The July 15, 2023 collapse at the Gungpyeong2 underpass in Osong, near Cheongju, shook the local community.
Over the following year, the lives and inner worlds of survivors changed, and the scars did not vanish.
The documentary "An-go Sanda" follows victims' daily lives and trauma with frank, patient observation.
It also received recognition at the Korean Broadcasting Awards, renewing public attention to the incident and its aftermath.
Documentary asks: does exposing wounds help people heal?
Overview of the incident
The wound runs deep.
On July 15, 2023, a major disaster occurred in the Gungpyeong2 underpass in Osong, a town near Cheongju in South Korea.
Official tallies reported 14 people killed and 16 injured, a total of 30 casualties.
The event exposed problems with on-site safety and weaknesses in emergency response systems.
The chaotic scene that day, the initial rescue efforts, and the subsequent investigations left a profound shock on victims, families, and the wider community.
From the outset, many people found it impossible to balance livelihoods and mental recovery.
Bereaved families, the injured, and witnesses developed trauma symptoms, and returning to everyday routines proved difficult.
Public calls for formal mourning and institutional support grew, and local opinion pressed authorities for long-term plans.
This article and the documentary begin from exactly that context.
About the documentary "An-go Sanda"
It pursues truth.
TBN Chungbuk Traffic Broadcasting (a regional radio network) spent roughly a year after the disaster meeting with victims, families, and disaster mental-health specialists to track psychological change over time.
The film centers survivors' voices and records daily life through repeated interviews and ongoing field observation rather than a single round of reporting.
The production team says their method was meant to reveal the time it takes for wounds to change and, sometimes, to persist.
More than showing personal pain, the film tries to move the issue into the public arena.
It combines clinicians' analysis, community reactions, and a review of the administration's early actions to ask who should be held accountable.
According to production notes, the team wrestled with how to protect privacy and prevent secondary harm while documenting these stories.
Psychological aftereffects — the documentary's positive impacts
Healing is not simple.
The film carefully portrays post-traumatic stress reactions, persistent anxiety, and sleep disturbances among those affected.
One survivor described being overwhelmed with tears whenever they passed the site — a classic sign of recurring flashbacks.
A bereaved family member said daily life had lost meaning and that routines and social ties had collapsed.
These personal testimonies convey the lived reality that statistics and official reports often miss.
The documentary produced several positive effects on different levels.
First, by airing victims' voices publicly, it helped expand social empathy.
That empathy translated into political and social pressure on local governments and agencies to provide clearer explanations and more responsible support.
Second, the long-term follow-up format challenged the pattern of short-term aid and suggested the value of monitoring survivors over months and years.
Disaster mental-health professionals on the ground said the film could serve as a useful diagnostic record for designing better interventions.
The message that psychological aftereffects are long-term is especially important.
It means short counseling sessions or one-off compensation cannot solve the problem; sustained, professional treatment and community-based care are required.
The documentary helped spread calls for expanding mental-health services, improving access to trauma therapy, and building local caregiving networks.
Winning an award also pushed those conversations into the national spotlight.
Limits of support and critical perspectives
The reality remains stubbornly difficult.
Critics note that the documentary exposed problems but did not automatically trigger policy change.
Actual support experienced by victims was often formal or temporary, and the shortage of skilled professionals and weak coordination were clear.
Counseling sometimes stopped after a single session, and access to therapy was limited by hospital availability and cost.
As a result, many survivors could not get timely, necessary care — risking long-term deterioration.
There are also ethical questions about how the documentary was made.
Observers asked whether the film sufficiently weighed privacy and the risk of secondary harm when it publicized deeply painful material.
Some critics argue that asking survivors to relive trauma in public interviews can burden them and that such testimony can be consumed in commercial or sensational ways.
Even if public attention is necessary, the ethical balance in gathering and broadcasting these stories needs constant review.
Another critique targets the film's scope: it focused heavily on individual trauma but gave comparatively less attention to structural causes.
Questions about facility management responsibility, inadequate safety standards, and institutional flaws received less in-depth analysis.
Experts calling for stronger disaster prevention and policy fixes want deeper investigative work that links personal suffering to systemic failure.
In short, strengthening mental-health support must go hand-in-hand with structural measures to prevent recurrence.
Comparing viewpoints and lessons from other cases
Views diverge.
Supporters stress the documentary's social role.
They argue that publicizing victims' experiences builds empathy and highlights the need for resources, and that combining long-term follow-up with expert commentary creates persuasive evidence for policy change.
Indeed, in many domestic and international disaster cases, initial public attention has led to official inquiries and subsequent reforms in safety or compensation rules.
Critics, however, point to the limits of such exposure.
Emotional narratives are powerful, but they do not guarantee structural reform.
From this perspective, the key is not only expanding public sympathy but also designing concrete policies and allocating resources.
For example, setting a goal to increase trauma counselors is meaningful only if budgets, training programs, and links to regional healthcare systems follow.
Moreover, misbalancing privacy and public interest can harm survivors and erode trust.
Practical lessons from comparisons are these.
First, long-term therapy and social-care systems should be built on field-based evidence.
Second, publicizing an issue is only a start; it must lead to measurable policy design and implementation.
Third, recording victims' experiences matters, but it must be paired with structural investigation and prevention planning.
Together, these three points can turn a documentary-driven debate into practical change.
Policy recommendations and social tasks
We must assign responsibility.
Top priorities include improving psychological support systems.
This means creating public databases that allow long-term follow-up, placing disaster mental-health specialists in regional posts, and ensuring ongoing financial and practical access to treatment.
In addition, strengthening community-based care networks will help survivors recover routines and local ties.
Next, safety and prevention systems need upgrades.
High-traffic underpasses and other shared spaces require regular safety checks, realistic emergency protocols, and active citizen reporting channels.
Authorities should restore trust through transparent investigations and clear accountability while making victim-centered compensation and support policies explicit.
Media guidelines are also necessary: coverage should serve the public interest while protecting victims' privacy and treatment continuity.
Conclusion
The point is clear.
The Osong Gungpyeong2 underpass disaster and the documentary "An-go Sanda" revealed both deep social wounds and shortcomings in support systems.
The film succeeded in placing victims' voices in the public square, but the crucial next steps are institutional reform and long-term care.
Without stronger therapy options and community-based support, the harm risks moving from individual lives into a broader social problem.
Finally, a question for readers.
What priorities should we set when responding to such public tragedies and supporting survivors?
Between empathy and ethics, prevention and compensation, what balance should society choose?
