Photos: Halloween crowd chaos kills more than 150 in South Korea
Part 1. “We Were Left Alone”: The Voices of Grieving Families Abroad
Nearly three years have passed since the tragic crowd crush in Itaewon claimed the lives of 159 people. Yet for many foreign families who lost their children, siblings, and loved ones that night, time has not moved forward. What remains is not healing—but confusion, anger, and a sense of abandonment. Their grief has been compounded by silence. Their questions—left unanswered. Their pleas—left unheard.
Damira Sherniazova, a woman from Kazakhstan, learned only this year that South Korea had passed a special law related to the disaster back in 2023. No government agency reached out. No letters. No explanation. The only thing that continued was her family’s loneliness. Her younger sister, Madina, had died in a crowd on a narrow road in Itaewon—but the truth about how and why she died never reached her family.
“For nearly three years, I had no information at all,” Damira said. “Especially not from the Korean government. We didn’t even know if anyone was investigating. It was as if my sister had simply disappeared from the world, and no one thought we deserved to know why.”
Her story is not unique.
“We Only Learned Our Daughter Had Died the Next Morning”
Janna Kim from Russia recalls the night her daughter went out with friends. She spent the whole night waiting—calling hospitals again and again. No one told her where her daughter was. No one informed her of her death.
“We waited in fear all night. Eventually we were told, in the morning, that she had died,” she said quietly. “For three years, I have been asking one question: What has the government done? Why has no truth been presented to the families?”
For these families, the pain lies not only in their loss—but in the realization that their children died in a country that did not protect them, and after that, did not speak to them.
“She Returned to Us Embalmed. No One Explained Why.”
From Norway, Erik Evensen shared the moment his daughter's body arrived back home, nine days after her death. He was shocked to discover it had been chemically embalmed.
“No one asked our permission. No one explained if this was normal in Korea. They treated her like an object to process—not a human being, not our child,” he said as tears overtook his voice.
Families from Iran echoed the same confusion. They were told embalming was “standard procedure” after ten days—but they had never once been contacted to confirm consent or even informed of their child’s condition during those ten days.
“Why Did We Have to Learn of Their Deaths from the News?”
Many families did not hear from South Korean authorities at all. Some learned of the disaster through television. Others heard from friends. Some found out only when they tried calling their loved ones and received no response.
“Why did we hear from TV news, not from the government of the country where our children died?” asked Mahnaz Moghiminajad from Iran. “Why did no one call us? Why did no one tell us what happened in those final hours?”
What these families are asking for is not kindness, nor charity, nor even apology. They are asking for the most basic obligation of a government to the dead: acknowledgment, truth, and responsibility.
“What Did the Government Do for Three Years?”
The question that echoed throughout the international press conference held in Seoul was not rhetorical—it was a demand.
“It has been almost three years,” one family member said.
“What has the South Korean government done in those three years?
Why are we still waiting for answers? Why is there still no truth?”
As these foreign families stood together in Seoul this week—many of them visiting Korea for the first time since the disaster—they were not just mourning. They were appealing to the conscience of a nation. Not as outsiders, but as parents. As siblings. As human beings.
Their voices are not just testimonies. They are indictments.
They are asking:
If a country cannot guarantee the safety of people within its borders, and if it cannot guarantee the truth when lives are lost—what remains of justice?
And if families of the dead are left to mourn alone, unheard, across oceans—can we truly say the tragedy has ended?
Part 2. “Three Years of Silence”: A Systemic Failure Beyond Borders
At least 153 killed in Halloween crowd crush in South Korea
For domestic families, the Itaewon disaster was a national trauma. For foreign families, it was a trauma compounded by isolation. They were not just grieving—they were cut off. Cut off from information, from process, from the grieving community in Korea, and most painfully—from the feeling that their loved ones' lives mattered.
“It Was As If She Disappeared Into a Bureaucratic Void”
Most foreign families had no direct government contact in the days, months, or even years after the tragedy. Some only learned last month—nearly three years later—that an official investigation had even begun.
“For three years, no one reached out,” said one relative.
“We were left alone with our questions. Our pain became a shadow. We didn’t know if anyone in Korea still remembered what happened.”
Many of them found their way to South Korea not because of official channels—but because volunteers, civil society groups, and other bereaved Korean families helped them. It was not the state that opened the door to truth. It was ordinary people.
A Government That Invited Them—but Did Not Answer Them
The South Korean government invited some of the families to Seoul this week, marking its first official invitation. Yet even during this visit, the families said they were only asked questions, not given answers.
“We attended briefings and hearings,” said a father from Iran. “But every session consisted of us speaking. No one explained what the government has discovered. No one told us what they intend to do.”
Instead of clarity, they were given protocols. Instead of accountability, they were given silence.
