Defensive Nationalism
Long treated as a stepping-stone or strategic asset by greater powers, Korea has developed an ethnic nationalism based on an “us against them” mentality. Older Koreans will sometimes recall being instructed in their schooldays in the importance of their “pure blood,” which purportedly came from a single, 5,000-year-long unbroken family tree originating with the first Koreans. This notion largely developed in the early twentieth century as a reaction to Japanese colonialism, during which time the invading power sought to portray Koreans as a subset of the Japanese race. Ethnic nationalism was later promoted by South Korea’s military governments as they aimed to foster a sense of unity and pride in country in order to encourage the people to support economic development—a goal itself inspired by the need to transcend Korea’s tragic history.
Korea’s brand of ethnic nationalism is the product of outside interference, or the fear thereof. Because of this, it is defensive rather than aggressive. As South Korea justifiably gains in confidence as a now-wealthy country with increasing cultural and political clout, that fear has started to dissipate. At the same time, Koreans are opening up more to foreigners in a number of ways. The foreign population of South Korea has risen dramatically, and the proportion of mixed-nationality marriages is now over 10 percent. The nation’s famed xenophobic edge is becoming blunted.
Japan
Throughout the Joseon era, China exercised dominant political and cultural influence over Korea. For the intellectual, Confucian elite, China was a big brother and the provider of philosophy, ethics, and literature as well as the source of the beautiful hanja characters with which they wrote letters, literature, and official documents. Korean monarchs paid tribute to China three to four times a year as part of a policy of sadae, or “submission to the stronger.” It would have been an insult for a Korean king to build a palace grander than those found in Beijing.
Relations with China were unequal but largely peaceful. Relations with Japan during the same period were hostile; when the Japanese shogun came knocking, it was not to extract tribute. During the Imjin Waeran invasions by the Japanese armies of shogun Toyotomi Hideyoshi, from 1592 to 1598, hundreds of thousands of Koreans perished. The invaders’ catalogue of brutality included mass rape and the collection of dead Koreans’ ears and noses as war trophies. Astonishingly, some 38,000 or more such body parts fill the Mimizuka (Ear Mound) in Kyoto, a monument that stands today, just down the road from the shrine to Toyotomi Hideyoshi.
The annexation of Korea by Japan from 1910 to 1945 was also an exercise in brutality. Resisters to colonial rule were imprisoned and tortured, or executed. Koreans were forced to adopt Japanese names and speak Japanese. Many thousands of women were forced into sexual slavery. It is hardly surprising that negative sentiment towards Japan remains. There are Japanese people who understand this completely but also many others who, never having been taught about this sad episode in school, have no idea why “emotional” Koreans would hold a grudge against their country.
Prior to the colonial period, ethnic nationalism in Korea was not strong. The concept of minjok—the nation, based on blood and ethnicity—was popularized only in the 1920s by the likes of independence activist, anarchist, and historian Shin Chae-ho. Shin Chae-ho wrote of a “single pure bloodline” traceable all the way back to mythical founder, Dangun—a suspect concept for certain, but one that strengthened the people’s sense of resolve against the foreign power. Imperial Japan claimed that Koreans were a subset of the Japanese race, and this provided one rationale for the annexation. Shin’s purpose was at once to refute this claim and construct a solid Korean identity. In its inception, Korean ethnic nationalism was in large part born of a desire for independence and resistance to foreign domination.
Post-division
Following the fall of Imperial Japan at the end of World War Two, leading independence activists and fighters, who were mostly based overseas, returned to Korea. They, along with the Soviets and Americans, had competing ideas about the direction their country would take. Among the most prominent were ex-guerrilla fighter Kim Il-sung, who wanted to establish a communist state; Kim Gu, who formed the Korean Liberation Army in Chongqing, China, and pursued national independence and unity above all ideology; and Syngman Rhee, the Harvard and Princeton-educated, pro-American who openly espoused democracy but later ruled South Korea as a dictator.
The end result of the wrangling between the USSR and the U.S., and the various Korean factions, was something that no Korean could have truly wanted: the nation was divided in two. One part ended up ruled by the Soviet-backed Kim Il-sung, for the Ministry of Foreign Affairs in Moscow believed he would make a good puppet. His regime—which evolved into a de facto monarchy—has outlasted the USSR, with his grandson Kim Jong-un remaining in power today. The other part was ruled by Syngman Rhee. Rhee had once been president of the Korean Provisional Government in Shanghai, but was removed in 1925 after being accused of embezzlement by Kim Gu. By 1945 his authority lay mainly in the trust the U.S military had in him, based on his American education, Christian beliefs, and professed democratic values.
