It was the site of the worst aviation disaster on South Korean soil. Now the terminal at Muan International Airport serves as a community center for grieving relatives of the 179 people who perished in the crash. Families gather here to talk, eat together — some even stay overnight in tents.
It was in that cavernous building in southwestern South Korea that the families waited anxiously for news after Jeju Air Flight 7C2216 crash-landed on Dec. 29. Then there were tears and outbursts of anger as officials periodically read out the names of the dead, many identified by DNA tests.
“We’re a family now,” said Son Joo-taek, who lost his son in the accident and was among around 20 people who sat around a row of folding tables that held water and snacks on a recent Saturday. “The people here understand what others just can’t.”
Lately, the talk among some of the grieving families has turned toward action: They want to find out what caused the crash. The jet — carrying mostly vacationers home from a year-end trip to Thailand — belly-flopped onto the runway and sped along until it hit a concrete berm and exploded into flames, leaving just two survivors.
Relatives of those killed say they are unhappy with the trickle of information from officials, and the refusal to release records, including transcripts from the control tower. They want to know more about the reports of a bird strike a few minutes before the landing, how the jet came down without its landing gear, and why the berm it hit was not designed to give way.
In desperation, some have turned to books and videos to learn about aviation safety, including how flight recorders, air traffic controllers, localizers and jet engines work. They are also looking into airport design.
“The families’ first priority is to get the truth,” Son Ha-yang, the daughter of Mr. Son, said at the airport where her brother and his girlfriend were killed. “Otherwise, we’re only relying on the investigators, who often use jargon.”
Ms. Son, who has taken about three months’ leave from her job in Seoul, said she felt the need to read Boeing manuals and aviation regulations, and has been studying terms that had previously meant nothing to her: C.V.R., F.D.R., I.C.A.O. She has been in touch with other relatives who also said they wanted to learn more about what could have gone wrong.
South Korean authorities have said it could take more than a year to complete the investigation, which has faced hurdles that have frustrated the families. Among them: The jet’s flight recorders stopped recording for the final four minutes of the flight.
“The families want to know why their loved ones died,” said Park Cheol, a lawyer for the families. “They also feel that, by studying, they are making an effort for those who died.”
Some relatives have challenged officials at meetings over the crash. They say they are concerned there are not enough people investigating the cause, compared with instances in the United States. Nor have the authorities acceded to their request to release communications from the control tower around the time of the crash.
South Korea’s transport ministry said in a statement that the investigative body was in talks with authorities to increase the number of investigators. The ministry was also considering providing a transcript of the air traffic control communications, though they were not typically released to the public, it said.
Kim Yu-jin has been watching YouTube videos and reading books about past aviation disasters since her parents and her brother died in the crash. She has been looking at the safety features planes have when making emergency landings.
At Ms. Kim’s cafe, in the southern county of Jangheung, her mother, Jung Sun-suk, was the barista and helped package deliveries. Her father, Kim Deok-won, helped transport strawberries and milk, and had planned expanding their 350-square-foot shop.
She said her parents also helped raise her four children. After the crash, she temporarily closed the cafe to focus on her children and deal with the grief.
“Everything has my parents’ touch,” she said. “There are traces of them everywhere.”
After losing his son and daughter-in-law, Lee Jung-keun has focused his personal research on one specific factor: the concrete berm. Most airports worldwide do not have similar structures so close to runways, and when they do, they are made of more fragile materials meant to break apart upon impact, experts have said.
Mr. Lee scoured the internet for information about the berm and became convinced that it was the biggest factor in the high death toll.
“If it weren’t for the berm, almost everyone would have survived,” he said during a visit to the airport with his wife, Lee Mi-jung.
His son, Jae-hyeok, and the younger man’s wife, Tae Ari, shared a love of fishing and married in 2020. They had been planning to start a family, and Ms. Tae’s private math academy in the southwestern county of Haenam was doing well, Ms. Lee said.
The couple hadn’t originally planned to visit Thailand. But a last-minute offer from a travel agency coincided with their wedding anniversary, Mr. Lee said.
Coming to the airport is a way for some families to find a sense of community when their homes are now defined by absence. Others stay away from the airport, fearing the memories will be too painful, or constrained by work.
The crash left Lee Bong-kyung with a struggling shipyard in the southwestern city of Mokpo that was founded by his father in 2015. Sales have dipped in recent years and Mr. Lee said it was his father’s work ethic that kept the business alive: “All he knew was work,” he said.
When Mr. Lee began working at the shipyard about six years ago, it gave his father more leisure time. The elder Mr. Lee had traveled to Bangkok with a group of childhood friends. His death has left his son crushed personally and professionally.
“We also have a lot of debt and loans to pay off, so I’ve thought about giving up a few times,” he said.
The experience of many of the bereaved families — isolation from friends and colleagues, solidarity with relatives of other victims and a distrust of the government — echoes the aftermath of other disasters in South Korea, including the 2014 Sewol ferry sinking and a crowd crush in Seoul in 2022.
Lee Jeong-bok and his wife, Jeong Hyeon-kyeong, were mourning another young victim. Their daughter, Min-ju, had died after taking a trip with a high school friend. She was in her second year at her first job out of college.
Since the crash, Ms. Lee’s three other children have been helping out their parents more, such as doing the dishes. “They’ve matured quickly,” she said.
Mr. Lee said he and his wife planned to stay at the airport until the cause of the crash came to light. “The investigation needs to be thorough and objective,” he said. “There will need to be accountability and consequences.”
Once the investigation is complete, the families will consider filing lawsuits to hold those responsible for the crash accountable, said Jung Yu-chan, a spokesman for the families.
At the airport one recent Saturday, Jo Mi-young was mourning an entire family that had perished on the jet. Ms. Jo’s sister Mi-Ja was on board with her daughter, the daughter’s husband and their two children.
Ms. Jo said the children’s father, Na Byung-hwa, had taken his family to Bangkok for a triple celebration: He had recently been promoted at his job at an agricultural cooperative, his wedding anniversary was approaching and his mother-in-law recently had her 60th birthday.
“Who else will remember this family?” Ms. Jo asked.
Her brother, Jo Hyo-seon, said that he and his sister had stayed at the airport almost every day since the crash, finding solace in their shared experience with other families.
“Only here can we cry, only here can we laugh,” he said. “We’re not leaving until the truth is told.”
