new Korean  Stories from 2002
English language version by Chris A. Foreman

No Loyal Opposition     return to top
January 12, 2002 / Number 77.

The concept of a loyal opposition is foreign to traditional Korean thinking. "After all", you may think "how can I be both loyal and opposed at the same time". But the inability of many Koreans to grasp this important idea and to take it to heart causes them problems in a Western culture. The practice of loyal opposition began a few centuries ago in England. Politicians asserted that they were both loyal to the king, yet opposed to the king's government. This idea has since permeated American culture. As I interact with my Korean friends, I can see that "loyal opposition" is still a puzzle to most of them. I see this in Korean government, in Korean organizations, in Korean churches and even in my Korean family. What happens to nice Korean people when they attain power?

I have read about the great Korean leader Syngman Rhee. During the last 20 years of Japanese occupation, this man embodied Korean nationalism. While living in Hawaii and married to a European wife, Dr. Rhee was a picture of worldly sophistication. Most Americans were confident that this westernized Korean would carry his nation along a democratic path. Unfortunately that did not happen. The division of Korea then the Korean war were good excuses to maintain an iron grip, but by 1960 there were no more excuses. This tyrant treated his nation as personal property. Syngman Rhee would accept no loyal opposition. He finally fled from office in disgrace when his army took the side of the loyal opposition.

I am familiar with a local Korean organization. The man director is a kind person and the woman board chair is charming. This community-based group conforms to American law by appointing a board of directors. However, the rubberstamp board does nothing but provide prestige names. Unfortunately, the leaders treat their organization as a private club, hiring and firing at whim. Again, no board member or employee dare speak against the leaders. They will tolerate no loyal opposition.

I once attended a Korean church that was lead by an attractive and charismatic pastor. Young people would flock to this church for strong spiritual leadership, but older Christians felt they had no voice in the way the church was lead. It was always "my way or the highway". The idea that a member could oppose the pastor yet remain loyal to the church appeared absurd. This is not Korean thinking, I was told.

Finally I see the East/West dynamic in my own marriage. Just last week my wife and I were discussing the American Talaban, John Walker. She insisted that he was a misunderstood and misguided youth. I opposed her on this. I countered that he knew what he was doing and should be punished harshly for his crimes. Soon our disagreement devolved to a situation where "I didn't love her, because I disagreed with her". I reminded her, that I am loyal to her, but at times I oppose her opinions. She accepted my apology and we moved on. I believe that it was Voltaire who said, "I may disagree with what you say, but I will defend to the death your right to say it". May we all grow into that frame of mind.

Short term memory     return to top
January 26, 2002 / Number 78.

One of my resolutions for the year 2002 was to take better care of myself. To help me with this resolution, I visited the local Walgreen store and bought 12 kinds of vitamins and health supplements. I purchased One-a-day vitamins for men, natural B complex, magnesium malate, iron-folic plus, flax oil, and calcium with vitamin D. To help keep track of all these pills, I bought a plastic container with seven compartments marked with the days of the week. Before leaving the drugstore, I also bought a big jar of Ginkgo Biloba. At the bottom of this health supplement, the label reads "supports alertness and short term memory". I reasoned that this was my most important purchase, because without this one pill, I may forget to take the other six. To support my new year resolution, my wife agreed to take the vitamin supplements with me. She also has a plastic container with seven compartments. She is taking all the same vitamins, especially the Ginkgo.

Short term memory seems to be a problem in my family. I think that I spend half of my waking hours looking around the house for my wallet, my car keys or glasses. I try to put them always in the same place, but sometimes I forget where that place is. The woman I married also has this same memory affliction. When we were first dating in Seoul, the weather was very cold. I noticed that she did not have a pair of gloves, so the first gift I ever bought her was an expensive set of leather gloves. The next time I dated her, I saw that her hands were cold again. I asked her about the gloves and she sheepishly admitted that she left her new gloves in the taxi cab on the way to meet me. I bought her another pair, not so expensive this time. About a week later, they were also gone. I didn't make an issue of it. I went to the same store and bought an identical set of gloves. I gave them to her and said I found her lost gloves in a taxi. We both chuckled about this shared fiction. Twenty-nine years later, she is still the "absent minded professor". It is amazing to me how she can explain in vivid detail of how I wronged her 20 years ago, but cannot recall the location of her gym bag.

Our older son, Zachary, inherited both our short term memory problems. He has a double dose. Now Zachary is very smart, but as we say, "he would lose his head if it weren't attached". When he was in first grade he kept on leaving things at school and we kept replacing things for him. Finally on the last day of school, we attended an open house. In the school cafeteria, there was a large table displaying items lost by students. We still smile about the 4 lunch boxes and 5 sweaters that we re-claimed for our forgetful Zach. I don't mind his forgetfulness nowadays. Whenever he visits our house, He leaves behind something of value to him. That forgotten item is always a convenient excuse for us to visit him to return the lost item.

January is almost over and I am still faithfully taking my vitamins everyday. I did miss one day however. I attended a week-end retreat and I accidentally left my pill container in the guest house. When I returned home and unpacked my bag, I realized that I had forgotten my pill container. I could only laugh at my own forgetfulness. I diligently visited the Walgreen and bought another container marked with the days of the week. Maybe it will take until 2003 for the Ginkgo to do its magic.

Fun with Words     return to top
February 9, 2002 / Number 79.

I am just finishing up a class in New Testament Greek at the Baptist seminary. My Greek professor is a Korean fellow named Dr. Noh. His intensive course crammed 60 hours of class time into 4 weeks. I was learning 20 new words a day. I was up to my ears studying nouns, pronouns, verbs and especially participles. When a student studies Greek verbs, they spend hours learning all the permutations of the verb "luo" - a word meaning "to loose". I took the final exam today and was able to write down all 48 ways to express the participle that in English is translated simply as "loosing". But the class wasn't all hard work. We also had fun with words. Since this class was instructed in English, focusing on the Greek language, and presented by a Korean teacher, all three languages were spoken at times.

Dr. Noh is new to the seminary. All long-term professors have their own parking space in front of the administration building. These prize spaces are marked with faculty names stenciled on the curb. Dr. Noh joked that he felt so welcome when he first arrived on campus. All important faculty and even the president has only one marked parking space. But as Dr. Noh drove around campus there were several places reserved just for him, specially stenciled with "No Parking". This little joke loosened up our class just when we were getting tired of studying the Greek verb "to loose". This joke would mean absolutely nothing to a Korean speaker who did not know the meaning of "no parking", but to our group it was funny. Wordplay is the most difficult aspect of translating language.

We also found fun with Greek words. One of the verses we translated in the Gospel of John dealt with Spirit and Voice. This is one interpretation, anyway. In Greek the verse may mean, "The Spirit moves where he wants and we hear his voice" or "the wind moves where it wants and we hear its sound." There appears to be intentional wordplay at work here, in the way Greek is written. Of course in English, or in Korean, all this cleverness is lost. Without a knowledge of the Greek, so many delicious original words become stale.

