-chul, oh... Thinking, 'These people are here inside,' tears just streamed down and I wept."
- Seol Do-sul, forced laborer at the Chosei Coal Mine

The friend he met again after 65 years remained on the tablet under an unfamiliar Japanese name. All Seol could do was bow deeply before that name.

▲ Was the Disaster Merely an Accident?

Was the catastrophe that day truly an unforeseen accident? What exactly caused this to happen? Seol has never forgotten what he saw in the early morning hours of that fateful day—a scene crucial to understanding the disaster.

"Two people were guarding that spot day and night. I hold deep resentment toward them."
- Seol Do-sul, forced laborer at the Chosei Coal Mine

Brace yourself for what comes next. Let us return to that day.

Around 4 a.m. on February 3, 1942—about six hours before the column of water surged. Having finished his night shift, Seol was coming out of the mine shaft. There, on one side of the tunnel, two Japanese overseers were sitting. A telephone was placed beside them, and they were watching the spot where water was leaking.

In fact, there was something the miners knew nothing about. At 6 a.m. on February 1, two days before the disaster, the amount of water leaking into the tunnel was three times greater than usual.

"February 1 was a Sunday and a day off, but during a patrol inside the mine, an official noticed an abnormal water inflow roughly three times greater than normal. It took a grueling 20 hours just to stop it."
- Shigeru Nagasawa, Japanese history researcher

Although the leak was barely brought under control after 20 hours of repair work, that was not the end of it. On February 2, the day before the accident, more than twice the normal volume of water seeped in. The miners were kept completely unaware of this.

"Those who went into the mine to work trusted those overseers, thinking, 'Surely, since they are guarding the spot, they will tell us to evacuate if any problem arises.' Thinking that, they just went inside, dug the earth, and worked..."
- Seol Do-sul, forced laborer at the Chosei Coal Mine

Because overseers took turns watching the leak, the miners believed they would halt operations if danger arose. Why, then, did such an unusually large amount of water suddenly flood into the shaft? The underlying reason was 'war.'

On December 8, 1941, Japan attacked Pearl Harbor in Hawaii, triggering the Pacific War. At the time, coal was a critical resource powering factories, trains, and warships. Without it, the war could not be waged. As the frontlines expanded, more coal was demanded. Orders were issued to mines across the nation to extract coal faster and in greater quantities. The Chosei Coal Mine was no exception.

In January 1942, special operations were conducted at the Chosei Coal Mine known as 'odashi' (large-scale coal extraction)—days designated for mining far more coal than usual. This was not merely a slight increase in workload. Not only regular miners, but even the maintenance workers responsible for inspecting and reinforcing the shafts were mobilized to mine coal. Even those tasked with ensuring mine safety were forced into extraction.

"Right before the accident, odashi was carried out on two consecutive days—Friday, January 30, and Saturday, January 31, 1942—and in January 1942 alone, odashi was conducted as many as four times. These were days when timbering workers (laborers in charge of tunnel maintenance) and workers in other roles were deployed into extraction to mine far more coal than usual. I believe that was the direct cause of the disaster."
- Shigeru Nagasawa, Japanese history researcher

According to records revealed later, the decisive reason the Chosei Coal Mine collapsed was that even the coal pillars supporting the mine were removed. To prevent tunnels from collapsing, sections of coal must be left standing as pillars, but miners were made to extract even those. In the rush to boost production, they mined indiscriminately. Wasn't the water leaking in two days prior a warning sent by the already weakened shaft? Thus, the catastrophe that day was no accident; it was a man-made disaster.

▲ Listening to 'Conscience'

Yet, none of what has been discussed so far—the cause of the disaster and the details of the victims—came from investigations by the South Korean or Japanese governments. All of it came to light through the tireless efforts of Mr. Takenobu and the Association to Etch into History (Kizamu Kai).

The association's first goal was to erect a memorial monument engraved with the real names of the deceased. After receiving replies from bereaved families in South Korea, they cross-referenced wartime victim rosters, memorial tablet records, and family testimonies. Piecing them together one by one, a memorial monument was finally erected along the coast near the Chosei Coal Mine in 2013—71 years after the disaster.

