ON a day of deepening Covid-19 blues, I came across a heartwarming essay. Recalling our tumultuous days in middle and high school, the leader of my class wrote that she regretted not perceiving the undisclosed emotional pains of her cohorts. “Friends, forgive me!” she implored in an alumni newsletter.
My friend and classmate recounted two episodes. The first was from April 19, 1960, when thousands of students marched to the presidential residence, claiming the election of President Syngman Rhee was rigged and demanding he resign. The government answered with bullets.