사진은 "남한 정부로 부터 오랫동안 골치 아픈존재로 취급되여 왔지만, 지금은 나의 아버지에게 할도리를 마침내 이행하고 있읍니다"라고 회상하고 있는 아들 최성용씨. 당시 15세였던 아들을 집에 두고, 고기잡이배 선장으로 고기잡이 나갔다가 북한군에 납북되여 ,지금 생존해 계신다면 99세가 되셨을 아버지를, 오늘도 당시 15세의 아들입장에서 아버지를 상봉할수 있게 되기를 고대하면서, 다른 납북자들을 탈북 시키기위해 평생을 노력하고 있는 아들의 소원은 언제 이루어 질것인가? 이제는 남한 정부의 이북에 대한 원조 조건으로, 국군포로, 납북자 확인, 핵개발 포기 등등의 선이행을 요구하고 있는 이명박 정부에서, 좀더 강도 있게 밀어 부치기를, 아들 최성용씨의 마음으로 요구하면서, 기대해 본다. 새해에는 부디 소원성취 되기를.... THE SATURDAY PROFILE Serving a Father by Bringing Long-Lost Koreans Home By MARTIN FACKLER Published: January 1, 2010 SEOUL, South Korea Woohae Cho for The New York Times “I have been a headache for the South Korean government, but I am finally carrying out my filial duty to my father.”- Choi Sung-yong. CHOI SUNG-YONG remembers his father as a war hero who became a successful fishing boat captain, a reserved man who helped at orphanages and once splurged to buy his music-loving teenage son a record player, a true luxury at the time. But all the memories are tinged with loss. In 1967, when Mr. Choi was just 15, his father’s boat failed to return from sea. The family went into mourning, assuming the boat had sunk. But three months later they were shocked to learn that Mr. Choi’s father, Choi Won-mo, was alive, but lost to them . His vessel, it turned out, had been captured by North Korea, and when the North Koreans released the crew, they kept Mr. Choi’s father. In the more than four decades since, Mr. Choi, 57, has devoted himself to trying to find his father and the hundreds of other missing South Koreans believed to have been snatched by North Korean agents. He toils in a tiny office here, where the walls are covered with sepia-toned photos of the missing. “So far,” he said, “my work has been a lonely fight.” Unlike in Japan - where the plight of fewer than 20 Japanese abductees has become something of a national obsession - the issue of the disappeared is a divisive one here, freighted with a tangle of conflicting emotions about the North and the collective suffering of South Koreans since the peninsula’s fratricidal war from 1950 to 1953. In the early years, South Korea’s fervently anti-Communist military rulers treated families like Mr. Choi’s with suspicion, fearful that those who had disappeared were defectors lured by the same ideology that helped cleave the country. But even a shift away from authoritarianism did not help. A succession of liberal presidents who gained power in democratic elections starting in the 1990s ignored the families’ cause in pursuit of reconciliation with the North. While South Korea’s current, conservative, president, Lee Myung-bak, has taken a tougher line on the abduction issue, the South Korean public remains far less passionate on the subject than the Japanese, who helped drive their leaders not only to sever economic ties with the North, but also to continually urge the United States not to forget the abductees in its drive to get the North to give up its nuclear weapons program. Fed up with waiting, Mr. Choi decided years ago to take matters into his own hands. In the late 1990s, he began traveling to northern China, where he developed contacts among North Koreans to try to gather information about his father. Over time, he built something of an underground railroad in the North by using Koreans, sometimes by paying, to help the abductees escape across the border. And slowly, he began to achieve, in a small way, what the Seoul government has so far failed to do. SINCE 2000, Mr. Choi says, Abductees’ Family Union, which he leads, has smuggled seven South Koreans back to their country via China, including one who later returned to the North because he had started a family there. Officials at South Korea’s Ministry of Unification, which helps oversee inter-Korean relations, acknowledge that Mr. Choi has succeeded in bringing out abducted South Koreans, though they will not confirm the number. His efforts - and his role with Abductees’ Family Union, which lobbies for the families of 505 civilians thought by the South Korean government to have been kidnapped - have earned him wide attention in the South’s media. They have also, he says, led to death threats from the North. As a result, he is now afraid to travel to China. But he says he will press on until he finds out what happened to his father, who would be 99 years old now if still alive, or at least retrieve his remains. His father’s former crew said his father had been kept in the North because of his war record, and Mr. Choi fears he may have been executed. “I have been a headache for the South Korean government,” Mr. Choi said. “But I am finally carrying out my filial duty to my father.” Like his father, most of the missing are fishermen who vanished when they ventured out to sea in the 1960s and 1970s. Based on South Korean intelligence and the tales of defectors, it appears that the North had several goals in mind when it captured South Koreans. Some were put to work as laborers. Others - like at least some of the Japanese - helped train spies who had little chance to learn about other nations, given their reclusive leaders’ absolute control on news and penchant for propaganda. The abductees, experts on the issue in the South say, were also tools for the North’s propaganda machine; North Korea still insists that South Koreans who left their country defected for a happier life. One of those who Mr. Choi’s group smuggled out of North Korea is Choi Wook-il, who is no relation to him. A shrimp fisherman, Choi Wook-il said his boat was seized by a North Korean gunboat in 1975. He was kept in the North until three years ago, when he was led at night across a frozen river into China and freedom, he said. Now 69, he lives with his wife in a government-provided apartment in the city of Ansan, south of Seoul. He said that without the efforts of Choi Sung-yong, he would never have been able to return to his life. “He is the only one making efforts.” The fisherman’s wife, Yang Jeong-ja, 67, said she thought he was dead until Choi Sung-yong one day showed her a letter her husband had written to his brother, which was smuggled out via China. He also presented a picture of her husband taken in North Korea and said he could get her husband out. Ms. Yang was skeptical, but agreed to his plan. Her husband said that one night almost a decade ago, he got a knock on the door from a North Korean who said he had been sent by Ms. Yang to lead him to China. At first, Mr. Choi — who had been working on a pear and corn farm because his middle-school education was deemed inadequate for spy training - said he did not believe his visitor. It took nine visits until he finally agreed to leave. After they arrived in South Korea, his guide defected. The other Mr. Choi said such successes help make up for the continued pushback from many South Koreans. He has been criticized by government officials and many people in the public for threatening the South’s engagement with the North, which most South Koreans support in some form. That stance is somewhat pragmatic; those who want to unite with the North say peace will not only allow any abductees who are alive to return home, but also reunite the thousands of families split up during the war. Experts say it is also difficult for the families of those who were kidnapped to gain sympathy because many of their countrymen feel some bitterness about their singling out their own suffering when so many families have been separated. “This issue has been intertwined with all the national pain,” said Lee Keum-soon, a researcher on the abductions at the Korea Institute for National Unification, a government-financed research center. FAMILIES of abductees say they are more hopeful now. President Lee, who took office two years ago, in November called addressing the abduction issue a precondition for holding any future summit meeting with the North. Mr. Choi has also been appointed to a group that advises the government as it continues to investigate missing persons cases to determine if more of them are possible abductees. On his wall, he proudly displays a plaque that he received in 2009 from the president proclaiming his father a patriot for having piloted a boat that clandestinely dropped off guerrilla fighters behind enemy lines during the Korean War. “Whenever I ask a North Korean for news of my father, my heart still beats wildly,” Mr. Choi said. “I have struggled to accept that I am a child whose father will never return.”