C
Chaebeol 재벌 Chay-buhl
The Industrial Colossi
One of the most powerful forces contributing to Korea’s astounding economic transformation between 1953 and the 1980s was the emergence of a number of corporate conglomerates patterned after Japan’s pre-World War II zaibatsu (zigh-baht-sue). Japan’s zaibatsu, epitomized by Mitsui, Mitsubishi, and Sumitomo, were owned by individual families and together dominated Japan’s economy. All of them were used as instruments of the Japanese government in carrying out its expansionist political policies from the 1880s on, including the annexation of Korea in 1910 and its administration as a colony until 1945.
Korea’s post-World War II zaibatsu-like enterprise groups are called chaebeol (chay-buhl), which is the Korean pronunciation of the same Chinese ideograms that are pronounced zaibatsu in Japanese—meaning “financial clique” or “group.” More than one hundred Korean enterprise groups are labeled as chaebeol by the government, with the largest and best known being Daewoo, Hanjin, Hyundai, Kia, LG Group (formerly Lucky Goldstar), Samsung, Ssangyong, and Sunkyong. Like their Japanese counterparts, Korea’s chaebeol had government support in their early years, but unlike the Japanese firms the support they received from the government was generally unofficial—and, according to their critics, often illegal.
Another significant difference between Korean chaebeol and Japan’s pre-World War II zaibatsu is that the Japanese groups had their own banks to arrange financing for them, while the Korean chaebeol did not. This made the Korean groups more dependent on the government and therefore more susceptible to pressure from the various agencies and ministries controlling finance, manufacturing, importing, and exporting. One of the results of this difference is that the larger and more successful the Korean companies became, the more independent their decisions and actions.
Like their Japanese zaibatsu role models, however, Korea’s chaebeol were motivated by an urge to diversify and to control every aspect of their operations, from the sourcing of raw materials and manufacturing to marketing finished products. Most of the groups also entered totally unrelated businesses, taking advantage of their financial resources and government contacts. In many cases they were able to monopolize the categories they entered by emphasizing market share rather than profits. This compulsion to diversify included becoming major stockholders in other companies.
By the 1970s the chaebeol were often referred to as muneo (muu-nuh), or “octopuses,” because they had their “tentacles” in many things. Part of this negative image arose from the general public opinion that the combines profited unfairly from their close ties with government officials and agencies. There were numerous accusations of pujong chuk chae (puu-johng chewk chay), or “illicit wealth accumulation,” that not only involved illegal activity but went against the Confucian concept of morality and virtue that went with political power.
The Vietnam War was a boon to the growing Korean chaebeol, especially Hyundai and Hanjin. With the backing of the U.S. Army, Hanjin became virtually the sole operator of the key Vietnamese port of Qui Nhon and provided both marine and land transportation for the American forces in Vietnam. In support of this effort, Hanjin established an air and sea transport company in Korea to ferry supplies and workers to Vietnam. Using the enormous profits generated by this activity—and paid for by the American military forces in Vietnam—Hanjin bought the then ailing Korean Air (KAL) from the Korean government and subsequently turned it into one of the world’s premier airline companies.
Hyundai and the hurriedly established construction divisions of other chaebeol were given major construction contracts in Korea by the U.S. Army, providing them with a fund of experience as well as huge profits, which made it possible for them to bid on and win numerous construction contracts in the Middle East and elsewhere when the Vietnam War ended. Records show that in just four years in the latter part of the 1970s Korea’s top ten chaebeol made $22 billion on construction projects in the Middle East.
Each of Korea’s conglomerates has its own corporate culture that began as a manifestation of the background and beliefs of its founder. Samsung, for example, was founded by the youngest son of an old yangban (yahng-bahn) gentry family. Its employees regard the company and themselves as the best and the brightest. It emphasizes high-tech industries. Hyundai, on the other hand, was founded by the son of a farmer, is known for its conservatism, and emphasizes heavy industries. The first generation of post-World War II chaebol employees, tempered by the experience as a colony of Japan (1910–45) and the horrors of wars that had devastated their homeland, were educated, hardworking, totally diligent, and fiercely loyal.