The division, and the war that followed, showed Koreans that despite the termination of Japanese rule, their destiny was not in their own hands. The two states—North and South—were created because of the involvement and interests of Moscow and Washington, and when North and South went to war in 1950, foreign forces enabled each to survive. Following the North’s invasion on June 25, 1950, the Soviet-backed communist Northern forces quickly took the whole of Korea, save for the area around the southern port city of Pusan. General Douglas MacArthur’s famed September 1950 landing at Incheon, combined with a “breakout” of UN troops from Pusan, then pushed the North Koreans back all the way up to the Chinese border region, almost taking the entire peninsula. It was Chairman Mao’s decision to send the Chinese People’s Liberation Army into the fray just over one month later that forced the UN into retreat, ultimately resulting in a stalemate situation and eventual armistice declaration, with a demarcation line being drawn around the 38th Parallel.
It was naturally hard for Koreans to escape the perception that their country was a pawn in a game played by the more powerful—just as was the case when China, Russia, and Japan competed for influence over the peninsula during the twilight years of the Joseon dynasty. Both South and North Korea owed their very existence to the financial and military backing of the respective capitalist and communist superpowers. The division of Korea separated family from family, and friend from friend, creating personal trauma on a mass scale. It is hardly surprising then that division fed a current of fear and distrust towards foreign countries. Furthermore, the emergence of two competing Koreas meant that the governments of each felt the need to show they were the true keepers of Korean nationhood, rather than foreign puppets. The division of Korea certainly did not result in the end of ethnic nationalism.
In the period following the Korean War, the one thing that raised South Korean men’s nationalistic ire most of all was probably the sight of American soldiers with “their” women, Korean women. The British view of the GI—“oversexed, overpaid, and over here”—was felt even more intensely by South Koreans. Women who hung around with GIs were labeled prostitutes and traitors for betraying the supposed “pure blood” of their ancestors, or were seen as victims of a kind of sexual colonialism and in need of rescuing. Sadly, this attitude has not really died away among older men, even though South Korea now is a wealthy and modern country.
The Power of the Bunker Mentality
“Pure-blooded nationalism...was used as an effective tool to make people obedient and easy to govern,” states Kim Seok-soo, a Kyungpook National University professor of philosophy, as quoted in the Korea Times. The Syngman Rhee regime made so-called ilmin juui (“one people-ism”) an ingredient its propaganda at least partly to draw attention away from the number of former Japanese collaborators in the administration’s ranks. Promoting a Korean ethnic nationalist image, President Rhee thought, would give his government greater legitimacy in the eyes of the people. The Park Chung-hee administration (1961–1979) also adopted pure-blood nationalism in order to encourage the people to follow President Park’s economic development plans.
To transform South Korean citizens into Park’s “industrial soldiers,” there had to be something worth fighting for. That something was the survival and prosperity of “the great han race,” according to Professor Shin Gi-wook, a leading expert on Korean ethnic nationalism. Thus, government-produced school textbooks taught children about the importance of their “pure blood”; teachers encouraged pupils to believe that Koreans embodied a pure, unbroken 5,000 yearlong bloodline. When they graduated and joined the workforce, they were exhorted in official poster campaigns to “beat Japan”—the country that had previously humiliated Korea—and make the nation powerful by working twelve-hour days, even on Saturdays, and under tough conditions. As seen in chapters 21 and 22, General Park also co-opted the nation’s cultural industries to help spread his nationalistic, pro-development message. He even wrote a song of his own, “Saemaeul Norae” (“New Village Song”), in which he exhorts the people to “build a new fatherland as we work and fight.” Of course, it was played constantly on the radio after its release in 1971.
As in many East Asian countries, a fear of Chinese business prowess was widespread, and Park’s response was to protect Korean companies from it. As well as discouraging schools from teaching Chinese characters (he placed greater emphasis on native Korean Hangeul characters), President Park restricted the ability of Chinese residents to own land and operate businesses, resulting in the emigration of around 10,000 Chinese. General Park also strove to project an image of himself as a user of Korean products such as makgeolli (rice wine) rather than expensive foreign liquors. The notion that buyers of foreign products were traitorous aided the mercantilist development policy of the time, providing moral justification for the heavy tariffs that were placed on imported goods.
A more recent event reveals the defensive nature of Korean nationalism and the potential it has to inspire people to vast collective efforts. In 1997 the Asian Economic Crisis hit, and once-proud “tiger” economies like South Korea teetered on the brink of ruin. Politicians and business leaders blamed the crisis on foreign lenders and investors for pulling their money out of short-term investments (such as Korean stocks) and causing the won to crash. When the IMF extracted painful conditions in return for its bailout package, the result was a gut feeling among many Koreans that the country was under attack, not militarily this time but financially. Past history helped lead them to that conclusion.