It is remarkable that this initiative began in Japan, accomplished not by nations, but by private citizens—Mr. Takenobu, Ms. Yoko, and numerous members of the Association to Etch into History. From a Japanese perspective, it could be seen as exposing their own country's shameful past. Why did Mr. Takenobu and Ms. Yoko go to such lengths? When asked, Ms. Yoko answered with a single word: 'conscience.'

Conscience: the sense of discerning right from wrong. It was not a matter of being Korean or Japanese, but of being human—unable to turn a blind eye to a tragedy that everyone had ignored for decades. That conscience compelled them to keep acting.

Regrettably, Mr. Takenobu passed away in 2015, but Ms. Yoko and the members of the Association to Etch into History continue their work to this day.

It took 22 long years just to uncover the real names of the victims. With the memorial monument erected, was their work finished? They insisted it was far from over.

"The fact that those who were brought from the Korean Peninsula due to a war Japan started have had their remains left neglected and abandoned deep down makes me feel, as Japan or as Japanese people, that we must return them to their families. Because I believe this is a matter of human conscience, I became determined to recover the remains of as many people as possible."
- Yoko Inoue, current head of the Association to Etch into History (Kizamu Kai)

Their mission was to recover the remains sleeping beneath the sea and return them to their homeland. These people had not gone there by choice; how could anyone stand idly by while they remained trapped beneath the deep waters of a foreign land? What, then, had to be done first? They had to open the mine shaft entrance that had been sealed tight on that fateful day.

Members of the Association to Etch into History combed through old blueprints and survivor testimonies, cutting down trees, clearing brush, and digging through the earth. After extensive excavation, they unearthed old wooden planks buried in the soil: the very entrance that military police had sealed immediately following the disaster. Had they succeeded in opening the entrance?

As piled-up dirt was removed, the entrance to the shaft gradually revealed itself. Clearing the soil triggered a sudden gush of water. In this way, after 82 years, light once again shone into the mine shaft.

"We believe opening the shaft entrance held deep meaning for the victims as well. In other words, they were fleeing toward that entrance, only for it to be shut right on that day. In that sense, opening the shaft entrance was something that had to be done first—to shine light inside, no matter what. At that moment... when we opened the shaft, there was nothing but hope."
- Yoko Inoue, current head of the Association to Etch into History (Kizamu Kai)

On September 25, 2024, the shaft entrance was finally unsealed. Standing before it, they shouted with all their might: "Hey! Can you hear us? The mine entrance is open!" What feelings lay behind that cry? It was not merely about locating the entrance to an old coal mine; it was about letting light into a space trapped in darkness for 82 years. Above all, it opened the possibility of confirming with their own eyes the location of the remains.

Indeed, the Association to Etch into History had repeatedly urged the Japanese government to take responsibility and recover the remains, only to be met with the response that an investigation was impossible because the exact location of the remains was unknown. They needed undeniable evidence to convince the government: they had to find the remains themselves.

▲ Clocking Out After 83 Years

Now, all that remained was to find the remains and bring them out. Divers began entering the shaft. But problems arose immediately: the water was thick with mud, reducing visibility to zero, and countless collapsed structures made the dive perilously dangerous.

The location where the remains were presumed to be lay about 1.1 kilometers from the entrance. Entering that far proved impossible. Should they have given up then? That was out of the question—not after coming so far.

On August 25, 2025, two Korean divers, Kim Gyeong-soo and Kim Soo-eun, entered from a new access point: the 'Piya,' the concrete shaft pillars remaining in the sea. Entering here also connected directly into the mine tunnel.

"If I see anything, I will find them without fail. Without fail."
- Diver Kim Soo-eun
"I think my only thought was, 'Let us come back with good results.' My overwhelming desire was to excavate the remains, bring them out, and return them to the embrace of their families."
- Diver Kim Gyeong-soo

Descending beneath the surface, the two divers advanced slowly, feeling along the walls with their hands. Inside the pitch-black tunnel, they checked everything within reach, one by one: rocks, railway tracks, walls, and ceiling. After some time had passed, Kim Soo-eun, swimming ahead, urgently called out.