I talked with Dr. Noh a little bit during one the breaks. We began to discuss wordplay and he told me a story about his daughter. My Korean language skills are not that good so it took a long time for me to understand the humor in his Korean story. The story went something like this. He told me that his five-year old daughter came to him very confused one day. She asked her dad how she would be able to fly around in the sky if she didn't have wings like a bird. She explained to him that " if she believes in Jesus then she will fly around in the sky". She asked this question with the innocence that only a child could have. After he stopped laughing, he said "no, the words are not 'fly in the sky' [hanul o nara karo], but 'go to heaven' [hanul nara karo]. I still don't fully understand this joke, but the Korean students around me laughed. I have heard it said, that if a joke has to be explained to you, then it ceases to be a joke. When I finally laugh at Korean wordplay, maybe then I will really understand the language.

MiGook Saram and Mujungo    return to top
February 23, 2002 / Number 80.

During my first visit to Korea, I was an unwilling human spectacle. In 1972 I enjoyed traveling by bus through rural and "exotic" Chun-Chan Province. I would hop off the bus as it paused in a small village. I would hurry to buy something at the bus-stop market. Before I knew it, children would gather around me. It was as if they had radar for foreigners. The kids would get excited and shout, "MiGook Saram, MiGook Saram" (American! - American!). Suddenly, I would be surrounded by a few dozen boys and girls just staring at me. A few would point and a few would giggle. I guess that a person who is tall, light skinned, hairy, and round-eyed provided village kids with one of their few amusements back in those days. My classic memory occurred when I visited a monument as a tourist. As I was trying to read a brass inscription, a young man -- unknown to me -- approached and asked if I would pose with him in front of the monument. He next asked me to put my arm around him. I cheerfully obliged as his friend snapped a picture. I imagine that today my picture is a trophy displayed proudly in someone's scrapbook somewhere in Korea. In a uni-culture like Korean, a person with different looks stands out like a light bulb in a dark room.

These memories came flooding back to me as I traveled around Rwanda last year. As I walked down dusty side streets in the city of Kigali, I often found myself surrounded by children. Just like in Korea 30 years earlier, there were giggles and pointing fingers. Instead of saying "MiGook Saram", the little African kids shouted "Mujungu", a word which means "white person". But this time there was irony in their words, because the word "Mujungu" was not only aimed at me, but also at my Korean companions. In the eyes of African kids, my Caucasian face was not distinguishable from the Korean faces of my friends. We were all "Mujungu" to them. I asked my interpreter about this. He said, "sure, there are two kinds of people in the world, native Africans and everybody else". To be honest, there were a few people that shouted out "Chinese" when they saw Koreans, but mostly it was just "Mujungu".

As we finished up our mission in Rwanda, my wife and I spoke in front of a large church congregation. Our Rwandan interpreter, Frank, stood between us. I couldn't pass up this opportunity to point to the three of us as a "rainbow family"; African, Asian, and European standing together as one in the sight of God.

Race and color is only a matter of perception. When I walked in Korea, I was a spectacle in the eyes of Korean children. When I walked in Africa with a Korean, the two of us were spectacles in the eyes of African children. I bet that if I were to travel to Mars along with my Korean wife and with my African interpreter, the three of us would be spectacles. Martian children might point at us and not be able to distinguish our features. Perhaps the little ones would giggle and shout out "earthlings, earthlings".

Seeing again the first Korean person that I ever met    return to top
March 9, 2002 / Number 81.

A few weeks ago I traveled to a church in the East Bay of San Francisco. I went there to hear a woman speak about her old life in Korea and her new life in America. The speaker's name was Stephanie Fast. She has presented her story across the country and before two American presidents. This was her testimony: Stephanie was born in Korea just after the Korean war. She does not know the date of her birth nor the name that she was given at birth. She believes that her mother was Korean and that her father was an American GI. She is not certain of any facts, because her first memories are of being abandoned at a train station when she was about 5 years old. The first name that she remembers being called was "twe-gee" (half-breed). As Twe-gee, she survived three winters in the harsh landscape of Korea. She stayed alive by God's grace and by her own wit; living in caves, sleeping under bridges, and running with older street kids. Twe-gee was beaten, degraded, and sexually abused. She was at death's door when a Swedish missionary rescued her from a trash heap. Twe-gee was nursed back to health at an orphanage and was finally adopted by a missionary couple in 1960. The orphan Twe-gee became the daughter Stephanie and after spending a few years in Korea, she came to America.

Her life began to improve but she found it difficult to escape her horrible childhood. Release came for Stephanie only after she learned to forgive those who hurt her. She says that praying for her enemies may have done little for them, but it worked a miracle in her life. Stephanie's testimony was especially touching to my wife and me because our two children are "twe-gee". In another time and in another land, our two innocents could have been targets of abuse just because of their parentage.

As I sat in the balcony and listened to Stephanie's testimony an unusual thought began to percolate. I began to think that I had met this woman many years before. As she mentioned being born in about 1953, of growing up in Tennessee and about traveling to Chicago, everything seemed to fit. Way back in 1972, I had just graduated from college in Indiana. The Peace Corps had just accepted my application and I was about to leave on my great adventure to Korea. I was at a youth church meeting of some sort when one of my friends informed me that a high school girl was there and that she was from Korea. Back then, there were very few Koreans around, especially in Indiana. As a matter of fact, Stephanie was the first Korean person that I ever met. We sat and talked a while. She told me that she was adopted and that her parents were missionaries. We chatted a while and we even exchanged a few letters while I was in Korea. Then it was over. I did remember that her name was Stephanie. I did not remember her as a person of mixed race. That did not make an impression.

After Stephanie spoke, I stood in line to talk with her privately. After small talk about her testimony, I told her that I thought that we had met once before. As I explained, she smiled. "Yes" she was at Ball State University back in 1972. She told me that she was there checking out colleges. Indeed, she did remember the church meeting and speaking with me about my upcoming trip to Korea. It was amazing. I am glad that I treated her well and that she treated me well. We must always be on our best behavior. We never know when someone will appear from our past life. Will it be a moment of cheerful reminiscence or a moment of shame?

To each their own    return to top
March 23, 2002 / Number 82.

Whenever I speak in public, especially in a university setting, I always guard my language. I was not raised speaking "inclusive language", but I have learned to speak it with some facility. "Inclusive language" means English speech in which all human beings, especially woman, are included in both thought and in grammar. For instance, "mankind" becomes "humankind" and "policeman" becomes "police officer". I few years ago, I was performing a grammar check on my computer. I turned off this function after the computer suggested that I change my last name from "Foreman" to "Foreperson".

The most difficult problem in speaking inclusive language is what to do with the English words "he", "him" and "his". Traditionally these words have doubled in usage, meaning both "the male person" and "a person of unspecified gender". Thirty years ago I could say, "if the doctor calls, tell him I will be late". This usage may have hinted at male identity, but when I spoke it I meant "him" to be understood as a person of unspecified gender. I can no longer speak like this. If I do not know whether the doctor is a man or woman, I now say "if the doctor calls, tell him or her that I will be late". Here is the problem with English. Our grammar demands the use of pronouns, yet our language lacks a pronoun that identifies both the female and male gender. Some feminists insist that English shortcoming is a result of a patriarchal system that has traditionally counted women as property. I don't think that the explanation is as sinister as that. Most European languages have a "grammatical gender" that has nothing to do with girls or boys. In German for example, the word for turnip is feminine and the word for girl is neuter. This grammatical gender does not seem to confuse the Germans. The rule is simple. Pronouns in German always follow the grammatical gender of the noun. English lost its grammatical gender centuries ago and so now has problems with pronouns agreeing with nouns.

