By Jason Lim
James Lane Allen once said famously, "Adversity doesn't build character; it reveals it." If this is true, then the coronavirus scare will be downright pornographic about the character of South Korea as a nation and people. As we hit over 3,000 confirmed infections in Korea, what's been unclothed so far hasn't been pretty. This is unsurprising and fully expected, yet it's still cringeworthy to note how consistently mean and base our instincts tend to be when faced with threats and fear, especially in our need to create the "other" to point fingers at and lay blame.
In the face of misfortune, we need to blame people. Scapegoating in the face of something bad happening is a time-honored tradition and, seemingly, a human imperative that we see time and time again. In the beginning, it was all about the Chinese. It was their fault for eating weird foods, not being hygienic, living close to wild animals, etc. You name it. All the prejudices against the Chinese that had been muted due to the meteoric rise of the traditional hegemon and Korea's growing economic dependence came pouring out. Sympathy for the victims was hard to find, overwhelmed by the voices of blame.
Currently, it's all about Shincheonji. They have become the epicenter of Korea's coronavirus earthquake. Patient #31 has especially been highlighted as the super-spreader who insisted on attending Shincheonji services and infecting others. Even now, up to 80 percent of the cases in Korea can be traced back to this group. The group's lack of transparency, weird cult of personality, and secretive nature of its dealings feed into the resentment and blame that have elevated the group as public enemy No. 1 in the eyes of most Koreans.
Shincheonji and its members certainly deserve a good chunk of this blame, but, I have to admit a certain unease at how the group has become such an easy target of glib blaming, especially with the unspoken assumption that there's somehow a singular bad intent ― almost purposeful ― in the role that Shincheonji played in spreading the virus. They were certainly self-occupied and criminally non-vigilant in their behaviors. But, at the same time, everyone was complacent and hadn't yet realized how much impact one's personal behavior could have. How many others in Korea could claim to have been so vigilant and self-disciplined? Hindsight is always 20/20. Nevertheless, it's ironic that a secretive cult that thrived in painting itself as the superior "other" with a monopoly on salvation has overnight become the parasitic "other" that's threatening its host. Karma, thy name is irony.
The city of Daegu has become another "other" by being the location of the Shincheonji services that have started the widespread contagion. As in Wuhan, Daegu has certainly been labeled as the city to be avoided, feared, and kept under wraps. To anyone familiar with the politics of regional animosity between Daegu and Gwangju in modern Korean history, the irony of Daegu as the undesired "other" can't be overstated. Daegu and its province have traditionally been the favored sons of Korea's conservative politics going back to the Park Chung-hee era, showered with investment and pork barrel projects that elevated it far higher and faster than Gwangju, its urban counterpart to the west with a painful history of being marginalized and victimized by the same conservative politics. This east-west fissure runs deep through Korean politics and lurks underneath every policy decision that the government makes that might impact Daegu. Even the use of the word, "quarantine," when describing various options to halt the spread of the virus beyond Daegu triggered a huge backlash.
Talking about politics, President Moon is facing the danger of becoming another "other." Moon's leadership strengths have so far proven to be his biggest weakness. His calm, inclusive, rational, and deliberate approach to policy making has highlighted his seeming indecisiveness and lack of strong crisis leadership skills. People in fear demand quick and extreme measures. Refusing to ban entry of Chinese nationals early on makes perfect sense when considered in the grander scheme of things. Health experts have said that travel bans don't work against epidemics, and the downside risks of angering China should certainly be taken into account.
However, political theater does have its uses. Reasoned, nuanced approach lacks the strength to calm fears when people are afraid for their lives and looking for scapegoats. Even now, there's an active Blue House petition, with over 1.2 million signatures, asking for Moon to be impeached over his failure to control the epidemic. The petition's opening statement says, "The more we see President Moon deal with the Coronavirus situation, the more it seems as if we are looking at the president of China than the president of the Republic of Korea." Unfair? Certainly. But there's also truth to fear that logic will never overwrite. There's a reason that Spock wasn't the captain of the Enterprise.
