The main reason why Korean TV drama series are popular around Asia is that they are full of raw emotion. Unlike in Japan, where self-control is a social necessity, Koreans can be refreshingly direct with how they feel towards you. Whether those feelings are of love, anger, or indifference, you won’t need to scratch your head wondering which. Due to a tendency for passionate and expressive behavior, Koreans are sometimes compared (and sometimes compare themselves) to the Italians.
Another stereotype with some degree of truth is that of Koreans as “the Irish of the East.” This is not just due to the statistical fact that Koreans are by far the biggest drinkers in East Asia. For centuries, Koreans have been known as lovers of singing and dancing. Collectively, the Korean culture of drinking, singing, and dancing is known as eumjugamu. The word has negative connotations to some Koreans, but for me, it is one of the most attractive and defining aspects of Korean culture.
There also exists what I call a “natural socialism” in Korean culture. Even when individual portions are served in a restaurant, friends will move their plates into the center of the table, and share everything. “Every man for himself”—as found in today’s China—is not a popular concept in Korea. Social inequality, though increasing, is considered a problem to be tackled rather than an inevitability to be accepted; even Korea’s most conservative politicians feel compelled to confront this.
Korea is also a land of sad extremes. Proportionally, this country is world number one in terms of suicide, plastic surgery, and expenditure on “bling bling” luxury goods. It also has probably the world’s most stressed-out, over-burdened schoolchildren. All these are results of Korea’s intense culture of competition, which makes it unacceptable to be merely good-looking, well-off, and well-educated. One must compete with others to be the best-looking, best-off, and best-educated.
It sounds like a total contradiction to say that Koreans are natural socialists who love drinking and partying, and yet are engaged in a vicious cycle of be-all-you-can-be competition against each other. But it isn’t wrong. Korea is a complicated place of joy and tragedy, of fulfilment and frustration. You can at least be certain that it will never bore you.
My Life in Korea
When I first moved to Seoul, I taught English. Since then, I’ve been an investment manager, and a journalist at The Economist. These days, I’m an independent writer, and co-owner of The Booth, a craft beer business. The gentleman with me in the picture above is Kim Chang-wan, leader of Sanullim, one of Korea’s best-loved rock bands. One of the best aspects of being a bar-owner is the ability to meet interesting people from all walks of life!
Gwanghwamun The gate of Gwanghwamun in front of Gyeongbok Palace in Seoul is the focal point of the country. The nation’s gi (energy) is said to flow through it.
PART 1
KOREAN IDENTITY
Don’t know your jeong from your aegyo? Let’s take a look at some of the most important social traits and concepts that help make modern Korea what it is today.
THE CONCEPTS OF JEONG, HAN, AND HEUNG UNIQUELY KOREAN CULTURAL CODES?
“My company runs on jeong,” says the chairman of one of Korea’s ten largest conglomerates. A person considered to have a large capacity for jeong is probably well-liked. But according to a saying, jeong is also “the scariest thing.” What on earth does this strange word mean, then?
I sometimes call jeong “the invisible hug.” Jeong is a bond that exists between people, and gives them a sense of mutual destiny. If you share jeong with someone, then you ought to go the extra mile for them. You may even feel the need to bend or break society’s rules to help that person.
Jeong isn’t merely a matter of friendship. It can exist between members of large groups: Koreans are liable to helping graduates of the same school, university, hometown, or military unit as themselves, because of jeong. If I were a company boss, and a candidate from the same school as me came for a job, I would probably say, “what a coincidence!” and leave it at that. But in Korea, I might feel like I should give him the job.
THE INVISIBLE HUG
Jeong is probably a product of Korea’s difficult history. For centuries, ordinary Koreans lived in villages, under the yoke of oppressive yangban landlords. This, and frequent crop failures, meant that people had to band together, thinking of “us” rather than “I.” Added to this is Korea’s status as a pawn in the power games of bigger neighbors, like China and Japan. The experience of struggling to survive as a nation bonded Koreans together in a kind of national jeong, in opposition to outsiders.
Jeong creates “in” and “out” groups in every situation. In the context of you and your family, the guy you went to school with is an outsider. But he becomes an insider when you meet up in Seoul. And someone from Seoul whom you never met before can share a bond with you if you encounter her in Mexico. For this reason, Koreans are famous for sticking together when abroad.
My Own Experience With Jeong
I experienced a kind of “nationalistic” jeong during my graduate school days back in England. Our class was very international, and included ten Koreans. One professor told us to submit assignments on CD-R, so I asked a Korean classmate (who I knew had a pack of ten) if I could use one of his. I had recently done a favor for him, so it wasn’t unreasonable for me to ask. He declined, saying, “Ah, but we are ten.” “We” meant the Korean students. He had bought the CD-Rs to share among his Korean classmates only.
The thing that frustrated me most was that this fellow told me that he was not especially friendly with half of his Korean classmates. That is part of jeong as well—even if you don’t like someone, you can share a sense of connectedness which makes you feel the need to help them. There is even an expression, miun jeong (“hateful jeong”), to describe the jeong that exists between people who do not like each other. But jeong is beautiful too, when you enjoy such a relationship with someone. The level of self-sacrifice and mutual support shared with a good Korean friend will be very high. I have experienced the positive side of jeong on many occasions here—such as when I was completely broke and was able to borrow a fairly hefty amount of money from a friend, without even asking. “Just give it back when you can,” I was told.
A yangban from the late 18th century. Their feudal system probably helped deepen the culture of jeong.
A “UNIQUELY KOREAN” EMOTION?
Sometimes, people will claim that jeong is something only found in Korea. In my view, this is completely false. A feeling of shared destiny, along with self-sacrifice and extreme displays of generosity, can all be found anywhere in the world. And a warm feeling towards someone, which inspires you to help them no matter what, is not a uniquely Korean emotion. But the fact that Korean has a very frequently-used word for it is telling. Jeong may not be “uniquely” Korean, but it is a concept to which Korean society attaches extra-strong importance.
What is Han?
Like jeong, han describes something that is central to the image of Korea and Koreans. Han is a kind of deep melancholic feeling that comes from an unresolvable burden. perhaps you have been oppressed by someone powerful; perhaps someone close to