Brian Learns About Confucianism at the Crosswalk

So, the pedestrian crosswalk light outside my goshiwon takes approximately a million years to change green. There are no cars on this street mind you, oh no, yet every time I approach it, there they are: a gaggle of polite ped-Xers standing patiently just daring me to be so rude as to jaywalk.

My American side is usually tempted to just so, (my Chilean side is already two blocks down getting an ice-cream) but now, toward the end of my stay in Korea, waiting doesn't seem so bad.

When I first got to Korea, reading about the culture, giving Confucianist ideas a chance, the phrases "subjugation of personal desire" and "acquiescing to the collective" sounded a little, what's the word?... sucky. But at the same time, I've never lived somewhere so safe before, I've never seen the kind of idyllic scenes of families having picnics and playing croquet at the park as I have in Seoul, I've never been in a place where it was so easy to fall into a social groove with stangers. The rules of peace and order here, social and political, do seem to come down (hard) from on high, but they also feel very much buoyed by the people.

One of the authors I've been reading makes the case that part of what's frustrated Western interests in creating 'modern' democracies and free-market economies in northeast Asia¹ and what leads people to rather inaccurately using terms like 'authoritarian' in describing the region stems from a lack of understanding of their Confucianist roots.

In the Confucian view, leaders (of the household or the nation) are put there in the expectation that they will lead well and make relatively informed, benevolent decisions so that everyone else can focus on pursuing peaceful, fulfilling lives. Peace here is the key word, and it's a matter of utmost value - but when you think about it, a true state of peace among two or more people will always involve giving up the turbulence of (often fleeting) personal desires to be maintained. So, long as the rules remain reasonable, people will agree to obey them rather than worry too much about it. Democracy in comparison can feel like a constant struggle, and capitalism looks like an endless war in which the aim of peace must be completely relinquished.

Likewise, in the social world it means that being polite or swallowing your pride is better than being 'authentic' when it's something that could just as well be ignored, and that it is ultimately selfishness that is the root of violence - the desire to exert your will or desires above those of others. I don't know how I feel about it, and I'm not sure if I could want to live in a society like this forever, but you can't help but admire the peace, efficiency, and mutual respect of a people who can set a rule and stick to it, or for whom it is axiomatic that you put the needs of others before your own.

So, OK already, I'll wait for the damn light to change.

¹ While China and North Korea have explicit one-party systems, Japan's is also effectively so, and for South Korea it's a bit too early to tell. Likewise, though China and the DPRK run some degree of nationalized industry, Japan's zaibatsu, [think Mitsubishi, Nissan], and the ROK's chaebols, [think Samsung, Hyundai] remain involved in some degree of governmental hanky-panky. It's also something you can see in Japan's concept of lifelong-employment - something which sounds both wonderfully secure and terribly boring to me.

Your K-Pop news ticker

(right-click for the 'play' option)

• Lee Hyori, notorious for having done something or another, is breaking barriers in Korea having released a hit single at the ripe old age of 30, further empowering women to speak bad English.
• Shinee remains at the top of the charts of my personal list of most obnoxious boy bands.
• Korean medical technology is the delight of the county's women who seem to find themselves all too Korean-looking.
• and of course, there's Heechul

And, oh yeah, Kim Jong Il had a stroke and may be kicking it soon...

Land of the Morning Calm....

Ahnyonghaseyo, the standard Korean hello, translates literally as "Are you peaceful?"

Pushing and being pushed into the subway car up against two-dozen people watching television on their phones, from somewhere a vendor calls out his wares, the subway TV reports on traffic, the intercom announces our gate, and I try to remove a woman's umbrella from my face. Two friends recognize each other across the way: "Are you peaceful?"

Under a cacophony of K-pop music and animated advertisements, dodging street vendors and sidewalk motorcyclists in a whirlwind of speedwalkers in Myongdong, weaving through idlers and cell-phone photoshoots, the chestnut salesman calls out "Are you peaceful?", the beauty shop girl, "Are you peaceful?", the music store rep "Are you peaceful?". Pushing my way through I manage to hop on the city bus as it's pulling out. The cars behind honk impatiently, the bus lurches forward and the driver says "Are you peaceful?"

My bow has improved dramatically...