Korean-American anthropologist Choong Soon Kim, in his book The Culture of Korean Industry, described the first generation of chaebol managers as authoritarian, inclusive, and worried about the continuity of their enterprises. This led them to staff their executive positions with sons, sons-in-law, and other close relatives. In the early days of the chaebeol there were few stockholders. The founder and his family usually owned controlling interest. Stockholder meetings were programmed to last for only half an hour or so, with outside stockholders given no chance to speak up about anything.
Not surprisingly, the founders or chairmen of the largest conglomerates were generally referred to by the press and others as chongsu (chohng-suu), a military term meaning “commander-in-chief.” The personal income of some of the founders became enormous, amounting to several hundred million dollars a year, adding to criticism by those who saw the giant combines as immoral parasites.
Much of the unsavory reputation of the chaebeol in the 1970s and 1980s was apparently well deserved. Their founders and senior executives (along with other companies and individuals who owned substantial real property assets) were accused of using kamyeong (kah-myuhng), or “pseudonyms,” and the names of relatives to disguise the true ownership of stocks, land, bank accounts, and so on. This practice, which goes back to ancient times in Korea, eventually became a national scandal, and in the early 1990s a law was passed forbidding the practice. But the law apparently succeeded only in reducing the use of the subterfuge, not eliminating it.
In some chaebeol and other large firms the workday began with the playing of the national anthem over the public address system. During the playing, employees stood at attention. At 5:00 P.M. the national anthem was again played to signal the official end of the workday, but unlike some of their Western counterparts, employees made no mad dash for the door. Women usually continued working for another hour or so, while the majority of the male employees worked for two or three more hours. The few people who left the office at “quitting time” invariably had a special reason for leaving and did so only after clearing it with their superiors.
The reputation of the chaebeol reached a low point in the 1970s and 1980s, particularly among their own employees. Union agitation and strikes increased. A number of the conglomerates created special strike forces called kusadae (kuu-sah-day), or “save the company corps,” made up of tough young men the companies used to physically break up strikes and other union activities.
Still, university graduates were so anxious to obtain employment with one of the chaebeol that they would take the entrance exams of several firms in the hope of being accepted by at least one of them. This resulted in the government’s ordering the conglomerates to hold their ipsa siheom (eep-sah she-huhm), or “entrance examinations,” on the same day so that graduates from the most prestigious and best schools could not monopolize the available jobs. Smaller companies held their entrance exams on a later date. Candidates who passed the entrance exams then had to pass rigorous personal interviews that were designed to weed out prospects who did not meet the character and personality standards of the companies concerned.
By the early 1990s the chaebeol had matured and reformed their managerial practices to the point that their labor problems had disappeared. They had also grown to the point that it was difficult to buy any domestically manufactured or imported item that had not been touched by one of the combines. The names of the leading groups had also become well known around the world. But in 1995 the close ties between the conglomerates and the government suddenly came to a head. President Young Sam Kim ordered the arrest of his two immediate predecessors, Doo Hwan Chun and Tae Woo Roh, on bribery charges, and implicated twenty-four of the country’s top chaebeol in payoffs to the former presidents. Government officials were quick to point out, however, that they had no intention of dismantling the conglomerates because that would cripple the economy. They said their purpose in calling in and interrogating the leaders of the twenty-four chaebeol was to impress on them the importance of their voluntarily reducing their role and power in the economy—something that, in keeping with their dedication to the well-being of the nation, most of them agreed to do.
In chaebeol jargon, the founder company is often referred to as moche (moa-cheh), or “the mother company,” while subsidiaries are often called chamae hoesa (chah-may hweh-sah), or “sister companies.”
There was to be an even more serious downside to the rapid growth the chaebeol had relentlessly pursued for more than three decades. In 1997 their overextended financial obligations caught up with them, and several of them went bankrupt—something that had been virtually inconceivable to Koreans up to that time.
However, by the year 2000 leading chaebeol like LG, Samsung, and Hyundai had become global conglomerates, ranking among the world’s largest and best-known enterprises.
Chae-myeon 체면 Chay-myuhn
Saving Everybody’s Face
At the beginning of Korea’s Joseon dynasty in 1392 the new government strengthened the divisions between the already segregated social classes by making a much sterner version of Confucianism the national political ideology as well as the state religion. The government made the system work by imbuing its religious aspects with a cultlike status that conditioned people mentally and physically to behave according to a precise etiquette and by severely punishing any dissent.
