Lee Hee-sung, who calls himself a "city refugee," stands outside his container home on the Gyeongui Line Commons, June 13. Korea Times photo by Shim Hyun-chul



Squatters turn idle lot into a symbolic camp for the city's displaced



By Lee Suh-yoon



The Gyeongui Line Commons, which calls itself the "26th autonomous district" of Seoul, plays by its own rules.



Rent or capital does not guarantee one a share of this brick-floored lot, spanning around 3,000 square meters near exit 1 of Gongdeok Station. Here, how well you take care of the area and participate in its self-governance is what matters.



"You take up as much space as you contribute and show affection for," says Lee Su-jin, a nearby resident who runs the site with other activists, holding neighborhood meetings, collecting donations for utility bills and making cleaning duty rosters for the shared public bathroom.



The lot is home to a handful of the city's displaced ― tenants and shopkeepers chased out by redevelopment all over the city. They're joined by a few other social activist groups, including artist collectives and vegans, as well as a group of local merchants who hold daily flea markets. The sprawling mix of container boxes and tents stand in stark contrast to the manicured landscape next door, a section of Gyeongui Line Forest Park stretching all the way to the Hongdae area.



The camp creates a surreal image against the backdrop of concrete office buildings and apartment blocks. "We will leave a lasting mark on the city that tried to erase us," according to its "declaration of independence." "We welcome those whose lives have been uprooted all over Seoul."





A pedestrian passes by Gyeongui Line Commons. Korea Times photo by Shim Hyun-chul





"The vegetable gardens here might not look like much compared to the flowers replanted every season next door at Gyeonggui Line Forest Park, but at least these are grown directly by nearby residents with affection," says Lee Su-jin. Lee is better known by her activist name Meercat here. Korea Times photo by Shim Hyun-chul



The site is a section of public land owned by the Korea Rail Network Authority that was freed up when the Gyeongui Line tracks were moved underground. Retail giant Eland was supposed to build a residential tower on it starting in 2012. The plan, however, has stalled for seven years now, as the company failed to come up with what it considered to be a sufficiently profitable design. Both the Gyeongui Line and Airport Express Line tunnels run under the site, requiring hefty construction costs to safely fortify the base in order to build high.



From 2013 to 2015, local civic groups got permission from rail authorities to borrow the land for an outdoor flea market. Eco-friendly social enterprises and small farmers set up booths. Trampolines, Christmas decorations and small concerts occupied children. The small container house, where a local disability rights group now runs an awareness campaign gallery, was then a DIY pizza shop with a fire stove.



"It was more of a service-providing market then. Now the focus is more social activism and self-governance," Lee said.



The transition happened in 2016, after authorities asked everyone to clear out. They did, and were replaced by tougher residents ― ones who had fought tooth and nail against hired goons and police to keep their shops or houses from being bulldozed.



Cho Yong-boon, 75, better known as the "little giant" here, has a warning notice from the Mapo-gu Office, which branded her small snack bar tent as an unlicensed business, taped near the entrance. Cho ran a snack cart in nearby Ahyeon-dong for 28 years before being chased out to make way for a new apartment complex in the summer of 2016.





Cho Yong-boon in front of her "pojangmacha," or snack tent. Cho raised three children on her own with earnings from a snack cart in Ahyeon-dong for 28 years after she was widowed at the age of 40. Korea Times photo by Shim Hyun-chul





Choo In-suk, a nearby resident, picks lettuce from a small garden crate with her name. Communal vegetable gardens are set up around and at the center of Gyeongui Line Commons, and divided up among nearby residents. Korea Times photo by Shim Hyun-chul



"We (snack cart owners) paid usage fees for that two-meter-wide space Mapo-gu divvied up for us on the road. We helped put out that big fire at the nearby karaoke bar. We were part of that citizen effort to find the missing frog boys," Cho recalled. The "frog boys" refers to five murdered boys who went missing in 1991 while hunting for frogs.



"With my friend Gangta, a fellow snack cart owner who was also pushed out, we wandered around aimlessly for two weeks before someone introduced us here. I'm 75 now ― where can I go to earn my own living?"



Across the square from Cho's tent is a bright yellow container home occupied by Lee Hee-sung, who moved in around the same time as Cho. Originally a clothing designer, he was kicked out of his workshop and home, located in a semi-basement room in Seongdong-gu, eastern Seoul, in 2014. Lee, 36, is now a full-time youth housing activist.



"Hired goons flooded my home before the legal deadline given to me to move out. All my design samples were ruined," Lee said. "After going through that, I couldn't work anymore."



Lee says he sometimes gets drunk visitors knocking on his container home at night, angrily demanding why he has the right to live here.



"The rule here is that you leave when your problem is solved, as the Ujangchangchang restaurant did," Lee said, referring to an evicted cow tripe restaurant that agreed to a settlement in 2017 after five years of struggle against hip-hop duo Leessang, its landlord.





A flea market seller plays the trumpet for an owner of a snack cart evicted from Ahyeon-dong. Korea Times photo by Shim Hyun-chul





Kim Kyeong-yong, an activist, poses in front of a disability rights awareness gallery. Korea Times photo by Shim Hyun-chul



Their cause, however, has not garnered much sympathy from their neighbors. Residents in the area have filed repeated complaints against the occupants. Others simply have difficulty making sense of the place.



"It looks pretty deserted most of the time and too dark at night. The flea market is not that active either so it kind of looks like just idle land from the outside," said a middle-aged woman surnamed Kim, who lives in a nearby apartment. "I think many residents would prefer having a school, which is in shortage here, or a shopping mall with good restaurants. Or it would be also okay if the place is used for a proper flea market or busking place like those around Hongdae."



However, what Eland Gongdeok, a special purpose company set up by Eland and railway authorities for the construction project, has in mind is likely to veer far from what residents want.



"Unlike its originally submitted plan to build a 16-floor urban housing complex, Eland Gongdeok is drafting a proposal for a more commercial purpose building with over 20 floors, such as a hotel," Jung Kee-hwang, an architect and member of the research institute Culturecity who has been following up on the site, said in a phone interview.



As underground parking lots are impossible to build on this site, there would also have to be an aboveground parking lot or parking tower, like the Hyosung building built over another section of the old Gyeongui Line railway next to Gongdeok Station, according to Jung.





View of Gyeongui Line Commons from above. Korea Times photo by Shim Hyun-chul