Gwangju Airport [Photo=Yonhap News]

The Blue House's decision to close Gwangju Airport is a prime example of hasty administration—rushing to a predetermined conclusion without any proper preparation. 

Last month, when Lee Jae-myung issued an order to apply health insurance coverage to hair loss medication, the Minister of Health and Welfare pushed for it recklessly, only for the plan to collapse. This decision to close Gwangju Airport is the "national security version" of that hair loss medication debacle. 

These instances clearly explain why Lee Jae-myung appoints flawed individuals to ministerial positions. After all, how can warped people speak the truth?

Gwangju Airport is the cradle that trains the Republic of Korea’s elite pilots. Several years ago, I remember taking a bicycle trip from Mokpo along the Yeongsan River. The vast plains stretching along the gently flowing river were beautiful. 

In the skies near Gwangju, T-50 advanced trainer jets were constantly banking and maneuvering for training. Gwangju Airport is a base for advanced flight training. Training takes place not just in the air, but on the ground as well. The facility is filled with state-of-the-art T-50 simulators and precision maintenance equipment.

The Blue House is making the absurd argument that it would suffice to simply split and disperse these massive training facilities to other air force bases. 

"Can we disperse the current training requirements from this airport to other air bases? If we coordinate a dispersal plan with the Air Force, we could utilize this land without waiting for a new airport to be built in Muan." - Kim Yong-beom, YTN Interview

Is that really true? Just three years ago, a tragic incident occurred at the Sacheon base. Sacheon provides basic flight training, which precedes the advanced flight training course. Two KT-1s performing instrument flight training collided, resulting in the deaths of two flight instructors and two student pilots. 

How was this accident concluded? Aircraft A and B were training in visual flight conditions, while Aircraft C was training separately in instrument flight. The lead aircraft, A, entered a cloud bank, deviated from its path, and intruded into the flight path of aircraft C. Aircraft B, following behind A, collided with the suddenly appearing aircraft C. The military authorities and the media concluded that it was pilot error and covered up the incident by punishing those involved.

Labeling it as "human error" might sound plausible, but is it really? If the cause is eliminated, shouldn't it be normal for the same accident not to recur? People are held responsible only because it is cheaper to blame individuals than to address systemic issues. 

Is the root cause not actually the environment—having to push through basic training in coastal weather prone to frequent cloud cover, the high volume of training that must be maintained despite poor weather, and the air traffic control burden of managing congested civil aviation traffic simultaneously?

Training aircraft accidents are not rare. Accidents also occur during the advanced training course at Gwangju Airport. In 2013, a T-50 performing low-altitude maneuvers crashed into a rice paddy, killing two pilots, and in 2023, there was a harrowing incident where an engine failed during training, forcing an emergency landing at Gwangju Airport. 

On January 2nd of this year, another T-50 experienced engine failure and veered off the runway while emergency landing, overturning in the process. Fortunately, the pilot survived.

This is not to say that there is a problem with the T-50 or that Gwangju Airport is substandard. The higher the difficulty and frequency of training, the risk of accidents inevitably increases in proportion. Even civil aviation, which prioritizes safety above all else, cannot perfectly avoid accidents.

Fighter pilots undergoing extreme advanced training are constantly walking a razor's edge. That is why a base's thorough emergency readiness and experienced support infrastructure are essential. It was only because it was the Gwangju base that the pilots' lives could be saved even as the aircraft veered off the runway and overturned.

The Blue House wants to disperse this cradle of pilots to other air bases and build a semiconductor factory in its place. It would take more than a year just to dismantle and relocate the T-50 simulators. Each simulator must operate as a set with precision machinery for temperature and humidity control.

As for whether the intended relocation sites have extra capacity, that is not the case either. Other air force bases have long been at maximum capacity due to preparations for the KF-21 operational deployment.

Having belatedly grasped this reality, the Blue House is now considering a crafty plan: keep the training as it is for now, but clear out the ammunition depot area first to build a few factories. Does this mean they intend to have trainer jets fly precariously between large construction cranes, and produce precision semiconductors right next to a runway where fighter jets land with deafening roars? It makes no sense.

The Blue House and Gwangju are currently playing a dangerous gamble with the lives of young people and the security of the Republic of Korea.

◆ Author Kim Sung-min

Digital creator, lives by the sea, cyclist at dawn.