The chaebol, which rightfully should have accepted plenty of the blame due to their debt-laden balance sheets, responded with a nationalistic “under attack” message. In a book on the crisis, journalist Donald Kirk writes of a Hyundai manager claiming, “The IMF and America are trying to break up the chaebol,” the companies consistently promoted as “national champions” by Korean governments since the days of Park Chung-hee. Mr. Kirk goes on to say: “On television and in the press, Koreans complained that the IMF had been guilty of egregious imperialistic meddling. To hear Finance Minister Lim (Chang-ryul) tell it, the country had gone down to defeat in a hard-fought war.” The public reacted to this perceived assault, as the BBC reported at the time, by stigmatizing any Koreans “taking holidays abroad or (buying) foreign-made luxury products.”
The “hard-fought war” mentality reported by Donald Kirk may have been misguided, but it did have benefits for the Korean economy, in that it provided impetus for the country to unite and dig itself out of trouble. Just as Park Chung-hee had done in the 1960s, corporate leaders and the government both appealed to the people’s sense of nationalism and collectivity. For instance, Chung Mong-koo, chairman of Hyundai Motor, staged a rally in front of company headquarters and declared, “Hyundai has to raise the flag high to contribute to the development of the Korean economy.” The company sa-ga or anthem was sung and fists were pumped. Hyundai employees were encouraged to feel they were working to save the country and not just to build cars or contribute to the success of the company. Chaebol also organized a campaign exhorting citizens to send gold to the treasury. This call resulted in a reported eight tons of the precious metal being collected, mainly in the form of jewelry, in the first week. The campaign provided both a material boost to the nation’s reserves and a morale boost from the impressive display of unity that allowed it to happen.
If one talks to foreigners about living in South Korea, one frequently hears criticism of Koreans’ bunker mentality, their over-sensitivity about perceived threats from abroad, and their “readiness to play the victim.” This is sometimes fair criticism, but Korea’s defensive nationalism creates highly effective social glue that can be used whenever the family heirloom starts to crack. Given how divided South Korea is internally—politically, regionally, and increasingly between young and old, and rich and poor— the sense of purpose and unity that springs up when there is a perceived threat is quite incredible. In the wake of the 1997–1998 financial crisis, Korea’s trade unions, large corporations, and the government formed a “super-committee” that produced a grand bargain over chaebol reform and labor policy in just twenty days. The agreement was painful for both the chaebol and the workers: the former had to accept the liquidation of many inefficient subsidiaries as well as tougher accounting standards; and the latter had to consent to a new era of flexible labor laws that still aggrieves them today. Both quickly agreed to the bargain for the sake of national recovery.
The humiliation felt during the “IMF period” helps explain why South Korea has a tendency to be extremely sensitive to criticism of its economic policies from abroad. During his tenure as the UK’s Chancellor of the Exchequer, Alistair Darling held a series of meetings with fellow finance ministers from other countries at a summit in London. While others came to discuss regulation in the wake of the 2008 financial crisis, his opposite number from South Korea reportedly just wanted to know “Why does the Financial Times, a British paper, keep criticizing me?” Darling could only reply, “Well, you should see what they write about me!”
The 2002 World Cup
Just four years after the Asian economic crisis came a watershed moment in the nation’s history: the 2002 World Cup, which South Korea hosted together with Japan. As a global event watched by billions of people, it represented South Korea’s first real opportunity to show itself off to the world as an advanced nation. Though the 1988 Seoul Olympics was an event of equal international status, Olympic-era South Korea was a country with a GDP per capita of US$4,500, and a still-uncertain transition to democracy taking its course. By 2002, Korea had recovered from the 1997–1998 crisis, had advanced to a GDP per capita of over $12,000, and was enjoying stable, democratic government. The estimated one million people who visited South Korea for the World Cup saw not just impressive stadia but also an advanced country nothing like the one shown in the TV series M*A*S*H.
The national team dramatically exceeded expectations, reaching the semi-finals, which seemed to underscore the national success. Team captain Hong Myung-bo calls this achievement “more than ultimate” and said it showed Koreans that “we can do anything when we put our mind to it.” Victories over Spain, Portugal, and Italy inspired intense national pride, spurring millions of Koreans into the streets, all wearing red, the color of the team’s jerseys. The “Red Devils” supporters club brandished slogans like “We are one, we are Korea.” Young Koreans, long criticized by the older generations for having no patriotism, painted their faces in the national colors and draped Korean flags over their bodies.