There is some notion that by speaking a more inclusive English, we Americans will somehow build a more inclusive society. Is this true? Think about your own Korean language. Compared to English, Korean is very inclusive. Both the words saram and bun [person] are not gender specific. Pronouns are not a part of the fabric of spoken Korean, so Koreans can speak volumes without identifying gender. Korean is great for being inclusive in language, yet is it inclusive in the treatment of women? Just one hundred fifty years ago, Korean women walked the streets of Seoul just as carefully and just as covered up as Afghan women walked the streets of Kabul under the Taliban. It wasn't until American missionaries began schooling Korean girls, that the role of women began to change. Clearly in the case of Korean, inclusive language is not a sign of an inclusive society.

Nevertheless, I do appreciate the effort to make English more inclusive and more sensitive to all people. I will continue to construct sentences like "To each their own", even though I realize that "each" is singular and "their" is plural. That sentence is not so rough on my ears as it was a few years ago. However, under no circumstances will I change my name from "Chris Foreman" to "Chris Foreperson"! Don't even ask.

Big Sister of the Universe    return to top
April 6, 2002 / Number 83.

Yesterday my wife and I were walking up the front stairs of our house. She noticed that a flower in a flower pot was wilting. She felt the soil with her finger and said, "this flower needs some water". I played along with her comment and said, "Well then, why don't you water it?" She laughed and said, "that's not my job. My job is to point out that it needs water and your job is to water it". Once again she is fulfilling her role of oldest daughter. I believe that birth order plays a big role in who we are and in who we become. My wife is the first of six children and I am the fifth of six. These facts help explain why we are still married after 28 years.

As a fifth child, I was compliant and did not need to take charge much. My older sisters dressed me all the way up through grade school and my older brother chased away bullies at the school playground. Life was easy. I also think after raising four children, my parents finally got the hang of parenthood on children five and six. I never bossed anyone around. I was the archetypical little brother. As a first child, my wife had an entirely different childhood. With her mother and father gone from the house a lot, she had to take charge of little her brothers and sisters. She would order them around and assume responsibilities of a parent. She was a natural leader and was a big sister from childhood. She cooked rice and bought groceries at the market. I didn't realize at the time we were married, but we were made for each other. In our relationship she got to be the big sister and I got to be the little brother. A marriage is difficult between a big brother and a big sister. Each wants to tell the other what to do and neither will listen to the other. Likewise a marriage is difficult between a little sister and a little brother because each is content with life and neither has the initiative to take charge. In our lifelong relationship, my wife is person who keeps us marching down the path toward a goal and I am the one who urges us both to stop on occasion and smell the flowers along the path. We make a good team.

The ideal job for my wife would be "big sister of the universe". She can listen to two people arguing and comment: "He should this and she should do that. Problem solved". She can read a newspaper article and immediately discover the solution. If only the world would listen to her advise. After several years of listening to my wife dispense her wisdom, I tried to come up with a descriptive word for her big sister talk. "Nag" is too harsh a word. She is not saying these things to be mean. Giving "advice" is not quite accurate, because commenting that plants need to be watered in not really giving advice. I settled on the word "point out" to describe her big sister ways. As big sister of the universe, her mission is to "point out" and she is quite accomplished at this. She points out things to me and to our two sons. She points out things to her brothers and sisters and to any who will listen.

I say none of this to be critical of my wife. Much of what I have accomplished in life, I owe to her. You would not be reading these thoughts of a lazy number five son if it were not for the leadership of a hard-charging number one daughter.

A Family Photo of Four    return to top
April 20, 2002 / Number 84.

I first read the story in the morning San Francisco Chronicle. While eating breakfast, I glanced at the single column on the front page. It was a story about a woman killing her two daughters, then her husband, and then herself. "Such a tragedy", I thought, "and not far from here - in Santa Clara". I read the name of the deceased mother - Tae Young Schiefer. "Oh, no. Could this possibly be a Korean woman?" I sighed to myself, "No, it's probably a Chinese name". I finished reading the rest of the paper, forgot about this story and headed off for work. On the way back to the house, I picked up the mail. On the front page of the Korea Times, I saw news of the suicide murders. She must have been Korean, I concluded. I gave the newspaper to my wife who read the news, making a "Tck-tck-tck" sound with her tongue. She explained some of the details provided by the Korea Times.

There are three levels of personal introduction: first you are introduced to the name, then to the photograph, then finally to the person in the flesh. On the next morning I passed from level one to level two. I was greeted by the Schiefer family photo on page two of the Chronicle. I blinked back tears. The formal family photo was so typical of the genre. A husband posed on the left, two children to the right, and a mother in the center. Why is it that the only time that when a family photo of this sort appears in a newspaper, it's in regard to some great tragedy? I looked up from the family photo in the newspaper and glanced across the room. I saw my own family photo. It was surprisingly similar: an Asian woman in the center, a Western man, on the left and two children of mixed-race standing behind. As I reflected, the thought occurred to me that if my family photo ever appeared in the Chronicle, it would have to be under similar circumstances. I shuttered at the thought and looked back to the picture in the paper. How could such an untypical tragedy happen to such a typical looking family?

In the afternoon Korean Times, I was the same family photo, but this time larger. I watched my wife as she read more details. I could see that she was disturbed. But she looked up and said to me "you better watch out. See what we Korean woman can do to our husbands". It was a bad joke, but humor has a way of dispelling tension. In the following days, more details emerged about his recently deceased family of four. The husband was German, the daughters were bright, and the mother experienced extremes mood swings. I read a family news letter written by the husband, discussing typical family events, so oblivious to the tragic road ahead.

I have no answers, but only questions. Could someone have intervened to prevent this loss? Did she have to kill her daughters? Who is to blame for these four deaths? I remember the story of scorned Medea; how this wife and mother was so consumed with hatred toward her husband that she robbed from him of the thing that he most valued - their two sons. Her hatred was greater to her husband than her love for her own child. Is this a local example of this ancient Greek story? I think that there is a beast I all of us. I think that moral training, human compassion, and will power can keep the beast at bay most of the time. When hatred, combines with mental and emotional instability, and combines again with easy access to handguns, this is when a family photo of four can appear in local newspaper.

Envelopes full of money    return to top
May 4, 2002 / Number 85.

As I was growing up, I never saw large amounts of cash. My father would get his pay check from his employer, deposit it in a bank and then write checks. Even as I grew older, I never saw much cash. In college I paid for things with my own checks and a little later with my own credit cards. To me cash was always this nuisance paper between earning money and spending it. Even today I live nearly a cashless existence. My only acquaintance with cash money comes from my Korean experience.

The last time I held more than one hundred dollars in cash occurred when I traveled to another city to speak before a Korean audience. Someone handed me one envelope with ten twenty-dollar bills and another person gave me an envelope with three one-hundred bills. This cash paid for my air travel and about $100 per day. I accepted this as recompense for my expense. At this same little meeting, I saw several envelopes being passed around. Don't any of these people have checking accounts?

After returning from my speaking engagement I began to hear more about cash envelopes in Korea. Politicians - and their sons - are getting into deep trouble. Businessmen are always in trouble. Even teachers and pastors are getting into trouble for accepting large amounts of cash in unmarked envelopes. In Korea, it used to be that only rich people could give and accept cash envelopes. Now with prosperity everybody is doing it. Has the white envelope bulging with cash become a national emblem of a prosperous Korea.