Due in great part no doubt to my lack of Korean language skills, smiling ingratiatingly and bowing my way out of a situation has become a commonplace affair, and what began as sort of an awkward head bob has grown into a fully-fledged daily workout routine (nearly 45° if receiving favors from an elder). It's a bit more of an energy investment to be sure, but nothing beats the joy of watching two overenthusiastic people bump their heads together on the street.

I really love the degree to which people humble themselves before one another here. In the post French revolutionary West, 'respect' is a word treated with skepticism at best. It's something struggled over in the US, and rarely exchanged among strangers. Here it's simply a way of life. Every older person you meet, you address as aunt or uncle (ajumma, ajoshi) or older brother or sister (hyong, nuna), because, at least in the old order of society, that is their role to you - even if it only lasts a moment. And in turn, all you have to do is be respectful, and bow.

Inwangsan Mountain

In a desperate plea to escape the pell-mell of Seoul, I took an evening trip a few days ago to the Bongwonsa Buddhist temple and Guksadsang Shamanist shrine. The two religions have coexisted here for centuries, with Shamanist practices surviving every attempt by the powers that be to quash them since the belief's inception tens of thousands of years ago.







Evening Gong

The Shamanist temple itself isn't much to look at, given that the real religious center here are all the rocks, trees and streams along the winding path through the hillside. Some men, but mostly women burn incense and candles, wave flags, sound rhythmic chimes, meditate and chant, each in their own way to their own deity. Naturally this area felt too sacred for me to go around taking pictures, although this woman politely agreed to let me record.

Oh race...

Thanking my lucky star, which turned out to be the ‘Indian and International Foreign Goods Market Store’, I emerged victoriously deodorant in hand and wasted no time in application. Deodorant is not readily available in Korea because East Asians apparently do not smell, thanks, so I’ve read, to having markedly fewer apocrine sweat glands than the rest of us. Verily, after many a crowded train ride, despite dutiful morning ablutions, I can attest that the only foul odor I’ve sensed has without fail been my own, marking me once again as completely ‘barbarian’.

Dance Revolution

I found out the other day, to my horror, that Korea has no recorded history of partner dancing. While there's a rich tradition of court dances, fan dances, and some pretty intense folk dances - boys and girls touching each other is strictly a no-no. And among all but the youngest generations, it still sort of is.

To help me wrap my head around this, my friend Sara introduced me the other night to Seoul's fledgling underground salsa scene.

Of course, the emphasis on mastery of study in Korea is ancient; sometimes it feels like they'd rather just not do something than do it imperfectly. And so the Koreans tend to avoid the sweaty, crowded dives in Itaewon (full of actual latino people), where folks improvise and a girl's liable to get thrown around, and instead set up their own ballroom-style salsa circuit in Hongdae.

Indeed, every detail seems accounted for - the dancers in red and black, sporting flat-bottomed shoes and dance heels, the complex combinations flawless; the spins and the dips, the flourish of the wrist, uninterrupted, smooth, and confident.

Sara describes dancing here as primarily a numbers game, with entire songs sometimes choreographed in sequence, nearly eliminating the need to lead. Having grown up around salsa culture I feel a pang of possessiveness. This just isn’t right. Where is the flush of surprise on their faces?, the cries of laughter? They all have the poise of a popsicle stick and nobody's even drunk - salsa done too well is just overdone.

And yet, looking out at the dance floor I see the glistening and flushed faces of a people for whom public physical abandon with the opposite sex is still so new. And who, without realizing it, are re-interpreting the dance to make it their own.

Later that night, in a dark hip-hop club, under laser lights, pulsing electronic wallpaper, and enormous sculptures of spiders and insects, the DJ, center stage, lets loose another beat for the crowd to dance to.

... to line dance to that is. Trying hard to keep up (and remain facing forward), I and the room full of club-goers, step, punch, bodyroll and crunk in unison. For the umpteenth time today I laugh and think to myself, “What the hell is going on here?”

P.S. - while 살사 is the Koreanization for 'salsa', 살서 (which sounds the same in English) means diahrea (cha cha cha)

What time is it?

It’s five in the morning and I’m sitting in a Chinese food restaurant waiting to board the morning train. Kyong, to my right is video conferencing with two friends on his phone, opposite him Suki, is finishing a television show on hers. I’m chatting with Song Ri over green tea and a bowl of chajang myun, a Chinese food dish that only exists in Korea. One of the televisions continues to loop the country’s Olympic victories, the other plays an American movie dubbed into Mandarin with Korean subtitles. ‘Oh Christmas Tree’ plays over the radio.