Living in South Korea has been tough, but hopeful

During Japanese occupation, he was arrested on the charge of being a non-conforming, anti-Japanese political dissident who owned Karl Marx’s “Das Kapital”. He was found guilty and consequently had to spend six months in prison.

After liberation, my father decided to become an interpreter and worked for the US military government. He was a law student, so he could have become a lawyer and enjoyed the social prestige and abundance that came with the profession. Instead, he chose to become an interpreter and took the interpreter exam, not the bar exam. Many of his classmates became lawyers and yet, my father, who realised the importance of bridging the gap between South Korea and the United States at a time of national crisis, decided to become a cultural mediator.

“What’s the use of practising the law when the nation in under fire?” he frequently said.  “Misunderstandings between Korea and the States could be disastrous.”

I told the audience that I, too, had inherited the spirit of an interpreter from my father. In fact, as someone who majored in American literature, I have devoted my life to being a cultural mediator between the East and West, between South Korea and the US. Indeed, I have been a cultural interpreter as director of the American Studies Institute at Seoul National University, president of the American Studies Association of Korea and professor of American literature and culture. As I unveiled our personal histories, the American audience also appeared to be moved by our country’s unbelievably tumultuous history.

After the talk, an American professor approached me and said quite seriously, “You and your father seem to be a living history. You should write memoirs.”

“But in South Korea, everybody has a similar history,” I replied in embarrassment. “It’s a shared experience and so my personal history is neither spectacular nor outstanding.” 

How could he understand all the turmoil the Korean people have gone through over the past few decades? He was an American, after all. But he seemed surprised to hear my response.

“I feel almost guilty, that I have led a serene life in this country, not knowing what’s happening out there in the world,” he confessed. 

Aside from my father, who is 92 now, I also went through much social and political turmoil: the Korean War, the April 19, 1960 student revolution, the May 16, 1961 military coup, the October Yusin (Revitalising Reform), emergency decrees in the 1970s, the December 12, 1979 coup, and so on. All these years, we have been divided into two extremes, antagonising the opposite side and indulged in self-righteousness. The country is sadly divided between North and South and yet, we are still engaged in skirmishes inside the South, sharply divided by East and West, and also by pro-American rightists and pro-North Korean leftists.

In the late 19th century, the first Japanese man who studied in France translated Jean-Jacques Rousseau’s books into Japanese in order to enlighten his people. Alas, the first Korean who studied in France assassinated Kim Ok-kyun, the famous reformist of early modern South Korea, who insisted on opening and modernising the nation. 

Ever since, the Korean society has been divided into two factions: progressives versus conservatives; left versus right; Korean studies scholars versus Western studies scholars; domestic degree holders versus overseas degree holders. The list is endless.

It seems that Koreans cannot learn from history. Philosopher George Santayana once wrote: “Those who cannot learn from history are condemned to repeat it.” Indeed, those who fail to learn from the mistakes of history are sadly destined to repeat them. Unfortunately, we are hopelessly repeating the follies of our predecessors.

I did not tell my American audience, but in fact, my father was arrested because his colleagues were snitches for the Japanese police. They were jealous because my father, who spoke fluent English and Japanese, was promoted ahead of them. My father was also disillusioned about becoming a lawyer, whose main concern would be to extract money rather than defending his clients, even in times of national crisis.

And with today’s Korean society, my father is still deeply disillusioned.

“Nothing seems to have changed,” he often mutters in dismay. “Especially when it comes to our politicians.” But he is so proud of the remarkable economic success of his country, because as living history, he has witnessed all the miseries and the painful poverty the Koreans have experienced throughout the 20th century.

“Living in Korea has always been tough and dramatic,” my father often told me. “But it’s been exciting as well, because we’ve never given up hope.”

 

Kim Seong-kon is a professor of English at Seoul National University and director of the Korea Literature Translation Institute.