"We found it, we found it!"

A skull was discovered in the dark tunnel. The news was immediately relayed to the people above the sea. Brought to land after 83 years, the bone had turned black.

"The first thing that comes to mind is the bereaved families who have been waiting. I felt that, finally, we have done something that had to be done."
- Diver Kim Soo-eun

"'Thank you for not forgetting us for over 80 years and trying to come get us.' Wouldn't they be thinking something like that? Thanking us for remembering and not forgetting them..."
- Diver Kim Kyung-soo

In subsequent explorations, more remains were discovered. The victims who had been trapped for 83 years since that day on February 3, 1942, finally emerged into the world. As if telling of the long wait, the bones were stained black.

For the bereaved families, nothing could be more grateful or joyful than this. Yet there is someone who heard this joyous news belatedly.

"I am Seol Jeong-soo, the eldest son of the late Seol Do-sul, who worked at Chosei Coal Mine. He passed away in 2019, so it has been about six years now. (In 2007) when he said he was going to attend the memorial service, the family strongly opposed it. We tried to stop him from going. But my father insisted on going, so we couldn't stop him, and he went and returned. He said, 'I'm glad I went.'"
- Seol Jeong-soo, son of the late Seol Do-sul, a forced laborer at Chosei Coal Mine

Jeong-soo said he had not heard the news that the entrance to the mine shaft was opened in 2024.

"Ah... wow. So it was opened. Wouldn't my father obviously have said, 'It's a relief that the remains were found, even if it's late. At least that is a relief'?"
- Seol Jeong-soo, son of the late Seol Do-sul, a forced laborer at Chosei Coal Mine

Tragically, Mr. Seol Do-sul passed away without hearing that the mine shaft had been opened or that the remains had been discovered. However, his recorded voice, recounting his memories, has become an important and precious record reviving the forgotten reality of Chosei Coal Mine.

▲ The Final Journey Home

Over the long passage of time, many bereaved family members passed away. But that does not mean this matter has ended. Yoko from the Association to Etch into History had words she wished to convey.

"To the bereaved families in Japan, South Korea, and across the Korean Peninsula: I believe we must offer an apology for making you wait such a very long time. While I cannot truly be one of the bereaved family members, I believe a human being can sincerely understand your feelings and strive to come closer to your hearts. In that sense, embracing your pain as my own, even if just a little, I hope you will consider that this is only the beginning."
- Inoue Yoko, current representative of the "Association to Etch into History"

At the South Korea-Japan summit in January this year, the two nations agreed to cooperate on DNA testing to identify the recovered remains.

"Regarding the remains discovered at Chosei Coal Mine, for cooperation in DNA testing..."
- Takaichi Sanae, Prime Minister of Japan

"I consider it truly meaningful that we have achieved a small yet meaningful step forward in historical issues."
- Lee Jae-myung, President of the Republic of Korea

And the journey home for those beneath the sea—perhaps it is only just beginning.

"How wonderful would it be if those remains were my father's? I ask for nothing else. I just pray that my father's remains are found. In my lifetime."
- Shin Jae-bong, son of the late Shin Yong-up, a forced laborer at Chosei Coal Mine

"Right now, there is nothing inside the grave. Because he was in the cold water for so long. So once the remains are recovered, I want to take him home quickly and lay him to rest properly in the grave."
- Tsunenishi Kazuhiko, son of the late Tsunenishi Hatsutada, a worker at Chosei Coal Mine

The Chosei Coal Mine incident still leaves many knots untied. We do not know whose black bones were shown in the photos, nor do we even know how many individuals they belong to. Moreover, the Japanese government has yet to propose a concrete plan on when and how to excavate the remains still resting beneath the sea. Even so, we must not lose heart and patiently continue to untie these knots. Until the day when all those who still remain under the sea can safely return to the families waiting for them.

Having heard the story of "that day," what are your thoughts "today"?

Reporter Kang Sun-ae  

(SBS Entertainment News Reporter Kang Sun-ae)