Seoul Walking

Four things you can learn about Korea from the fact that I am much more likely to bump into pedestrians while walking in Seoul than in New York:

1. Koreans walk on the left--although they do, like normal people, drive on the right.

2. Koreans, unlike New Yorkers, who all walk at the same brisk pace, have two different paces. One pace, a slow, contemplative, one might say Confucian pace, represents the old Korea: the Chosun Korea of sloped, tiled roofs, Buddhist monks and austere pottery. The other pace, a sort of restrained sprint, with arms fixed at sides, represents the new Korea: the capitalist Korea of poured concrete, evangelical Christianity and K-Pop.

3. There are simply far more Seoulites per square kilometer of land than New Yorkers: 17,200 Seoulites to 9,890 New Yorkers (according to Seoul City Government and nyc.gov, although the Seoul numbers are slightly more up-to-date). And in general there are far more South Koreans per square kilometer of land than Americans: 499.5 Koreans to 32.9 Americans as of July 2007 (according to the World Fact Book).

4. Finally, people in Seoul just stop walking in the middle of the aisle or the sidewalk for no reason. I'm not sure what you can learn from this exactly, but it's true.

Seoul Metro, Line 2

You can't begin to understand living in Seoul until you take the Line 2 subway during rush hour. Packed from fin to gill with commuters, this train makes a loop through the city, from city hall--the Japanese-colonial-era building in the heart of old Seoul--through Gangnam--the brand-new commercial district south of the river--and back again. Everyone wants to get to Gangnam, where I work. Since only Line 2 stops at Gangnam station, while looping through the city it collects all of the millions of commuters coming in from the suburbs.

In the car, commuters are sandwiched together, squeezed as if undergoing some sort of collective medieval torture. With every jerk and sway of the train, the passengers collectively jerk and sway along, like dominoes stacked so closely together that they hold each other up.

On the train, no one talks, no one looks at anyone or anything, no one does anything at all, because doing anything will inconvenience the people around you. You cannot cough, sneeze, answer a cell phone (although you do get service in the tunnel), read a paper or, for that matter, breathe. But rather than complain, everyone endures this as a terrible but necessary part of life, the memory of which will be drowned out by continual bouts of soju drinking.

When the doors open at the minor stations, there is a little sigh, as people relax for one beautiful second. The respite is all too brief. Even if the train appeared too full at the last station to possibly fit anyone more, and even if no one has disembarked, all along the platform men in suits and middle-aged women--ajashis and ajumas, respectively--will look at the open doors, hesitate, and then dive into the mash of people, elbows flying and hands pressed against the door frame to squeeze in.

One stop before Gangnam is Kyodae, Seoul National University of Education. This is a major office area and transfer hub. When the doors open, it is like popping a champagne cork. People spew out in a shower of bubbles. (Or you might think of it like an animal vomiting up it's insides from 40 separate orifices. Depends what mood you're in.) Even if you do not plan to get off at Kyodae, you'd better go with the flow, and then trust your luck to get back on. After fully cleansing itself, the train completely fills again, only to finally empty at the next station.

The subway system, like much of Seoul, appears to be designed by people who knew that they themselves would never have to use it. Although clean, new and precisely run, the Seoul Metro is simply not efficient. If its designers had, instead of building extra-wide platforms and allowing for extra-large cars, built four tracks and run express trains, much of the congestion would be relieved and the average commute would be greatly reduced.

Construction was started on Line 2 in March 1978 and was finally completed in May 1984. Seoul Metro uses chopper-controlled electric rail cars manufactured mostly by Mitsubishi. Probably Seoulites have found a way to increase this number, but each car can hold, at capacity, 160 people. Each train has 10 cars, and trains come every three minutes during rush hours--7:00 til 9:00--in two directions. That's (according to Seoul Metro) 77 trains, 770 cars, 123,200 people arriving at Gangnam station every morning. All told, the subway system carries over 7 million passengers a day! In 2004, line 2 alone carried over 700 million passengers!

With all these people jambed in together, like in Tokyo, groping is a problem. In response, Seoul Metro just recently announced that it is considering introducing women-only cars. I suppose the men deserve the tighter and smellier commute that they are facing. Although I don't envy any woman trapped in a car with over one hundred primmed and permed, muscle-bound, elbow-throwing ajumas, either.

Rights and Duties

Observed: Whereas in Manhattan, pedestrians always have the right of way and cars always obey the traffic laws, in Seoul it's the opposite. In Seoul, nobody crosses the street, even if it's totally clear, until the light turns green. On the other hand, if the street is clear, taxis don't think twice about running a red. Why the difference?