Even people who try hard to avoid cash envelopes still end up accepting them. I know of a youth pastor who would make house visits to counsel teenagers. One mother kept trying to hand him envelopes of money. He always refused, saying this was his calling from God. After one visit, the mother begged him to take home some leftover pastries. He reluctantly accepted. When he got home and looked under the pastries, he discovered an envelop filled with cash. He confessed to me that he kept money. Now he feels a special obligation to that one family over the others that he is helping. I have learned that one cannot accept free money with accepting the control that follows the money.

I've come up with three reasons why Koreans like to deal with cash rather than checks. First, many Koreans grew up not trusting banks. Banks could go bankrupt and they might lose all their money. This is why my grandfather didn't put his money in banks. He lost it during the great depression in the 1930s. A second reason might be that for Koreans cash money is anonymous. Cash is difficult to trace and therefore difficult to tax. Could anyone ever measure the untaxed cash that passes between Koreans in America. Anonymous cash is also a good place for "gray area" transactions, like giving bonuses to workers or like paying secret wages to recent immigrants. Finally I think that Koreans like most people in the world just like the feel and smell of money. When I received my first paycheck from the Korean Times for writing these articles, I was grateful that I received a check and not an unmarked envelope of 20 dollar bills.

The One-Down Position    return to top
May 18, 2002 / Number 86.

Once my sister was sick, but nobody knew the name of her illness. She showed a multitude of symptoms, but there was no diagnosis. Finally she found a doctor that was able to name her illness. Although, she still suffers, at least her ailment has a name. Just providing a name improved the situation. With a name comes partial understanding. For years I have been aware of a particular behavior among Korean people, but I never had a name for it. I just finished a book about cross-cultural conflict that described this behavior using the term "one down position". Here's what this typical Korean behavior looks like:

Mr. Kim reserved a room at a fancy Korean restaurant for a party. He and the restaurant manager had agreed orally on the total package price for the meal. After a delicious feast, the waiter brought the bill to Mr. Kim, which turned out to be nearly twice the amount agreed upon. What could he do? Maybe an American would directly confront the manager. But the manager might lose face in a direct confrontation. Perhaps, Mr. Kim should pay the full amount. But that would make him lose face in the eyes of the manager. Mr. Kim wanted to maintain relationship with the manager in an atmosphere of mutual respect, so he asked to see the manager about his bill. After complementing the meal, Mr. Kim casually mentioned that he was so embarrassed. When the manager asked him why, he explained that only brought so much money with him. Mr. Kim explained that he would be so ashamed to ask his friends for more money after enjoying such a wonderful meal. He did not know what to do and asked the manager for advice. The manager sympathized with him and took the bill to his office. He cut the bill in half which turned out to be the agreed upon price for the meal. Both Mr. Kim and the manager walked away happy, with honor and respect intact. Mr. Kim did not make any accusations, even though he guessed that the overcharge was deliberate. To accuse or find fault would have strained a long relationship.

This way of behaving is second nature for Koreans, but totally foreign to us Americans. My book says that taking the "one down position means you make yourself vulnerable to another person or indicate that without their help you are in danger of being shamed or losing face. You put yourself in debt, obligation or obvious deference to the other party. By taking the position of need and calling on another for assistance, you utilize another twist on the notion of shame or loss of face."

As I reflect upon the notion of shame and loss of face, I recall a cross cultural conflict that I was recently involved in. I was leading a team of four Koreans in Africa. One of our team members was an older Korean gentleman who would not follow my instructions nor cooperate with others in our group. I would term him a "loose cannon". In Korean terms, he was a real "green frog". I dealt with his unacceptable behavior like a typical American leader. I confronted him with anger in front of others. His behavior did not improve. In fact, he sulked for the remainder of our time in Africa. Now he says bad things about me and about our group. I wish that I would have handled the situation better. I should have used a "one down position" strategy to deal with him. Perhaps by putting myself in a position of need and calling upon him for assistance, I would have saved the situation. I don't know. Not all relationships can be saved. This is a great way to avoid conflict. It's too bad that this ancient type of conflict resolution is so foreign to us Americans.

Orphans for the sake of English   return to top
June 1, 2002 / Number 87.

I am blessed because I was started out life speaking the English language. I have traveled to many countries and at most every hotel, museum, or tourist shop someone speaks my native tongue. This makes communication easy for me, but it has also made me lazy. Since most of the world is learning my language, I have not been serious about learning theirs. At points in my life, I have formally studied German, French, Latin, Korean, and Greek. Please don't ask me to carry on a conversation in any of these languages, because I would be embarrassed at my inability. Unlike English, most of world is not familiar with the Korean language. This is unfortunate, because the Korean alphabet is easy to learn and the language itself is eloquent.

Since the first GIs stepped foot in Korea in 1950, Korean people have been obsessed with learning English. I was a part of this obsession. When the U.S. Peace Corps first offered to send young American volunteers to assist in the building of Korea, the Korean government requested only three positions: health clinic workers, university English teachers, and middle school English teachers. In the early 1970s, I was a middle school teacher in North Chun Chung province. For eighteen months I taught students how to speak the "R" and the "L" properly. I returned to Korea in the early 1980s and taught English conversation at Dan Gook university. My only special skill was my native English speaking ability. I could have worked 24 hours a day. Every student, business man, and factory manager wanted to learn English. I knew of one college student who slept every night with an English dictionary under his pillow. I don't think this strategy helped him much.

The Korean obsession with learning English has become more extreme recently. For the past several years, Korean parents have sent thousands of Korean children to America and other English-speaking countries for the sole purpose of learning the much prized English language. Often times a mother travels with a child while the father stays in Korea working two jobs to support two households. Sometimes a child travels alone, living with relatives or in a group home. These are orphans for the sake of English. I personally cannot understand this separation of families. Is English fluency really worth children being separated from parents and for wives to be separated from husbands? Can this truly be in the best interest of the child? Maybe I am selfish, but the best time of my life was raising my two sons; playing baseball with them, traveling with them and just being involved in their daily lives. I would not trade my child-raising experience for anything. If you were to ask my children, they would tell you they had a wonderful childhood. Sometimes I think that Korean parents are going after the silver of English fluency, not recognizing the gold that exists in a strong and united family bond.

Now I am reading that obsession with English fluency has reached new heights. Adults and even children are having their tongues surgically altered to help pronounce English words. Don't these people realize that language is in the mind, not in the tongue? There are thousands of Korean-Americans with genetically identical tongues who speak flawless English. I mentioned at the beginning of this article that being born an English speaker was a blessing. This is true. But a bigger blessing has been my wife and my two sons. I my choice was between being fluent in English or being an everyday part of my family's life, I would give up English. Speaking only Chinese, or French, or Swahili or even Korean is not that bad, really.

Pointing Fingers   return to top
June 15, 2002 / Number 88.

When I was young, my mother said to me, "never point a finger at somebody. Remember that there are always three fingers pointing back at you". I was reminded of that motherly advice as I discussed my newspaper column with a Korean friend of mine while walking the trail at Muir Woods. She was kind and generous with her comments, but as we discussed more, I could see that some of my words bothered her. She felt as if I was pointing a criticizing finger at Korea and her Korean people. I tried to apologize and at the same time defend my point of view. As we walked beneath the giant redwoods, two people in front of us turned and gave a "hush" signal with a finger pressed to the lips. Maybe our conversation was louder than I had realized.