Since this system made a carefully prescribed etiquette the essence of morality while also providing the social factors that gave people identity based on their sex, age, social class, and official position, it created in people a permanent obsession with making sure that others treated them with an exaggerated level of formal courtesy and respect.
People became extremely sensitive to the behavior of others and to their own behavior because everything that was done or said impacted their highly honed sense of propriety, self-respect, and honor. Protecting and nurturing one’s “face” and the “face” of one’s family thus became an overriding challenge in Korean life and had a fundamental influence in the subsequent molding of the Korean language and culture in general. Chae-myeon (chay-myuhn), or “face saving,” often took precedence over rationality, practicality, and truth.
In this face-sensitive society, speaking clearly and candidly became taboo. Speech became indirect and vague. Direct criticism, especially of superiors, was prohibited, and there were serious sanctions for breaking the ban. When something disruptive happened between individuals or groups, one of the institutionalized ways of “repairing” the damage was for a mutual agreement to opton kosuro haja (ohp-tohn koh-suu-roh hah-jah), which means “pretend it never happened.”
During the long Joseon dynasty (1392–1910), the practice of chae-myeon contributed significantly to cultural, social, and economic stagnation because it did not permit open, free, and critical discussion of matters at hand. It was not only safer to say nothing and do nothing to change things, it was the spiritually and morally correct thing to do.
Face is still of vital importance to Koreans. People continue to be extremely circumspect in their speech and behavior. The goal is to guarantee that everyone is in a constant state of anshim (ahn-sheem), which means “peace of mind” or “at perfect ease.” The first priority is to avoid any kind of direct confrontation by using only polite terms and refraining from saying or doing anything that would upset anyone. In business situations this may include not telling the truth about something, withholding bad news, and not bringing up mistakes that have been made. Naturally this kind of behavior can be very confusing and can mislead people who are not capable of reading between the lines. Foreigners dealing with Koreans may be especially disadvantaged.
Well before the formal end of the Joseon dynasty in 1910, however, public institutions and the government had lost their Confucian immunity to criticism. By the 1950s criticism and direct action designed to bring about change were not only common in Korea but also were engaged in with a special vehemence. Physical violence and bloodshed were often part of the overreaction to the centuries during which such behavior occurred but only when people were oppressed beyond the limits of their endurance.
Despite evolutionary changes in Korean culture since the end of the Joseon dynasty, however, Koreans continuously engage in chae-myeon in all of their personal and business relationships. Foreigners in Korea must do the same. Face saving, in fact, remains Korea’s “cultural lubricant,” without which things cannot and will not run smoothly.
Chakeupjajok 자급자족 Chah-keup-jah-joke
The Self-Sufficiency Syndrome
In the early 1990s, Korean business and political leaders began talking about the importance of internationalizing or globalizing the Korean economy in keeping with the worldwide trend among leading industrial powers—something that is such an extreme departure from traditional Korean thinking that it suggests changes in the Korean mind-set that, in fact, have not occurred. Those who are expressing this viewpoint are few in number and are not speaking for the overwhelming majority of Koreans.
A number of Korean companies have become multinational to the point that they appear to have been internationalized, but that too is misleading because behind the foreign facade of Samsung, the LG Group, and other Korean conglomerates, both the heart and soul are still Korean. True and complete internationalization and globalization are so directly opposed to the traditional Korean mind-set that the whole culture would have to be transformed before either could happen—a circumstance that is, of course, common in some degree to all nationalities.
For all practical purposes Koreans were isolated from the world community until 1965, when diplomatic relations were reestablished with Japan, and although they have since made remarkable progress in catching up with the rest of the world in a material sense, they (like the Chinese and Japanese) are still generations behind most Westerners in viewing themselves as members of the world family—racially as well as culturally.
In addition to their geographic and cultural isolation until recent times, Koreans have traditionally been programmed in the concept of chakeupjajok (chah-keup-jah-joke), or “self-sufficiency.” While this cultural conditioning naturally began as a matter of survival, it was eventually institutionalized in the Korean political, economic, and social systems. Until the first decades of the twentieth century the vast majority of all Koreans were, in fact, virtually self-sufficient, growing their own food and making their own clothing. While there was some exporting and importing in pre-twentieth-century Korea, the volume was so minuscule and limited to such a few items that foreign trade had no impact at all on most people.
