Personal freedom and right to be Korean

Courtesy of Clark Gu

In contemporary society, we are asked to acknowledge a wide range of people and relationships. If two women choose to live together, the subject of a popular book and podcast here in Korea, we are encouraged to respect their relationship despite how unconventional it might at first appear. If men find attraction in the same sex, we are reminded that love is love in whatever form it arrives. Even those who reject marriage or dating altogether, a growing trend among young people who are choosing to abandon more traditional life paths, deserve recognition for their choices. At its core, this ethos of respect stems from a clear principle: do not judge others.

This principle extends beyond relationships and includes daily habits, tastes and appearance. We all want the freedom to watch our favorite YouTube videos, to meet the people we want, and interpret issues in our own way. We don’t want to be told what hairstyle we must have or what clothes we must wear. We don’t want to be forced into morning exercise routines at school as was the case a few decades ago. And we don’t want to be forced at university to study the political ideology of our leader as is the case in China today. We enjoy freedom in our own lives. But if we expect this freedom for ourselves, we must extend it to others. To deny others their freedom while loudly proclaiming our own is not an act of freedom: it’s discrimination. An indulgence in hypocrisy, known locally by the popular four-character expression “nae-ro-nam-bul” (when I do it, it’s romance, when you do it, it’s adultery).

Recently, I was asked for my thoughts on the relationship between actor Jung Woo-sung and model Moon Ga-bi. And so, I thought about it. Neither of them has committed a crime. This is no scandal akin to those involving figures like Puff Daddy or Roman Polanski. Nor have Jung and Moon aired public disputes. Their situation seems to be one they have both accepted. Even their significant age gap seems hardly relevant: people in their 30s are not children. So I find myself wondering, What’s the issue here?

Many Koreans seem to feel otherwise. I discussed the matter with both university students and adults, anticipating their perspectives would differ from mine. I wasn’t wrong. Beyond their emotional reactions, other justifications emerged. First, some argued that while the relationship wasn’t illegal, it was immoral. I asked them, “What makes something immoral?” This question appeared to catch them off guard. One person shifted the discussion to Jung Woo-sung’s Instagram posts, implying deeper moral failings. Others declared their sympathy for the child who would grow up in a non-traditional household. A situation that would likely bring difficulties and hardships. But is it immoral to have a child out of wedlock? And do we expect our own personal morality to be followed by everyone else? Are we all to follow Christian precepts of marriage and monogamy? Do we adhere to Muslim ones and allow for the possibility of four wives? Are we allowed concubines as was the case for Koreans of the recent past? Which morality should everyone follow? I was born to a teenage mother outside of marriage. While I’m certainly far from perfect, I’ve worked hard to achieve modest success. And, when doing so, I’ve generally refrained from judging others.

Lessons from Korea's adoption history

In the 1980s, as South Korea grew wealthier and more developed, the country adopted a particularly harsh stance toward single mothers and children born out of wedlock. A significant number of these children were sent abroad for adoption — an astounding figure facilitated at a national level. Rather than taking responsibility for these children, the prevailing approach was to export the problem, leaving others to bear the burden. I’ve met many of these adoptees. Some continue searching for their biological parents, while others have abandoned the idea entirely. Regardless, they are still grappling with the effects of this experience in countless ways. Korea abandoned them.

This chapter of Korean history is not widely discussed. When it is, it’s often framed as a residual effect of war and colonialism. But this is a misinterpretation. The Korean War occurred in the 1950s. The bulk of international adoptions took place in the 1980s — a time of burgeoning middle-class prosperity and modernization, epitomized by the 1988 Olympics.

Today, Korea has moved beyond this sad chapter. With cultural capital and financial means more widespread, children born to single mothers are no longer sent abroad en masse. While a number of voices online might criticize Moon’s choice to raise her child in a loving environment, she can nevertheless do so. I deeply admire Korea’s people and culture. Yet, I can’t help but feel a quiet relief that I wasn’t born here in the 1980s. Who knows where I might have ended up. Moon’s child will be Korean. A new Korean. And we should celebrate the arrival of a new life. Not condemn it before it has even arrived. That is freedom. And it is beautiful.

David A. Tizzard has a doctorate in Korean Studies and lectures at Seoul Women's University and Hanyang University. He is a social-cultural commentator and musician who has lived in Korea for nearly two decades. He is also the host of the "Korea Deconstructed" podcast, which can be found online. He can be reached at datizzard@swu.ac.kr.