Director Hwang Doo-jin, an architect and writer who views history through the lens of architecture, boards Daegu's yellow city railway to present four articles. From topographical heritage and the origins of its name to modern architecture and the systems that shaped its present form... he intends to take a comprehensive look around this tranquil and rational city.

The scene is exactly as it is.

It was after sunset when I arrived at Jungangno Station on Line 1. I asked a passerby if there was a memorial monument. I received an unexpected answer. “A memorial monument? The site is exactly as it was.” As I entered the station grounds, I saw a sign that read, “This is a space of remembrance.” When I stepped inside, to my dismay, it was exactly that day 20 years ago. Soaked walls, melted telephone booths, and the names of the victims. The soot-covered walls were covered with writings left by citizens. Along with heartbreaking stories calling out to family, lovers, and friends, there were also cries of rage demanding accountability from the mayor at the time. It was a raw, unedited scene.

It was 9:52 a.m. on Tuesday, February 18, 2003, just after rush hour. Line 1 Train 1079 was pulling into Jungangno Station after leaving Banwoldang Station. A middle-aged man, despairing over a stroke and depression, lit gasoline in a plastic container he had prepared beforehand. When passengers tried to stop him, the fire spread first to his body and then to the train car as he struggled to break free. This was a time when flammable materials were widely used inside train cars. The smoke and toxic gases that spread rapidly ultimately resulted in the deaths of 49 passengers. But that was not the end of it.

At 9:55, Train No. 1080 entered the station from the opposite track amidst thick smoke at Jungangno Station. Realizing the situation, the engineer closed the doors, but the power was cut off, rendering the train immobile. The engineer broadcasted instructions for passengers to remain inside the train. Shortly afterward, the fire from Train No. 1079 spread to Train No. 1080. Following instructions from the central control center, the engineer pulled out the master key, causing the doors to close again, trapping countless passengers inside the raging fire and smoke. The final death toll stood at 192, with 6 missing and 151 injured. This is the greatest trauma in Daegu's history—the "Daegu Subway Disaster."

Covering the memory of pain with appropriate abstraction

Isn't the general way of mourning to avoid causing excessive shock to daily life?

However, Daegu was different.

Daegu's memory method

How does Daegu remember this pain? Like me, most people would likely assume that there is merely a memorial monument near Jungangno Station. Isn't the general method of commemoration to mask the memory of suffering with a certain degree of abstraction, avoiding excessive shock to daily life? However, Daegu was different. The actual site and the circumstances of that time became the memorial space exactly as they were. In other cities, such a project would likely not have been realized, pushed aside by opposition arguing that it would "inconveniencing citizens' daily lives." Although Daegu also went through many twists and turns, the memorial space as it exists today was eventually created. Isn't this proof of just how much the citizens of Daegu empathized with the pain? Like one big family.

It is said that the Daegu subway disaster marked the beginning of the word "subway" officially disappearing. In 2005, the Seoul Metropolitan Subway Corporation became "Seoul Metro," and in 2008, the Daegu Metropolitan Subway Corporation became the "Daegu Urban Railway Corporation." However, in Seoul, signs indicating "subway" still remain frequently, while the term "urban railway" feels rather unfamiliar. In contrast, in Daegu, the name "urban railway" is used very repeatedly. This is the impression I received from the moment I arrived at Dongdaegu Station to write this piece. Subway and urban railway. Was it that while the physical reality of the site could be preserved, the physical reality of the language was too difficult to endure? This, too, is likely the way Daegu remembers.

From ancient tombs of the Three Kingdoms period to hidden gems, memories embedded in the city's alleys

Unfortunate events are certainly not the only subjects of memory. Daegu has much to remember, even setting aside its ancient history that dates back to the Samhan period or even earlier. In Bullo-dong, Dong-gu, a massive group of ancient tombs from the Three Kingdoms period remains right next to residential areas. The Daegu Museum of Modern History, located just a stone's throw from Jungangno Station, is not particularly large in scale, but it subtly exudes an atmosphere akin to a joyful lament—in the sense that there is so much to remember that it is overwhelming. It feels like opening the photo album of a harmonious family. My companions and I excitedly enjoyed the Daegu Buyoung Bus experience corner like children. As for parks alone, there are Gyeongsang Gamyeong Park, Dalseong Park, and the National Debt Redemption Movement Memorial Park, as well as a park commemorating the February 28 Democratic Movement, which is said to have been the spark that ignited the April 19 Revolution. Just looking at the names, it encompasses a diverse historical and political spectrum spanning from the Joseon Dynasty to the modern and contemporary eras.

It is extremely fortunate that Daegu’s old downtown was able to preserve a significant portion of its historical memory thanks to narrowly escaping the shelling of the Korean War. Consequently, the conflicting discontinuities in urban structure seen throughout Korean cities are less apparent in Daegu. The historical walking trail stretching from Cheongna Hill through Gyesan Cathedral to Yaknyeong Market and further to the bustling Dongseong-ro is truly first-class compared to anywhere else in South Korea, in terms of scenery, narrative, and even the allure of the restaurants nestled in every nook and cranny. Benjamin’s "city flâneur" would walk in Daegu with just as much joy as he would in Paris or Berlin.

This very moment is not a passing fleeting instant.

It is a knot formed by the convergence of countless flows of time.

So this city is at least not frivolous.

Daegu remembers. Daegu does not forget. This present moment is not a fleeting instant, but a knot formed by the convergence of countless flows of time. Therefore, this city is, at the very least, not superficial. It is a city of the youth, a city of their parents, and a city of distant ancestors. Perhaps that is why Daegu is cited as a representative city where the urban center has remained the most unmoved. Experiences of diverse, even dramatic, changes spanning its long history remain vividly preserved in their memories and are passed down. With so much to be drawn from the well of memory, Daegu makes one curious about its future, just as much as its past.

Illustration | An entrance to a Daegu Metro station. Illustrated based on a photo sent by Director Hwang Doo-jin.

**External contributions to the Editorial Department are intended to provide a multifaceted perspective on local culture and industry and may differ from the views of the Editorial Department.

Hwang Doo-jin

Hwang Doo-jin is an architect and a writer who records history and society through the medium of architecture. He majored in architecture at Seoul National University and Yale University and opened his own office in 2000. Starting in Seoul's old city center, he has expanded his scope of activity both in Korea and abroad through his works, lectures, and exhibitions. He has received awards such as the Seoul Architecture Award and the Architectural History Society Award. His representative works include the Castle of Skywalkers, One & One 63.5, Chunwondang Oriental Medicine Hospital and Museum, the Korean Pavilion at the East Asian Museum in Sweden, and a series of Hanok projects. One can carefully examine his perspective in his seven books, including *Rainbow Rice Cake Architecture* and *Where Is Your Seoul?*.