I think this little thing actually provides a pretty clear demonstration of the different social rights and duties characteristic of our two countries. In the U.S., we emphasize negative liberties when distributing social duties. Americans have the right not to be blocked or prohibited from pursuing our lives or projects; and we have the corresponding duty not to interfere with other people's lives or projects. Walking in New York is a perfect example of this principle of non-interference. Since cars can interfere more profoundly with pedestrians' lives than pedestrians can interfere with cars, cars have the greater duty. The responsibility falls to drivers not to hit anyone. So, pedestrians are given a licence to wander the streets at will. This right is defended greedily. If a car starts to encroach upon pedestrian freedom, you can always count on somebody banging the hood and shouting "Hey! I'm walking here!"

But Koreans don't really have the principle of non-interference. They have, instead, something like the "principle of not making a mess that the rest of us will have to clean up." The pedestrian, if she does not follow the traffic rules, risks creating a big mess that everyone else will have to clean up. Drivers, of course, have a duty not to hit people, but pedestrians have a bigger obligation not to put themselves in a situation where their safety is uncertain and out of their control.

Instead of a duty to live and let live, as it were, Korean think that they have, not just a right, but a duty to interfere in each other's lives. I've elsewhere said that Koreans think of themselves as a big family, and this seems the best way to understand their rights and duties. If someone is doing something a little wrong, it's better to get him back on track now, than to wait until he creates a big mess that everybody has to clean up.

Another example of this is the Afghan hostage crisis. In case you missed it, 23 Korean missionaries were kidnapped by the Taliban in mid-July. Two were killed; the rest were eventually freed in late August, after much national hand-wringing and soul-searching. Their freedom was paid for with guarantees from Seoul that it would withdraw its medical and construction military units from Afghanistan.

Once the hostages were freed, and even well before this, the public consensus was that they were to blame for their own misfortunes. As one "netizen" quoted by Yonghap said, "These people defied the government's warning against travelling in Afghanistan, and they should pay for whatever happened in the course of the negotiations." And there we calls for Korean churches to disband their missionary operations all together. The missionaries made a mess that the rest of the Koreans had to clean up. Like a big family, the Korean people did whatever they had to do to get their brothers and sisters back. But also like a big family, they all felt personally affronted by the mess that was created. In Korea (if you're Korean, anyway) you've no right to be left alone to your own projects. Instead, everyone has a duty to take care of each other. So, you as an individual, have a specific and weighty duty to take care of yourself and not cause other people problems. So, don't risk crossing that street when the light is red!

Korean Cuisine: An update

So, I brought some banchun to work yesterday, and it was a huge success--mostly because someone else brought a heap of bulgogi (trans: delicious beef), and I was able to eat it qualm-free. I can get used to this.

While I'm here, I'll let you in on another related observation I've made about Korean eating habits: Koreans generally do not talk while they're eating; they save the conversation until after the meal. But this is not, I think, just etiquette, since it's not wrong to talk a little while you're eating. I think it's just necessary given that all the food is shared. If you're the one who wants to get involved in an extended discourse about politics over dinner, then you're the one who goes home hungry. Your best bet, when eating a Korean style meal, is to gulp down the food as quickly as possible. Luckily, eating with chopsticks prohibits taking big bites, so even if you eat as fast as you can, you're not too likely to choke.

Korean Cuisine: An observation

What I've learned since I started working at an office in which I'm the only foreigner:

The major difference between Korean cuisine and Western is, not the high quantities of garlic, hot-pepper paste, or cephalopods, but the fact that all the food is shared. I went to a great little Korean place on Sixth Street in Racine, and the food was pretty authentic (and delicious). The owner even made her own kimchi. But the meal was totally American, right from appetiser to dessert.

Koreans, when they eat, usually have their own bowl of rice, and then share a variety of banchun, often translated as 'side dishes.' But that doesn't really capture it because the "side dishes," together with the rice, are the meal. In fact, calling them 'side dishes' in English, and the fact that we don't have a better word for it, exactly emphasizes the point I'm making here. The whole structure of a Korean meal is different from the structure of an American, or a French, meal. They do not have appetizers, entrees, main courses, salads, deserts, or side dishes. Occasionally for a large meal, you will have one big helping of meat, but that too is shared. Usually, you just have a bunch of banchun, especially salty things like dried fish or seaweed, kimchi, a bit of cooked meat, or some finely chopped veggies.