We talked about many things. She informed me that Korea has many old buildings. This was in response to a column I wrote about a lack of ancient sites in Korea. She was also complaining about how backward America was in relation to Korea. Her hotel room didn't even have an internet connection! She also couldn't understand why the streets of San Francisco are decorated with so many homeless and beggars. She grew defensive as I responded, "if America is so bad then why so many Koreans are migrating to America?" We discussed politics in Korea and how like all the governments is the past, this present one started out with bright prospects, but is now struggling with scandal. I told her my theory about when North Korea will collapse and reunify with the South. I explained that China is the key. When the Soviet Union yielded to democracy, then the Soviet satellite states were set free. I believe that the North will change only when China embraces democracy. I am a person with an opinion about everything and I enjoy lively debate. It's a kind of sport to me but the sport was getting too loud. I could see that my wife was giving me the look that means I should change the subject. We stopped the debate, then discussed how beautiful the giant redwoods were. There was absolutely no debate about that.

As I reflect upon our discussion in the woods, I realize that perhaps I have been too critical in pointing fingers at Korea without the balancing acknowledgement that three fingers are always pointing back at me. If I have offended my Korean readers, I want you to know that my intention is not to offend, but to offer an honest outsider's view of Korea. Sometimes this humble offering may appear harsh, unfair, or petty. I don't wish to dump on Korea. It is a land near my heart. I love the people, the food, and the music (at least the traditional music, not the current pop). The two years I spent in Korea are the "hinge event" of my life and the wife I married in Korea continues to make my life a daily Korean experience. I believe that one understands oneself better when there is a point of contrast. By explaining how Korea looks through the eyes of a foreigner, I hope to provide readers with insight that they may use to build bridges between Korea and America. If you the reader, have any comments for me please send them by e-mail. I live on a windy and foggy hillside in Mill Valley, California, and my e-mail address is chris@flyingfog.net. If you have complaints about my comments, or suggestions on what to write about, or want to know why Americans are just so weird, let me know. I will try to help. But remember my mom's advice about pointing fingers.

World Cup Madness   return to top
June 29, 2002 / Number 89.

We subscribe to the Korea Times and for the past month all we read about is the World Cup and a soccer team called the Red Devils. Korean people seem to be obsessed with these eleven Korean athletes and their European coach. I read just small stories in my American newspaper, but in the Korea Times just about every page has some remark about this remarkable sports team. My wife reads out loud some of the more interesting details. Yesterday she read to me the story of a man who purposely burned himself to death. This fan wanted to become a ghost and assist the Red Devils as an invisible twelfth member. Maybe he realized part of his wish, but I don't think that he is on a soccer field. I suspect that he's with a different group of red devils where he is still feeling the pain of fire.

I am experiencing the local effect of the World Cup. In my seminary class about half the students are Korean. On the morning after Korea's victory over Italy most of the Koreans arrived late. When they did straggle in, they looked exhausted: tired and excited at the same time. As usual, our seminary professor asked the students if any one was thankful to God for something in their lives. After a long pause, one Korean student said, "I am so thankful that the Korean soccer team beat Italy". The dozen Korean students cheered. A Chinese student who sits beside me lives in the guest house with Koreans. He complained that he could not sleep because the Koreans were too noisy. I later heard that some neighbors near the seminary complained about this early morning noise.

I have been trying to understand the psychology of Koreans and what turns them into raving single-minded fanatics. After reflecting upon this issue, I have come upon three reasons. First, Koreans celebrate achievement. They celebrate a kindergarten graduation, a 60th birthday, and a day for the Korean alphabet. If one family member succeeds, the whole family celebrates together. A winning soccer team offers the chance for the entire Korean family to celebrate achievement together. Second, Koreans are patriotic yet at the same time they suffer low national self-esteem. This is a strange combination. My Korean friends are very proud to be Korean, but as I talk with them, they say how small they are. They think of themselves like the little fish swimming in an ocean with big China, Japan and Russia. Korea has been the little brother of China, then Japan and then the United States. It is exciting when the little brother defeats the older and bigger brother. Third, Koreans are team oriented and every Korean wants to participate in the team effort. Only eleven people can play on the soccer field so what can the remaining 30 million Koreans do? Some Koreas paint their faces, or pick up trash. They are on the team. Others offer to sell groceries at half price. They are part of the team. All Koreans watch the games and cheer. To this team effort, the least they can contribute is their cheering.

Maybe I shouldn't be writing this article. Right now 99% of the newspaper that you are reading is about the World Cup. This article will push up the percentage to 99 %. Maybe I am becoming part of the team. GO Korea! Re-group and win the World Cup in 2006!

For Koreans Only   return to top
July 13, 2002 / Number 90.

We live in Marin County, California. Unfortunately there are no Korean grocery stores where we live, so when we visit our son, Zachary, in Oakland our drive serves two purposes. After spending time at his place, the three of us take a short drive down Telegraph Avenue and shop at a large Korean grocery store. We typically buy the staple foods of soy sauce and sesame seed oil, plus whatever comfort food my wife wants. We were a bit surprised to find out that Zachary likes to shop at this store to buy such delicacies as kim-pab and paki sticks. Last week we noticed that a new car was being raffled near the entrance of the store. Zachary explained that the grocery store was raffling this Toyota Camry to honor of the Korean soccer team. He remarked that if Korea had won the World Cup, then instead of a Camry, a Mercedes Benz would have been the prize car. During his last visit, Zachary filled out a card in hopes of winning.

We did our usual shopping, except that this time we bought a new rice cooker. I stood at the counter watching the clerk add up all the items we bought. Because we charged over fifty dollars, my wife was at the give-away section near the exit. (With purchases over fifty dollars, customers get to choose a free gift of some inexpensive item). Just after I had paid and was grabbing my bags of groceries, my wife returned and asked where my raffle ticket was. I told her that I didn't get one. She asked the me why and I told her that the clerk didn't offer me one. She then asked the clerk about the raffle ticket. He replied in a loud voice that the raffle tickets were for Korean customers only. I laughed to myself, but my feisty wife got angry. She shouted, "What? This is America. You can't do that." By now customers in the adjoining aisles were looking at us and following the conversation. As they were looking, I jokingly said "I'll sue! I'll sue!" I asked a smiling Korean man, "do you know any good lawyers?" I used humor, because my wife was really angry. She grabbed the raffle ticket that the clerk gave her and said to him "we'll never shop here again". As she filled out the raffle card, I noticed that the instructions were in Korean. Then I noticed that all the signs around the car were only in Korean. A non-Korean customer would not be aware that a raffle for new car was even going on.

We haven't received notice that we won a new Toyota Camry, so the issue of the raffle tickets is over. But the issue of discrimination still troubles my wife. I remember the incident as humorous, but she remembers hurt. This was strange to me at first because the raffle discrimination was by a Korean person against me -- an American person. I did not feel disrespected but she did. I think that over the years, my wife has become doubly sensitive to acts of discrimination. She felt the sting on rejection first in Korea after she married me. She lost her job as a school teacher. Some old friends would not talk to her and she even felt unwelcome in church. All this because she married an American. Next, she felt discrimination when she arrived in America. Although most of my family was loving, a few made rude remarks. The first few years of our marriage were bumpy because she felt disrespected by people in her old community and unwelcome by some people in her new community.