The combination of pride from foreigners acknowledging their country’s progress and the unexpected joy that resulted from reaching the semi-finals may have been Koreans’ first experience of positive, proud nationalism—as opposed to the defensive, threat-driven variety. The World Cup planted the idea that interaction with foreigners could bring a mutually beneficial exchange, and even fun. Korean World Cup supporters, according to Florence Lowe-Lee of the Korea Economic Institute, “redefined nationalism to include a renewed sense of national confidence and pride.” She contrasts this with the traditional Korean nationalism, centered on “seeking liberation from foreign occupation” of one sort or another. Similarly, in a book entitled Football and the South Korean Imagination, Choi Yoon-sung argues that the national pride created by the World Cup enabled Koreans psychologically to rectify or purge some of the pain of their national history.
That this was accomplished with Guus Hiddink, a foreign manager, in charge of the team is important. For his efforts, Hiddink was made an honorary citizen, the first time South Korea had ever conferred citizenship on a foreigner with no Korean blood. In a paper entitled “South Korea’s ‘Glocal’ Hero” (2007), researchers at Pusan University claim that this award of citizenship could inspire “fundamental changes, both culturally and legally, in how race, ethnicity, and citizenship are defined. They add that Korea’s sense of ethnic homogeneity “may be preparing to change.” The election in 2012 of Philippine-born Jasmine Lee, the first non-ethnic Korean National Assembly member, is evidence that this change is now fully underway. Admittedly, there are many who do not like it—Ms. Lee received threats from “netizens” in the wake of her election—but such hostility looks like mere friction in the path of an irreversible trend.
The Decline of Ethnic and Defensive Nationalism
Lately, pure-blood nationalism and the general suspicion of non-Koreans have seen a marked decline. Foreigners in Seoul used to complain, “Why do people stare at me with angry eyes?” Now they are more likely to ask, “Why don’t people look at me anymore?” Intermarriage is increasingly accepted too. Only 9 percent of Koreans say they would never marry a foreigner, according to a 2011 survey by the Ministry of Gender Equality and Family. Immigrant workers find it easier to get visas and residency permits, which reflects a shift in thinking by those in power. By contrast to the “pure blood” teaching of the past, today’s South Korean government engages in poster campaigns encouraging people to accept multiculturalism.
The number of foreigners living in this country has soared, reaching 1.4 million, a figure that would have been unimaginable even at the turn of the millennium. Imported products are everywhere. This is the consequence not just of reduced tariffs brought on by the end of South Korean mercantilism and the new era of free-trade agreements. It also stems from a change in attitude among the public towards foreign goods, and the resulting decline of nationalistic purchasing. The owner of a Mercedes is now perceived by most people as affluent and cool rather than a flashy traitor too arrogant to drive a Hyundai, as he once was.
Traces of Korean defensiveness do remain but rise to the surface much less frequently than before. Since 2002, the only major incident said to be of this nature was the “summer of protest” of 2008. The government of President Lee Myung-bak had made a deal with the United States to allow the importation of American beef for the first time since 2003, when it had been banned due to the discovery of a cow infected with bovine spongiform encephalopathy in Washington State. Opponents, particularly on the left, contended that President Lee was selling out the health of Koreans in return for favorable relations with the U.S. Driven initially by rather hysterical media coverage that exaggerated the danger, hundreds of thousands of people began gathering for candlelight protests on the streets of downtown Seoul. They were the biggest displays of anti-government anger since democratization.
However, when considered in context, the protests were also a product of general anger towards President Lee; the apparent threat of BSE-infected, foreign beef was only a part of this. Having been elected in December 2007, President Lee had set about quickly reversing many of the key policies of the Kim Dae-jung and Roh Moo-hyun years—a period termed “the lost decade” by Lee supporters. The sunshine policy, for instance, was out, and pro-chaebol economic policies were in. This naturally infuriated the left, but Lee had also become unpopular with average voters, too. Despite his landslide election victory, by June 2008 his approval rating stood at just 17 percent, the result of a general belief that he had gone too far to the right, and was poor at communicating with the public. So there was already a strong undercurrent of anti-government sentiment based on domestic political concerns.
That summer, beef protestors were joined by opponents of President Lee’s educational reforms, planned privatization of public corporations, and costly river restoration programs in a general display of grievance to an unpopular president rather than one of pure defensive nationalism provoked by health fears over a foreign product. Statistics appear to back this up: after its reintroduction in 2008, American beef quickly claimed a 20 percent market share in Korea, and by 2011, that figure had risen to 37 percent.
South Korea’s sense of nationalism among the young is not particularly strong, as shown by a 2010 survey of 2,400 schoolchildren by South Korea’s Ministry of Patriots and Veterans’ Affairs. In the poll, youngsters in South Korea as well as the big three (as far as Korea is concerned) of China, Japan, and the United States, were asked about the extent of their national pride. By the ministry’s index, China scored 84.2, the U.S. 70.6, South Korea 62.9, and Japan 55.3. When asked about willingness to fight for their country, Koreans came second with a score of 56.3, but only slightly ahead of America and far behind China, which registered a rather frightening 74.8.