Jason Lim (jasonlim@msn.com) is a Washington, D.C.-based expert on innovation, leadership and organizational culture.
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In the face of misfortune, we need to blame people. Scapegoating in the face of something bad happening is a time-honored tradition and, seemingly, a human imperative that we see time and time again. In the beginning, it was all about the Chinese. It was their fault for eating weird foods, not being hygienic, living close to wild animals, etc. You name it. All the prejudices against the Chinese that had been muted due to the meteoric rise of the traditional hegemon and Korea's growing economic dependence came pouring out. Sympathy for the victims was hard to find, overwhelmed by the voices of blame.
Currently, it's all about Shincheonji. They have become the epicenter of Korea's coronavirus earthquake. Patient #31 has especially been highlighted as the super-spreader who insisted on attending Shincheonji services and infecting others. Even now, up to 80 percent of the cases in Korea can be traced back to this group. The group's lack of transparency, weird cult of personality, and secretive nature of its dealings feed into the resentment and blame that have elevated the group as public enemy No. 1 in the eyes of most Koreans.
Shincheonji and its members certainly deserve a good chunk of this blame, but, I have to admit a certain unease at how the group has become such an easy target of glib blaming, especially with the unspoken assumption that there's somehow a singular bad intent ― almost purposeful ― in the role that Shincheonji played in spreading the virus. They were certainly self-occupied and criminally non-vigilant in their behaviors. But, at the same time, everyone was complacent and hadn't yet realized how much impact one's personal behavior could have. How many others in Korea could claim to have been so vigilant and self-disciplined? Hindsight is always 20/20. Nevertheless, it's ironic that a secretive cult that thrived in painting itself as the superior "other" with a monopoly on salvation has overnight become the parasitic "other" that's threatening its host. Karma, thy name is irony.
The city of Daegu has become another "other" by being the location of the Shincheonji services that have started the widespread contagion. As in Wuhan, Daegu has certainly been labeled as the city to be avoided, feared, and kept under wraps. To anyone familiar with the politics of regional animosity between Daegu and Gwangju in modern Korean history, the irony of Daegu as the undesired "other" can't be overstated. Daegu and its province have traditionally been the favored sons of Korea's conservative politics going back to the Park Chung-hee era, showered with investment and pork barrel projects that elevated it far higher and faster than Gwangju, its urban counterpart to the west with a painful history of being marginalized and victimized by the same conservative politics. This east-west fissure runs deep through Korean politics and lurks underneath every policy decision that the government makes that might impact Daegu. Even the use of the word, "quarantine," when describing various options to halt the spread of the virus beyond Daegu triggered a huge backlash.
Talking about politics, President Moon is facing the danger of becoming another "other." Moon's leadership strengths have so far proven to be his biggest weakness. His calm, inclusive, rational, and deliberate approach to policy making has highlighted his seeming indecisiveness and lack of strong crisis leadership skills. People in fear demand quick and extreme measures. Refusing to ban entry of Chinese nationals early on makes perfect sense when considered in the grander scheme of things. Health experts have said that travel bans don't work against epidemics, and the downside risks of angering China should certainly be taken into account.
However, political theater does have its uses. Reasoned, nuanced approach lacks the strength to calm fears when people are afraid for their lives and looking for scapegoats. Even now, there's an active Blue House petition, with over 1.2 million signatures, asking for Moon to be impeached over his failure to control the epidemic. The petition's opening statement says, "The more we see President Moon deal with the Coronavirus situation, the more it seems as if we are looking at the president of China than the president of the Republic of Korea." Unfair? Certainly. But there's also truth to fear that logic will never overwrite. There's a reason that Spock wasn't the captain of the Enterprise.
Jason Lim (jasonlim@msn.com) is a Washington, D.C.-based expert on innovation, leadership and organizational culture.
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