This is a great system, I think. When I'm with friends, I'm always sticking my fork into their food anyway. There is no such thing as food jealousy here. But in an office, you can imagine the difficulties. Everyone, especially the boss's sister (who often hangs around) assumes that all the food on the table is fair game. And inevitably, some people bring better or worse things, and there is always a bit of tension as to who is getting a free ride (or anyway, that's how I perceive it). Imagine what it must be like in elementary school! And, as the foreigner, I can't tell if I have to stay out of the system or what. I mean, I don't really know what banchun is or how to make it, so I usually just have my own food, which sits in a little bubble at the edge of the table. (Resolved: Tonight I will stop at the banchun shop, where they make fresh banchun for busy housewives, and bring something tomorrow.)

So, next time you're having some ethnic food, stop and think whether you're having it ethnically. From what I know of Thai and Indian food, there is supposed to be a lot of sharing going on, too. The meal experience is just as important as the food, and this is something that is often overlooked at Americanized ethnic restaurants, even when the food is very good.

One final observation (which did not originate with me): While French/Western cuisine is focused on flavor and texture--aesthetics--Chinese/East Asian cooking is basically an extension of medicine. Much attention is given to what your food will do inside of you, and how it will safely get out. When we talk about cuisine, we would be short-sighted think only about aesthetics. More than merely food or flavor, cuisine is a way of eating and a purpose for eating.

Cultural Differences

I just insulted an old lady, in front of her daughter, in such a way that she will probably be fuming for an hour and may lose whatever remaining respect she had for foreigners, perhaps for the rest of her life.

What did I do? I answered her question without using a verb. In Korean, when you respond to someone older than you, you must use a polite verb form; using a simple verb without an honorific is too casual and considered rude. But I didn't even use a verb at all! That is the height of informality, the epitome of impoliteness. And it's true that many younger Koreans are not so concerned about these things any more, but she was old! And it's true that I am just a foreigner, but that, precisely, is the point. She will say, "Oh, just a foreigner, just a foreigner. They are all so rude." Or worse: "They are all so ignorant."

What happened? I was just perusing the fruit on offer at my local stand, and, since I'm short on cash, I was thinking, "What is the best deal; I'll look around until I find the cheapest thing." Just at that moment, she came up and asked politely, in Korean, "What do you want?" Now, you have to understand a few things here. First, Koreans salespeople always pester you incessantly, even when you are buying things you'd rather be left alone to ponder, like wine. Second, I had just been thinking about this phenomenon, annoyed with the fact that I would, in all likelihood, not be able to casually pick my produce. Third, while I know the Korean word for 'banana' (it is just 'banana'), I do not, or did not on a moments notice, know the polite form of 'I want'. So, I just said "banana" without any kind of please or anything.

Now, this might not seem so bad to you, and perhaps I am overreacting a little. But it certainly seemed rude to her. And just think, if every Westerner in Korea--or every non-Westerner in the U.S.--makes just one little culturally confused faux pas like that, as is probably unavoidable, the locals are left with scores of negative impressions. How can we, with all of our little differences, mix and still get along?

Thoughts about Virginia Tech

After the shootings at VT, people here and Koreans in the U.S. are worried about a backlash. While I really hope that is unlikely, this serves as a big reminder that racism in America is not gone, and that East Asians are not exempt. An interesting article here shows how much fear there is. When it was released that the shooter was an Asian, all the communities prayed "let it be some other Asian." I was surprised, although I shouldn't have been, to see how worried even sober-minded Korean-Americans (like a friend of mine) could get over this. We have to, yet again in America, decide to judge individuals rather than groups.

But it is interesting to note that it is a deep trait of Korean culture (and perhaps East Asian cultures generally) to judge groups rather than people. In the New York Times a Korean-American named Joseph Park is quoted as saying: "As a Korean, I apologize...I feel I need to apologize because innocent people were killed by someone from my same nation." 'Nation' in Korea means blood even more than land, and Koreans see themselves as a big family (e.g. they use the words 'little brother' or 'little sister' for all children, and 'grandpa' or 'grandma' for all old people).

I can never, never be a Korean, even if I learn the language and live her for years, and even, I suppose, if I managed to get South Korean citizenship. But a Korean can, I think, become an American. I love this about America. Or is America more exclusive than I realize? New York is wonderfully inclusive: even if there is sometimes violence and often hatred, everyone has to live together. But this, I know, is not typical of the rest of the country. What is the right way forward? How are we, in the U.S. and all over the world, best able to live together? How can we be both a nation and an individual?

It is customary to think of the U.S. is a nation of individuals. Koreans don't commit school shootings; individuals do. Perhaps Cho finally became American in carrying out this thing.