When she experiences discrimination at the hand of Koreans she remembers the past unkindness of fellow Koreans. When she experiences this discrimination in an American setting, she remembers past unkindness in her adopted country. She tells me that Korean people should know better. Most Koreans have felt at least some discrimination in America. How could they turn around and become the ones who discriminate? She tells me that a true Korean would never say, "for Koreans only".

Hallalujah Soccer    return to top
August 10, 2002 / Number 91.

I have just returned from a second missionary trip to Africa. This time our group from Christian Life World Mission Frontiers included 105 people. For the second time, I was the only traveler who was not of Korean heritage. Among our group was a remarkable soccer team from Korea called "Hallelujah Soccer". Accompanied by their coach, X-X-X, and his wife, thirteen college students played nine matches in four African cities: Kampala in Uganda; Kigali in Rwanda, Butare in Rwanda, and Bukavu in Congo. I attended three of the matches, but the one match that stands out most in my mind was the first match of two played in Bukavu, Congo.

We had arrived in Congo from Rwanda the day before. The soccer team and fellow missionaries were escorted across the frontier by government officials and a brass band. This eastern portion of Congo is in rebellion against the central government in Kinshasa. There is little working government and nearly all westerners have left this region. Rwandan army troops patrol the streets. Ours was the first sports team to visit Bukavu in many months so the local governor treated us like royalty. This part of Africa is a sad place. There was war in 1994, in 1996 and in 1998. Money and supplies are scarce, even though there are many beautiful colonial homes and breathtaking views of Lake Kivu. August was dry season and an inch of dust painted everything a rusty red. The wide Congo streets of cobblestone constructed by the Belgians have never been maintained. In some places large stones project several inches above the road surface while in other places ruts appear large enough to swallow tires. Our 14-passenger van drove down one of these streets en route to the first match. Our roadway was designed for maybe four lanes of traffic, but this roadway also served as a market place. Along each side of the road were small ramshackle table stands selling everything imaginable. The roadway was packed with shoppers and pedestrians. There was barely enough room for two vehicles to pass each other. All along the route, our over-packed van would stop and all the locals would gawk at the strange non-African faces. A dilapidated truck just in front of us was overloaded with green bananas. Whenever this truck stopped - which was often - a boy would hop off the back and quickly put a metal tire hub under the truck's rear tire. This prevented it from moving backward into our van. We named this busy child "break boy". The mass and press of the human bodies that surrounded us was incredible. The Rwandan driver of our van would just honk the horn and move forward. Children would leap out of the way. Men sitting along the roadside would pull in their legs. Some bold people would bang on the sides of the van asking for a handout. The one hour journey to the soccer game was the most incredible ride that I have ever taken.

When the soccer match ended, soldiers escorted us back to the parking area. The escort didn't work well and soon we were smothered by swarms of Africans. Some were street kids out for a good time, some were curious looking at non-Africans for the first time, and some had their hands out asking for money. It was exhilarating and frightening at the same time. I felt both adulated and intimidated. The curious would pack around our parked van six-people deep. They would only jump away as the van began to move. I felt like I was on a different planet. By the way, the Hallelujah team beat the local Congolese team two goals to one. But like many things in life, this journey became more memorable than the destination.

A New Village Movement for Africa    return to top
August 24, 2002 / Number 92.

Last week several of us returning missionaries conducted an after action review of our recent mission trip to Africa. As a group, 106 Christian Life missionaries visited Uganda, Rwanda, Burundi, Congo, and Tanzania. After reviewing our work for 2002, we discussed possible activities for 2003 and 2004. We plan to have a woman's conference, a pastor's conference, and a Vacation Bible School. Several doctors want to practice medicine on African patients. We also held an unfocused discussion about helping the economy in rural Africa to prosper. Most roads are in terrible shape and services like electricity and clean water are non-existent in the countryside. As missionaries we feel a special need to help the rural poor. But what kind of ministry is this? After struggling for a spiritual name for this ministry, we decided to call it "the new village movement" (Sam el un dong) for Africa.

At the mention of this term, my mind raced back to 1972 when I first arrived in Korea. The New Village Movement was everywhere. I was teaching English at Mu Guk middle-high school in the countryside of Chun Chong Buk Do. Every morning I awoke to a radio blaring out the theme song of the New Village Movement: "" . I can still whistle the tune after 30 years. I remember all the posters and all the enthusiasm surrounding this revival of the rural economy in Korea. I also remember that this was the pet project of the president of Korea, Pak Chung Hee. As a 23 year old liberal, just out of college, I did not care much for the president of Korea. I can remember the smell of tear gas in Seoul. I can remember receiving my subscription of Time magazine with portions scissored out that were critical of President Pak. It is a strange thing, but as time passes, the esteem in which many hold Pak Chung Hee seems to grow. He was most surely a dictator, but he was a dictator that laid the foundation for modern Korea. We must concede this at least grudgingly.

If it seems strange that I should praise President Pak, then it may seem more strange that I would favor a president like him to rule in an African country. Maybe a poor and lawless country like Congo could a strong president with an ability to unify its people and improve the plight of its villagers. As I sat in a conference in Bukavu, Congo, the local governor remarked that in 1960, the Belgian Congo and South Korea had a similar standard of living. During the past 42 years living standards in the Congo have actually declined. Mobutu Sese Seko, who was the long ruling dictator of Congo, changed the country's name to Zaire, extracted wealth from his people, then hid billions in Swiss banks. Social scientists have coined a word to describe his type of rule. Zaire was termed a "kleptocracy" - "rule by theft". The city of Bukavu is an emblem of this bad government. If a visitor look hard, he can see the grand city that Bukavu once was. Decades of mis-rule have left this city with un-drivable roads, boarded-up public buildings, and only intermittent electricity and water. Once grand homes are abandoned and collapsing. It may be true that both Korea and Congo suffered through a long period of dictatorship. But it is also true that undemocratic rulers of Korea possessed the patriotism and good sense to elevate the Republic of Korea from an economic dwarf to an economic giant. Maybe a New Village Movement will elevate Africa as well.

Visit to an African Village   return to top
September 7, 2002 / Number 93.

When my older Korean friends visit Africa for the first time, they typically make a remark like this: "This place isn't so bad. This reminds me of Korea was when I was a child." Often they go on to say: "I think that in twenty years or so, Rwanda (or Uganda, or Congo) will become as prosperous as Korea is today." As I hear my friends make these predictions, I wonder to myself if time will prove them correct.