Thus the concept of chakeupjajok has permeated Korean thinking since ancient times and still is a significant part of the policies and practices of the government and business in general. The larger a Korean enterprise, the more it tries to control all of the factors involved in its operation, from sourcing raw materials to selling and servicing finished goods. Korean companies also have a phobia about coming under the control of foreign firms. On a national scale the Korean government is determined to prevent the country from ever again coming under the political and economic hegemony of any foreign power.
Foreign businesspeople and diplomats dealing with Korea invariably encounter the chakeupjajok syndrome at one time or another, and generally it plays some kind of role in all of their relations with Korea. However, well before the end of the 20th century the incredible practical nature and success-drive of Koreans had led them to give the carefully nuanced globalization of their economy the highest priority, with astounding results.
Chameulseong 참을성 Chah-muhl-suhng
You Gotta Have Patience!
One of the sights that early foreign visitors to Korea were most impressed with, and invariably described—almost to the point that it appears to have been required of them—was that of elderly Korean men and women seated in calm repose outside their homes, in parks, or along rural walkways. These elderly people, dressed in the national male and female costumes, were generally assumed to be the embodiment of the revered grandmother, grandfather, or wise old Confucian scholar and the famed Korean trait of chameulseong (chah-muhl-suhng), or “patience”—all of which represented the best of Korean culture in the popular mind.
Contemporary Korean philosophers, psychologists, and other social scientists proclaim that chameulseong, or “patience,” is one of the primary national characteristics of the Korean people. They do not add, however, that this characteristic developed because the people of pre-modern Korea had no choice but to passively endure the abuses of authoritarian and backward-looking governments with as much dignity and patience as possible for century after century.
In old Korea any outward sign of impatience at the behavior of government officials and others in authority was traditionally taken as disrespectful and met with some kind of reaction that made things worse. In present-day Korea, chameulseong remains a prerequisite for survival and achievement. The government is not nearly as oppressive as it was in the past, but bureaucratic red tape, the personal nature of business transactions, limited facilities, and competition for virtually everything make patience essential if one is to avoid an emotional breakdown. Westerners in Korea generally have to undergo substantial cultural transformation before they can emotionally adjust to the slower pace of officialdom.
Probably the most conspicuous changes in the famed patience of Koreans is on the political front. Younger generations who have never known the hardships or the oppression that were the lot of their forebears are becoming more and more impatient in demanding political and economic rights that have long been taken for granted in the United States and other countries. Like other Asian societies that are attempting to accommodate principles of democracy and individualism within the context of their enduring Confucian cultures, present-day Koreans who live in larger cities and have college educations essentially have two personalities—a traditional Korean personality and what might be called a Western-oriented personality.
Generally speaking, these “two-sided” Koreans are able to assume whatever personality best fits the situations they are in. Problems arise, however, when the situations are not clear-cut and when they try to switch back and forth between the two modes or attempt to fuse them in an effort to please everyone.
Koreans who work with other Koreans in companies managed by expatriate foreign managers are especially challenged because they must be sensitive to a wide range of contradictory emotional needs and expectations from both their foreign managers and Korean co-workers. On an individual basis, Koreans can be as impatient as anyone else. But in any normal situation the larger the number of people involved the more likely the group is to assume a chameulseong mode and behave in the traditional fashion.
Generally speaking, as the famed English poet Rudyard Kipling did, trying to hurry things up in an Eastern culture like Korea usually makes them worse.
Another common term for patience—and endurance—is innae (een-nay).
Changpi 창비 Chahng-pee
The Shame Culture
Many people are familiar with the concept of a “shame culture” as a result of Ruth Benedict’s classic book The Chrysanthemum and the Sword, published in the 1940s, in which she delved into the cultural characteristics of the Japanese. As it happens, Korea also has a “shame culture” and for the same reasons—the influence of Confucianism, which makes saving face one of the most important elements in proper, moral behavior. In fact Korea was a “shame culture” before Japan, because Confucianism became entrenched in Korea well before it arrived in Japan.
In its Confucian context shame is regarded as the root of morality, and in shame cultures morality is driven externally. People in shame cultures try to avoid causing emotional pain to others and being subjected to such pain themselves—pain that is caused by being looked down on by others, by being embarrassed, by being disgraced in the eyes of others. Shame-centered people do not try to “be good” so as to avoid committing a sin that endangers their soul; they try to behave as is required by their social status and station to avoid losing their reputation.