“Three Years On: Is This How Accountability Works?”
The families do not merely seek emotional closure. They are raising clear legal and ethical demands:
Why was no safety control in place in a known high-risk area?
Why was no emergency action taken despite multiple warning calls made before the disaster?
Why did the government fail to contact the families directly?
And most importantly: Why has no one been held responsible?
“I thought South Korea was a safe country,” said Erik from Norway, his voice trembling. “But how can a safe country let this happen, and then let three years pass without truth or justice?”
“Our Children Deserved Dignity—In Life and in Death”
Much of the outrage lies not only in prevention failures—but in how the deceased were treated after the tragedy.
Many foreign families were not informed of their child's whereabouts.
Bodies were embalmed without consultation.
Diplomatic communication failed.
Even visa support for memorial visits was not provided in time.
These families are asking a simple question: If this is how victims' families are treated, what does that say about the value placed on human life?
“We Stand with Korean Families—Our Pain Is One”
Perhaps most powerful in this gathering was not only grief, but solidarity. Despite cultural and geographic distance, foreign families expressed deep connection to Korean families who lost children in the same tragedy.
“Korean families gave us strength when our own governments were far away. It is through them that we felt seen,” said Susanna Roarkbam from Norway.
“We are not foreigners in grief. We are one family in loss, and we stand together in demanding truth.”
The Message to Korea—and to the World
The Itaewon disaster is no longer a Korean domestic issue. It is a global reminder that safety, accountability, and human dignity cannot be bound by nationality. The foreign families who spoke this week did not come to ask for sympathy. They came to demand truth and responsibility.
Their testimony forces us to confront a painful truth:
A tragedy does not end when lives are lost. It ends when truth is known, justice is delivered, and families are no longer left to grieve in darkness.
Part 3. A Test of South Korea’s Global Credibility
The Itaewon disaster is no longer an issue confined within national borders. With victims from 14 countries, it has become an international test of how South Korea handles state responsibility, human rights, and government accountability in the aftermath of national tragedy. What foreign families are now asking is not only why their children died—but what South Korea will do to prove that their lives were not disposable.
Their testimonies reflect a deep wound, but also a profound warning:
A nation that aspires to global leadership must demonstrate global responsibility.
“We Supported Korea in Its Rise—Does Korea Stand With Us in Our Grief?”
Foreign families repeatedly emphasized that they had believed in South Korea. Their children traveled there not as outsiders, but as admirers—students, artists, travelers drawn by Korean culture, music, innovation. Some had dreams of working in Korean companies, contributing their talents to its future.
“My daughter loved Korea,” said a mother from Norway.
“She believed in your country. I am asking you now—does your country believe in her life?”
When there is silence from institutions, it sends a message that foreign lives are secondary. In a global era, that is not simply a moral failure—it is a strategic one.
The Cost of Silence: Diplomatic Trust at Stake
The Itaewon disaster reached foreign parliaments, embassies, and international press. Yet, for nearly three years, the South Korean government did not provide a full account of actions taken, nor a timeline for accountability. This has raised questions in foreign media:
If South Korea cannot protect foreign citizens, how can it host international events safely?
What are the legal guarantees for global visitors, residents, and students?
If disaster strikes again, will foreign families be treated the same way—left searching for answers on their own?
A nation’s reputation is built not only on its cultural exports or economic power, but also on how it treats the most vulnerable when tragedy occurs.
The Moral Imperative: The World Is Watching
South Korea has rightfully earned international respect for its advancements in democracy and human rights. However, the foreign families' testimonies now present a moral mirror.
This is not just about Itaewon.
It is about whether a democratic state acknowledges its failures, listens to its citizens and guests, and acts—not with denial—but with courage.
What the foreign families are asking is not extraordinary. They are not demanding special treatment. They are asking for:
These are fundamental obligations of any responsible government.
“We Do Not Want Blame—We Want Accountability”
The families made clear that their objective is not to divide, but to heal. True healing, however, cannot come from silence or symbolic gestures. It requires action.
“We are not here to attack Korea,” said one family member. “We are here to remind Korea of its promise—to be a nation that values life.”
Their voices bring the focus back to the central truth:
The Itaewon victims did not die because they took a risk.
They died because the state failed in its duty of care.
Conclusion: A Call to Remember—and to Act
Three years have passed. The grief has not lessened. The questions have only deepened.
But there is still time—not to undo the tragedy—but to define what kind of nation South Korea chooses to be in the face of it.
Will it allow this disaster to fade into bureaucratic history?
Or will it confront it as a turning point—one that reshapes public safety, honors every life lost, and restores trust at home and abroad?
The families, from Korea and around the world, have already made their choice. They continue to speak, to fight, and to remember.
Now, the world is waiting for South Korea’s answer.