One of the high points of my recent mission to Rwanda was a short visit to a local Batwa community. The Batwa are the "first people" in this part of the world. They are often the poorest people as well. In most languages this people group goes by the name "Pigmy". My wife, my son, my interpreter and a local pastor drove for about 30 minutes to a small collection of Batwa living outside of Butare. We walked the last 100 meters to their settlement because the road became undriveable. In a long cinder-block building of eight rooms we visited eight families. After ministering to their spiritual needs with prayer and preaching, we ministered to their physical needs. I brought along a Polaroid camera and took one picture of each family. Some families consisted of only three members. Others had as many as ten. I gave the instant picture to the oldest person in each family. For many, this was the first time that they had seen a photograph of themselves. They were delighted. The oldest man in one family smiled broadly for his picture showing off his mouthful of decaying teeth. We brought small gifts for the children. My son joined the kids in kicking a ball up and down the dusty pathway outside their building. My son would kick the ball and a dozen boys would chase it into the banana trees. We gave away scissors to several women. I asked what they would do with the scissors. They replied that hair cutting was their first priority. Our local African pastor had about six Bibles to give to this community. Before he handed them over, he required that each person read out loud the words on the inside cover. One woman stomped away in anger because she wanted this book that she was not able to read. Finally we had one last item to pass out. This was a worn pair of sport shoes that a soccer player left behind at the hotel in which we were staying. As I gazed over the thirty or so adults, I saw an old man in raggedy clothes. Up until this point, the old man had just looked on as an outsider while the others were receiving gifts. I called him forward and asked him to put on the shoes. He was so excited that he began to shake. The rest of the Batwa began to laugh. Apparently this man has a reputation as being a little bit crazy. He didn't understand how to unloose the strings of the shoes, so we helped him get the shoes on his feet. He jumped in the air. The corners of his mouth met his ears in a grin that would not stop. I found out through my translator that this pair of shoes was the first that this sixty-year-old man ever wore on his feet. We left this small settlement, with all the Batwa following us to the car. I believe that we not only gave them physical goods, but we also gave them hope that better times are ahead. We promised to return in one year.

Life on this earth appears so unfair to me. I returned home to California and to a closet full of shoes that I seldom wear. Why is it that so many of these wonderful people in Africa have never even owned a pair of shoes? I hope that my Korean friends are right in their predictions. My prayer is that people in this part of Africa pull themselves together as one nation and pull themselves up from poverty into prosperity.

The Custom of Shoes   return to top
September 21, 2002 / Number 94.

I am not always sure what customs I should follow when I visit the home of a Korean-American family. Sometimes a family is traditional Korean and sometimes thoroughly American. I have learned that a good clue as to what kind of Koreans are inside the house, is to check around the front door for shoes. There are three kinds of homes: shoes pile outside, shoes pile inside, and shoes-on inside homes. These shoe wearing customs seem to parallel the "Koreanness" of the home involved. If I visit a Korean family and a pile of shoes are just outside the door, I can guess that the Korean people inside the door are fresh from Korea. I expect to communicate with the inhabitants in Korean. If the pile of shoes is inside the door, the Korean people inside must have been in America for a while. They can communicate in both English and Korean. If I don't see any shoes around the doorway, then the Korean family is pretty well Americanized. I can relax and speak English.

When I first lived in Korea, the custom of taking off shoes was new to me, but it made perfect sense. My room was typically Korean, heated with charcoal from under the floor. On my lacquered paper floor, I sat, I slept, and I ate. The Korean rooms were made with a small walkway just outside the sliding paper door. This walkway was perfect for leaving shoes outside the living space. I would never think of wearing shoes on such a floor. Korean homes were designed for a shoes-off existence.

The shoe custom in America is different. We learned from our European roots to eat on tables above the floor. We sit in chairs above the floor and sleep in beds above the floor. Even our toilets are above the floor. These surfaces above ground level were always clean, but the inside floor was just an extension of the outside ground. The floor was expected to be dirty. As a matter of fact, my American ancestors walked on dirt floors. Sometimes the floors were covered with straw as a way to keep down dust. This straw would be changed occasionally. Incidentally the English word "threshold" refers to the wooden plank just under the front door that holds the "thresh" or straw inside the house. Some early homes had wooden floors, but there was never a custom of leaving shoes outside the front door. American homes were designed for a shoes-on existence.

It seems to me like shoe custom is a great indicator of generations. The first generation is "shoe pile outside". There is no change from Korea practice even though American houses are designed for shoes inside. The one-point-five generation is "shoe pile inside". This group is interesting because one can visibly see a transition in progress - the shoes are moving. A second generation Korean that cannot speak the Korean language is not likely to keep shoes at the front door. My personal case is unusual. After my wife moved with me from Korea to America, we lived as Americans do, wearing shoes inside of our house. We did this until a few years ago. After our two sons left our home for the big world, we began to leave our shoes inside the front door. But this makes sense again. She is a first generation Korean (shoe pile outside) and I am a non-Korean (wear shoes inside). The balance of these two customs is to leave shoes inside the front door. Because we have so many visitors of both Korean and European background, we don't even think about this custom much. Korean visitors leave their shoes by the door and Americanized visitors do not. The next time to visit a Korean home, see if you can tell what generation the inhabitants are by seeing where they place their shoes.

Animal Rights vs. Tradition    return to top
October 8, 2002 / Number 95.

As I was turning the pages of my morning newspaper, a headline jumped out at me: "Stop the cruelty in Korea". I saw these words atop a full-page ad. The paid advertisement went on to say "Doomed. These three pet dogs were stolen, caged, tortured and killed for dog soup. There are many more like them. But you can help!" I saw a large picture of three dogs behind steel bars. The ad then asked for contributions to stop this cruelty. Readers were also invited to write protest letters to the Korean president, minister of health, and minister of agriculture. This ad was sponsored by the Korean Animal Protection Society.

As I read about this issue, I am struck by the two extremist views. I believe that 5% of Koreans are hanging on to the past. They still live in a pre-scientific world where dog meat has some medicinal value. They eat dogs because they think it makes them healthy. Another 5% of Koreans live in a new age future. In this post-scientific world, dog life is just as precious as human life. Most Koreans live between these two opposites. They think that eating dog meat is just disgusting and they are embarrassed that many people in the world picture Korea as a dog-eating nation. Many feel that eating dog or cat meat is not much different than eating cow or pig meat. However, they trust that the dog-eating tradition will pass away along with the older generation.

There is another angle to this issue that makes the politics of dog eating complicated. One big slogan of this postmodern world is "celebrate diversity". This means that we should respect different cultural traditions and life styles. Another big slogan is "loving animals is loving ourselves." So what happens when these two 21st century values collide? What happens when cultural tradition meets animal rights? I saw something like this happen in the very liberal city of San Francisco. I used to walk through China town and see bowls of live turtles and frogs for sale. A customer would make a purchase and the animal would be killed on the spot and handed over. This was a very traditional Chinese way of doing things. People for the ethical treatment of animals (PETA) protested with the city government to stop such killing. The result has been that you can no longer see the turtles and frogs on the street. However, if you ask for some turtle meat, you can buy some in a back room.

I have never understood this fascination with eating animal body parts. I remember coming home from work several years ago. I saw something strange hanging outside of the house under an eve. I asked my wife what it was. She didn't know quite how to explain it, so she looked up the Korean words in an English dictionary. I found out that hanging outside of my house was a slice of bear gall bladder. She said that her very traditional aunt bought the meat in San Jose and wanted us to keep it for her until it dried out. I was told that she paid big money for it. I thought the gall bladder was disgusting (as well as illegal in California). We agreed that her aunt should find some other place to hang her animal body parts. I am a person who avoids extremes. People should be allowed to hang on to their cultural traditions, but only up to a point. People should not be cruel to animals and inflict unnecessary pain, but animals are not the same as humans. Both sides think that they are right, but I think that both sides are wrong. The world would be a better place if people did not eat dogs and cats. The world would also be a better place if people did not equate animal life with human life.