Historically, the greatest sources of changpi (chahng-pee), or “shame,” in Korea were failing to live up to the expectations of the father, the family, the kin, and one’s circle of friends and associates and not being treated as one’s status demanded. In the case of the latter, Koreans were honor bound to wipe out the shame by somehow, at some time, taking revenge against the person or persons who shamed them.
In contrast to both Korea and Japan, the United States and other Christianized countries have “guilt cultures.” The primary sanction of the Christian religion is guilt feelings, and the more influence Christianity has on people the more guilty they feel about what they do—or think. Because these guilt feelings are internalized, people who have “sinned” can suffer on their own and in silence to the point that they go crazy—something that is rare in changpi cultures.
While Christianity peddles guilt and Confucianism purveys shame, there is a fundamental difference in the effects of the two sanctions. Shame-centered people can get by with all kinds of “immoral” conduct and not suffer any pangs of shame as long as it doesn’t become known to others. In shame cultures it is not doing what is shameful so much as getting caught that matters. Among the many things that people in changpi cultures can “morally” do that are considered immoral in Christianized guilt cultures is treat people as inferiors, take financial advantage of people, conceal the truth, use devious tactics, and—for men anyway—engage in premarital and extramarital sex.
It should be noted that some 20 to 25 percent of all present-day Koreans are classified as Christians, which could imply that this large number of Koreans today are more influenced by maume kengginun (mah-oo-may keng-ghee-nuun), or “guilt feelings,” than by shame and are therefore easier for Christianized foreigners to deal with. There is some truth in this belief, but not a lot. Koreans who regard themselves as Christians but were born and raised in Korea are geneally Koreans first and Christians second—meaning that they continue to be more influenced by the traditional shame culture than by the Christian guilt culture. Their Christianity is more of an intellectual addition to their beliefs than spiritual or emotional guidelines for behavior.
In male-female relations, in family matters, and in other personal and professional matters that really count, traditional Korean beliefs and behavior generally take precedence over Christian dogma and customs. Changpi, as it applies to Korean culture, is, in fact, far more powerful as a social conscience than spiritual guilt because it is precisely detailed and is much more visible to the eye. Guilt can be disguised and denied. Shame often stands out for everyone to see.
The one transgression that Koreans cannot accept is being shamed.
Collective Punishment
Historically in China, Korea, and Japan the Confucian principle of collective guilt and chebeol (cheh-buhl), or “collective punishment,” were practiced with determined zeal in an effort to maintain absolute anjong (ahn-johng), or “stability,” in society. In Japan whole families were sometimes executed for the crimes of single members (and to eliminate potential political rivals). In China collective punishment as well as political elimination were often even more draconian, covering extended families out to second cousins—a practice that was used regularly by Chinese Communists between 1930 and 1976 as a means of both eliminating enemies and suspects and intimidating other people through terror.
In early Korea, which historically was generally regarded as the most Confucian country in the Confucian sphere of Asia, entire families, and sometimes whole communities or villages, were held responsible for the behavior of each member. This provided an extraordinary incentive for individuals to behave and for families and group members to severely police their own members, resulting in the ultimate in Big Brotherism.
This collective coercion began in each individual family unit, the smallest political unit in the society. The father was responsible for the behavior of the family. The same concept of collective responsibility was extended to neighborhood communities and villages.
Today the Korean concept of morality is still based loosely on collective guilt, even though the law is not. Generally speaking, Korean society holds a family responsible for the misdeeds of any of its members, and by the same reasoning individuals cannot exonerate their families simply by declaring that their families are not responsible for their behavior. This is not to suggest that Koreans traditionally approved of chebeol unconditionally. Quite the contrary. When applied arbitrarily by public authorities, it was regarded as one of the primary evils of the ruling powers. But it persisted in virtually full force in schools, in the military, and in various social organizations until the early 1970s.
Collective responsibility works especially well as a social sanction against misbehavior because Korean culture is a “shame culture.” (See Changpi, p. 33.) There is extreme pressure on all Koreans to avoid shaming themselves and their families. Foreigners living and working in Korea invariably encounter the shame factor in Korean culture, but generally they are not exposed directly to collective punishment.
