37th Anniversary Essay The Heart That Will Not Let Go, Even as Roots Are Bared

A single pine tree stands below the western stone wall of Suwon Hwaseong Fortress.

The trunk is cracked like a turtle's shell, and thick roots are exposed above the soil, spreading in all directions along the slope. Behind it, old stones are stacked layer upon layer. The roots grip the slope, and the branches lean beyond the fortress wall.

That roots are exposed means the soil that covered them has been lost. Yet the tree has not fallen. Rather, it holds more firmly to the remaining soil. As if refusing to let go, no matter what.

This pine tree stands beside the 'Western Gate-tower,' one of ten bastions built when the fortress was constructed in 1796. A bastion extends part of the wall outward to observe and prevent enemies from approaching closely. The Chinese character 雉 (chi, meaning pheasant) refers to the habit of hiding one's body while peering outside. It was a position where, while keeping one's body inside the fortress, one steps forward to see places that would otherwise remain invisible from within.

It is exactly where Suwon Ilbo stands.

Inside a city, observing that city. Seeing the alleys that are invisible from a distance, meeting both data at a desk and the people behind it, and posing questions about things that would otherwise pass by unnoticed if no one asked.

Suwon Ilbo was founded on September 30, 1989. Today marks thirty-seven years.

What this newspaper has recorded during that time has largely been about Suwon. From Paldalmun Gate to Suwon Station, from the Sports Complex to Big Bird, from traditional markets to government offices, from bustling streets to the everyday lives of ordinary people. There were incidents that shook the nation, and there were also commonplace events that would have been reduced to a single line elsewhere.

The daily lives of Suwon's people are the history of this city.

For some, a single bus route changes the course of a day, and a single crosswalk in front of a school determines a child's safety. When an old neighborhood store closes, it is more than a livelihood issue for one family. A single administrative decision becomes the conclusion of a long-cherished wish that some have awaited for years. This newspaper has stood beside them all.

In the meantime, the appearance of soil covering the roots has changed many times.

When newspapers transitioned from paper to the internet, Suwon Ilbo did not remain in its old ways. In 2001, it became the first local news outlet to open a citizen journalist program, and in 2005, it received Gyeonggi Province's first internet newspaper registration number, Gyeonggi-a 00001. In 2008, it was the first in the Gyeonggi region to send articles to portals, and in 2014, it became the first regional daily newspaper nationwide to declare a digital-first strategy.

Walking ahead does not always lead to level ground.

Readers began encountering articles through portals, where a headline was read before the name of the news organization. Readers who held paper in their hands decreased, and space on mobile phones was not guaranteed. Walking ahead meant that the soil beneath one's feet disappeared first.

Kim Ki-soo, Reporter = Thick branches lean over the fortress wall. The roots grip the slope, and the branches reach beyond the wall.

Now the ground is shifting once again.

Artificial intelligence analyzes vast amounts of data and produces sentences in the form of articles in an instant. Much of what was once the work of people is no longer the work of people alone. The ground on which media has long relied—'information only we know'—is rapidly becoming obsolete.

This time, too, we will move forward boldly. Just as we crossed from paper to the internet, as tools change, we will step forward first and collide with what lies ahead.

Yet we believe there is something that does not change.

Machines are not alive. They do not endure the cold of dawn markets or stand in alleyways where monsoon rains pour down. They do not listen to parents waiting for children in front of schools, nor do they first ask citizens lingering in front of civil service offices what troubles them. How much soil remains beneath the roots cannot be seen from a distance. One must go and look.

We cannot cover every matter in this city. But we can take on one side of it. A side where we listen to whispered voices and record them, where we ask power once more, where we capture the stories of those who say they are wronged, and where we record matters others have overlooked. Rather than claiming we will change the world, it is the work of maintaining a place where people can come and lean on us when needed.

Suwon Ilbo has spent spring, summer, autumn, and winter with this city thirty-seven times.

Trees do not pass a year through warm seasons alone. They must pass through spring when new shoots emerge and summer when branches grow, autumn when leaves fall and harsh winter—only then does one growth ring remain. This newspaper has not only passed through good seasons. There were times when the soil beneath our feet was eroded and our roots were exposed. Yet we stand here still.

We look up again at the pine tree below the fortress wall. Its roots are plainly exposed, but it has not let go of the slope. Its branches still stretch beyond the fortress wall. Within that body are the seasons spent here, preserved as growth rings.

The place where roots were planted is Suwon, and those who have held our roots fast are the people of Suwon.

Now the thirty-eighth growth ring begins.