Korea as sublime, strange, and familiar

Courtesy of Robson Hatsukami Morgan

By David Tizzard

There is a worryingly wonderful ease with which both Koreans and non-Koreans slip so seamlessly into perspectives of (self) orientalism. Korea quickly becomes a place like no other ― where secret nunchi determines one's happiness, a powerful feeling of han molds character, and Confucianism serves as a mystical deus ex machina explaining everything from noraebangs to New Jeans.

Having lived here for so long, it has become rather difficult for me to become aware of anything unusual. Life, language, culture and human interaction all seem exactly as they should. Though I have not become Korean, I nevertheless feel akin to David Foster Wallace's fish that are unable to observe the water in which they swim. The late novelist argued that the most obvious important realities are often the ones that are hardest to see and talk about. I think he was on to something. My aquatic vantage point might make life in Seoul free of bumps, but it does leave one sometimes at a loose-end in determining how to explain Korea to those outside the country or newly-arrived in the lecture hall.

Nevertheless, culture matters. Things here are different. Despite how loudly people might argue that the hoodies, Netflix, Doja Cat playlists, and burritos point to a (modernization) westernization of the Korean individual, there is still enough to make Korea distinct. In that sense, we are left paraphrasing Peter Berger and searching for the peculiar in the ordinary and the familiar in the strange. Essentially, we ask ourselves what makes Korea Korea?

Many books these days eschew conversations on culture and instead simply relay a chronological narrative of important events. They don't describe the culture or behavior of the people, the temperament, or the underlying social philosophy. Therefore, after a while, if you've read one book on Korea, you've read them all. And more often than not differences have to be found between the lines rather than on them. The events chosen, the emphasis given to them, and from what angle they are viewed allows the reader to infer not only the writer's intention but also the character of the people they are describing. Things aren't spelled out as directly as they once were. Narratives are constructed rather than described despite authors' claims of academic objectivity.

For example, does the book on Korea feature the tragic massacre of tens of thousands of people on Jeju Island in the late 1940s? And if so, what language is used to describe the event, the deceased, and the identity of the perpetrators? Or does it omit it altogether? Similarly, one might look at the titles and adjectives used to refer to the people involved. A recent piece published by Blue Roof Politics, for example, never once referred to Park Chung-hee as president, only as dictator. It's obviously nice for people to be able construct history as they want rather than as it was. Yet love him or hate him, and there are plenty on both sides, he certainly was president. So, in case it wasn't immediately obvious before, we know that we are reading a piece that does not strive for any objectivity ― irrespective of the authority the newsletter tries to present through the use of sporadic hangul. Another tell is whether the arrival of neoliberalism is heralded as the start of modernity or the beginning of the end, a failed leftist revolution. This is not to tell the reader which position is the correct one. It's to draw their attention to that which they are reading. Culture is not described but political leanings are everywhere.

It also feels like, alongside the description of events amidst which one's politics are hidden, there is a fear of describing Korean people, culture, and behavior. Culture changes, for sure. And for everything we can say about Korean people, we know countless people that don't quite fit the description. They may even be the exact opposite. Korea is certainly not monolith: It's a contradiction. There is also that growing trepidation of being called out on social media ― dragged before a jury of gnashing teeth who often want nothing more than simply to be angry at something: The vitriol and abusive tweets often more representative of the posters' personalities than anything else.

And yet when it comes to culture, it is in those books of yesterday that took the time to try and address the familiar, the strange, the peculiar, and the sublime in behavior that we find things that occasionally ring true. Things that make us nod. Things that make us tilt our head in confusion in that marvelous way dogs do. Even things that make us tut with disapproval.

Reading through a first edition of Donald Macdonald's The Koreans: Contemporary Politics and Society, published in 1988 and written a few years earlier, you come across amazing first-hand experiences and tales. Macdonald was first here in 1945 and witnessed more on this land than many of us might ever dream of doing. I quote the following paragraph below from his book verbatim.

"Korean culture thus evolved along very different lines from that of Europe and the United States. The West valued mastery over nature, not blending with it; equality of men, rather than hierarchy; individual dignity and freedom, rather than a web of reciprocal duties and responsibilities; subordination of rulers to the will of the ruled and subordination of all to an impersonal law, rather than benevolent personal rule by superior men; sovereignty deriving from the people, not from Heaven; change and progress, rather than a static, past-oriented order; supremacy of rational thought, rather than feeling and intuition; dignity of labor and commerce, rather than scholarship. The West extolled, in theory, the virtue of struggling for the right, rather than acquiescence to superior power; yet at the same time it saw virtue in compromise, in contrast to the Asian priority for loyalty and steadfastness. Only in matters of religion did the West compel uniformity and exclusivity, as opposed to East Asian eclecticism and tolerance; but the West saw political, economic, and social aspects of life as separate whereas Confucianism saw them all as part of a whole."

Macdonald's paragraph above certainly does not describe differences between Korea and the West (whatever that means) today. It is, of course, arguable whether it was even a correct description in the 1980s. It talks of the roots of thinking and culture, paints opposites, creates "others," puts things in a dialectical opposition to each other. All things we are told to avoid. Yet, he nevertheless attempts to describe Korea as he saw it after 40 years of interaction with the people. Many will tut upon reading it. Many will nod. Yet at least Macdonald wrote something. It is not what he wrote that I find interesting, rather it is how he wrote.

Should we be inclined today to try and find ways of searching for the peculiar in the ordinary and the familiar in the strange of Korea, what would we say? What makes Korea Korea in 2023?

Dr. David A. Tizzard (datizzard@swu.ac.kr) has a Ph.D. 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. The views expressed in the article are the author's own and do not reflect the editorial direction of The Korea Times.