(Although the concept of collective guilt and punishment may be anathema to most individualistic Westerners, if it is not carried to extremes it is the ideal social mechanism for ensuring maximal harmony in society. There is, in fact, constant dialogue in the United States in particular about a return to this ancient practice—holding parents responsible for the misconduct of their children.)
In present-day Korea chebeol continues to be an important aspect of society, but it is generally enforced by private social response rather than official or government action. Individual Koreans are traditionally well behaved because they know their families will suffer if they misbehave.
As in other societies, however, violence is sanctioned in certain situations by Korean society, and those who refrain from such action are the ones criticized. The most common and conspicuous of these circumstances involve the need to focus attention on government abuses. Deliberately disobeying government edicts and attacking government officials and facilities are extremes historically deemed necessary because there was no other way of influencing the government.
In present-day Korea most such incidents are not aimed at actually killing anyone or destroying government property but are more symbolic in nature.
Chimsul 침술 Cheem-sool
Needling Cosmic Power
Chimsul (cheem-sool), or “acupuncture” is another of the many concepts brought to Korea from China some two thousand years ago that has survived into modern times and now exists side by side with Western ideas. The principle of acupuncture is based on the belief that the “life force” that animates the body and energizes the various organs flows through the body in precise channels. When this energy is weakened or disrupted for any reason, the particular organ that is affected and the body as a whole cannot function normally.
As long as three thousand years ago, Chinese doctors identified and mapped the body’s network of energy channels, then located more than 650 “points” where needles could be inserted into these channels to achieve some desired result. Acupuncturists say that inserting tiny needles into these energy channels has a variety of effects, ranging from stimulating and increasing the energy flow to blocking the flow, depending on where in the channels the needles are inserted.
Surprisingly enough, the channels and insertion points relating to particular body organs are often nowhere near the organs themselves. The insertion point for a problem involving the head or upper portion of the body may be located on the feet.
Practitioners of acupuncture say that it is not an instant cure for the variety of more serious ailments that develop over a long period of time. In such cases, they say, the treatment must continue for months to years if it is to have any chance of reversing the condition.
There is no question that acupuncture works in reducing or eliminating a number of ailments. It has been in use for more than three thousand years and has proven itself over and over again. One of its most dramatic uses is as an anesthetic in serious surgical operations on the brain. However, neither the Koreans nor the Chinese, who discovered and developed acupuncture, can explain in acceptable scientific terms exactly how and why it works. But in the 1980s Chinese medical authorities began a research program, with modern-day scientific guidelines, in a determined effort to resolve the mystery.
Acupuncture clinics are common throughout Korea, attesting to the continuing popularity of the treatment. In the past, practitioners routinely rotated the inserted needles by hand to increase their efficacy. Many have “modernized” the system by attaching wires to the inserted needles and sending weak electrical pulses through them. Some of the chim clinics in Korea cater specifically to foreign residents and visitors.
Western medical authorities are gradually accepting the premise that there is much more to therapy than drugs and surgery, and growing numbers are adding acupuncture to their medical repertoire. An interesting historical note: During the early decades of the Joseon dynasty (1392–1910) a special group of women were taught how to treat upper-class female patients with chim because it was forbidden for men, including doctors, to touch women who were not their wives.
Chingu 친구 Cheen-guu
Cultivating Friends
Chingu (cheen-guu), or “friends,” have traditionally occupied a special place in Korean society, but not just for the reasons that Westerners regard as obvious. Until well up into the twentieth century, Koreans were severely limited in the number and kind of personal relationships they could develop outside their families and kin. Each family was virtually an exclusive unit. The obligations that individual members had to each other, both individually and as a unit, precluded them from establishing close relationships with all but a select few outsiders. Females were especially limited in their outside relationships. With few exceptions, girls and women were not allowed to associate on intimate terms with anyone other than family members and close same-sex relatives.
During most of the long Joseon dynasty (1392–1910) the majority of Korean women who lived in urban areas spent their entire lives without speaking to any men other than those in their immediate families and close kin. Their contact with females outside their families was limited by law to a few hours in the evening after dark, during which men were required to stay indoors.
When the Joseon dynasty began to break up near the end of the nineteenth century, the segregation of males and females also began to end, as did the isolation of females in their homes. But it was not until the mid-1950s—after almost forty-five years of occupation by Japan and the havoc caused by war between North and South Korea—that Koreans began, slowly, establishing the kind of casual and intimate male-female friendships that are common in the West.
Korean men had always had more freedom to develop relationships outside their families—with other men as well as women (the latter in the kisaeng houses, tea houses, and bars making up Korea’s exclusively male-oriented entertainment industry)—but it would not be until the last decades of the Joseon dynasty, when the feudal class system was abolished and Western-type companies were introduced into the country, that men began to associate freely with relatively large numbers of other men. For the first time in the history of the country men were politically as well as socially free to expand their circle of friends.
These legal changes did not end the Confucian-oriented family system or the class differences, and both of these continued to limit the circle of intimate friends that men had. What was new and dramatic was that, because of the personalized nature of all relationships in Korea, large numbers of businessmen were compelled to meet and develop personal relationships with people in other companies and in a variety of government offices as part of their job.
In Korea today most businesspeople and all politicians count the number of friends and contacts they have in high places as among their most important professional assets. Ujeong (Uh-juhng), or “friendship,” remains one of the primary foundations for most business and professional dealings.
Fortunately, there are almost no cultural restraints on Koreans’ meeting and establishing close relationships with foreigners, and many go out of their way to initiate such contacts for their own personal reasons. This is common enough that newly arrived foreigners are often advised by old-timers to be cautious about adding just anyone they meet to their circle of friends. There always seems to be a collection of unsavory characters in each city who are notorious for taking advantage of such relationships.
Chung 충 Chuung
Loyalty in a Korean Setting
Koreans traditionally emphasized chung (chuung), or “loyalty,” in their literature, teaching, and behavior. But loyalty in the traditional culture of Korea was not a universal concept or practice that applied to people in a general sense. It was a carefully defined and prescribed kind of behavior that was based on Confucian concepts of male superiority, authoritarianism, a hierarchical society, ancestor worship, regionalism, and other circumstantial factors. In its Korean context, loyalty came under the heading of what is now called situation ethics.
In general terms the first obligation of individual Koreans has traditionally been absolute loyalty to their immediate families. The second priority was loyalty to kin, followed by loyalty to friends, community, and the nation at large. Most of these loyalty obligations were fixed at birth and in essence were immutable regardless of the feelings involved. The closed nature of Korean families, communities, and society in general severely limited the number of personal relationships individuals could develop and therefore kept obligations for loyal behavior narrowly focused.
Chung in its Confucian context was, of course, a social principle linked to virtue. On an individual basis, virtue was demonstrated by acts of loyalty. The other side of the chung principle was that those to whom loyalty was extended were expected to be virtuous and therefore deserving of the loyalty, implying that people were not required to be loyal to the undeserving. In actual practice, however, lack of virtue in the case of fathers, other family members of superior status, and local or national authorities did not automatically release people from obligations of loyalty. Those in power could and usually did demand loyalty regardless of their own character and punished those whom they considered disloyal.
The Confucian concept of loyalty still prevails in Korea, but it has become less focused and less one-sided in response to the growth of individualism, personal choice, and personal responsibility. Young people no longer blindly obey abusive or unfair fathers; wives no longer remain loyal to abusive or distant husbands, opting for divorce instead; workers who feel they are not being paid or treated properly regularly change jobs without suffering any pangs of Confucian shame.
Probably the most conspicuous example of chung in Korea today is toward the nation as a whole. Koreans are especially proud of their country. Their pride and loyalty results in their willingly making sacrifices to benefit all of Korea.
Foreign managers in Korea should keep in mind that Koreans still relate the loyalty they extend to foreign relationships, particularly foreign employers, with their perception of the degree of virtue, including chung, exhibited by the foreigners involved. Any sign, real or imagined, that the foreign side is disloyal (looking out primarily for itself at their expense) releases them from their chung obligations.
Maintaining mutual loyalty in Korea requires extraordinary sensitivity to a variety of cultural expectations and both the willingness and ability to fulfill those expectations. Acquiring this level of awareness and experience usually takes several years of dedicated effort. Until foreigners achieve that level of expertise, they should make a point of establishing a close personal relationship with one or more older, experienced Korean men and women willing to be their mentors.