Chinese, Japanese, Korean   return to top
October 23, 2002 / Number 96.

This is one of the games that my family used to play as we crossed the Golden Gate Bridge. We would see a group of Asian-looking tourists. One of us would ask, "what do you think? Are they Chinese, Japanese, or Korean". We often did this as we were waiting on the bridge to pay toll. Someone would say, "they look like Japanese to me. See how they are all huddled together, all snapping pictures of the same thing." Someone else might say, "They look like Chinese tourists to me. See that one big guy. He's too big to be Japanese." I would say something like "They might be Korean. See how noble they are walking on the bridge". Of course I made this comment to mock the whole effort of trying to identify Asian nationalities.

Years ago, when I was in graduate school, I was studying the second world war. The library at the University of Oregon held a collection of Time magazines that went back to the 1930s. I was looking at an issue from January 1942. On the last page, there was a helpful guide on how to distinguish between "Our Chinese Friends" and "Our Japanese Enemy". I saw a picture of a frowning Japanese face with a straggly beard. Under the picture were words like "sneaky, hairier, darker complexion". Under the other picture was a chubby smiling Chinese face. The words were "friendly, honest, and lighter skin". It was obvious that this was war-time propaganda and not science. Maybe I laugh at such things, because the attempt to fool me is so transparent.

I have a sister-in-law who swears that she can tell which group is which without ever making a mistake. She is like the infallible Pope of racial identification. When my two sons were little boys she would teach them the difference. She would put her fingertips on the outside corner of her eyes and pull the skin upward. She would say "Chinese" with a rising voice. Then she would pull the skin downward and say "Japanese" with a lowering voice. Finally she would take her fingers off of her face and smile at them and say, "Korean" with a voice that was just right. I would laugh at such stereotyping, but she was often right. I remember walking through a park in Portland with her. There was a family picnic of Asians in the distance. As we walked toward the group, I asked her "OK, what do you think?" She examined them for several steps and announced, "Japanese." I asked "are you sure?" As we approached, I saw a Hello Kitty backpack. Probably Japanese. Finally we were within listening distance and we did hear the Japanese language. She was smug with her uncanny ability.

Last week I talked to my older son about distinguishing among Asians. He claims that he can often distinguish the groups. He says that Vietnamese and Filipinos are pretty easy to tell apart from other Asians. He places the Chinese at one end of an identification spectrum and the Japanese at the other end. The Korean people are in the middle, sometimes looking like Japanese and sometimes like Chinese. He is unsure exactly what it is that makes Korean identification possible. He tells me that the Japanese are more likely to die their hair blue and that Chinese have better haircuts and wear glasses more often. There is just something special about Koreans. Do you think that you can tell the difference between the three groups? If you can visit www.alllooksame.com and try to distinguish the 18 faces. I only got a score of 8. My racial identification skills are very bad.

Becoming a Korean Person   return to top
November 6, 2002 / Number 97.

It may seem to you that Koreans are abandoning their Korean identity and striving to be like Westerners, especially Americans. For example, the Korean language is awash with American English words and Korean teens pick up on the latest American hip-hop music. However, there are some instances where Americans strive to be like Koreans.

Last week there was an article in the Korean Newspaper about a American businessman who lived in Seoul. This Harvard graduate really wanted to learn about Korean culture. To accomplish this, he is seeking to become an ordinary taxi driver. He studying the Korean language as well as Korean driving rules. Unfortunately, there is a law in Korea that forbids non-Koreans from driving taxis. I am not sure what the rationale for this law is. Maybe the Korean government considers non-Koreans unable to navigate the busy streets of Seoul, or maybe they consider Korean language skills so important that only native speakers can sit behind the steering wheel of a Korean taxi. I suspect that this law is one of those old "hermit kingdom" laws that attempt to keep "foreign devils" from overrunning the land of the morning calm. Americans see humor in this taxi-driving law because in most American cities nearly all the taxi drivers are not native born. It almost seems like there is a law in America that forbids native-born Americans from driving taxis. I hope that the law in Korea is changed so that this American can become Korean taxi driver.

I can remember back to my days in the Peace Corps in Korea. I knew of one American man, just out of college, who wanted to become a Korean citizen. He wore traditional Korean clothes and spoke the Korean language with excellence. One year he won the Korean language speaking contest in Seoul. I heard a story that once he met a blind man in Pusan and carried on a long conversation. Finally the blind man said, "you speak strange. You're not from around here, are you?" The American man said, "no, I'm not." The blind man said, "I guessed it. I knew you were from Seoul". Anyway, this man tried to become a Korean citizen, but was told that he could not because he did not have Korean blood. So the American received a transfusion of Korean blood, hoping to become like a Korean. He probably still lives in Korea, but he is still a foreigner.

This brings me to my own experience in trying to become Korean. Several years ago, I was hired by Dan Kook University to teach English. I was working at their brand new campus in Chun An. I was studying the Korean language hard and trying my best to become an active part of the faculty. But it was so hard. It was as if I was a third gender. There were certain expectations for men faculty and different expectations for women faculty, and then there was me. I could break all kinds of rules and follow a "different drummer" because I was a foreigner. That was on the positive side. On the negative side, I could never become a part of a faculty team. I remember looking at my pay check one day, trying to translate the words. I asked my fellow faculty member about one section. He explained to me that this amount of money was taken out of my paycheck for government retirement. I then asked him with excitement, "then I will get this money back some day". He looked at me strangely and said "no, that money is only for Korean citizens." So I asked him, "then why are they taking this out?" He said, "that is the rules". I sighed. That's the way it seems to work for us Americans trying to become Korean. We are let in the front door, but we can never fully enter into the house.

Young mind in an old body   return to top
November 20, 2002 / Number 98.

Every Friday morning at 6:30 I drive over to the Presbyterian church to sit in on a Men's Connection meeting. I continue to do this even though I stopped attending the Sunday service years ago. With about dozen men in the room, I am usually the youngest at 52 years old. Most of the men are in their seventies and eighties. I enjoy talking and sharing with this group because their company gives me a glimpse of what is around the corner for me. Most of their minds are sharp even though the bodies are failing. In this group, there is a man called Jim. I attended his 80th birthday celebration a few years ago. At last Friday's meeting he talked about growing older. There was a recent storm in our neighborhood and the top of Jim's chimney fell over. He wanted to climb onto the roof of the house to get a closer look at the damage. He told his wife of his intention and she said, "no, don't do it". This made Jim more determined to climb on the roof, so when she was gone, he put a ladder up the outside wall and climbed up to the roof. After surveying the damage, he started down. Jim says that he couldn't get his 82-year old legs to work right. If you have ever been on a shingle roof on your belly trying to go down a ladder, you realize that this does take some strength and flexibility. After several minutes of frustration, Jim says that he walked down the ladder with his face looking up, like walking down a staircase. He made it to the ground, but he vow that is his last time on a ladder.

As I listened to his story, my mind wandered to the many wonderful Sijo poems that deal with aging. I don't know what it is about Korean soul, but many Korean writers focus upon a wistful remorse. It is winter, and they wish it were summer. Or leaves are falling from trees and they wish the leaves would stay. Or the writer is alone and he wishes that his love was with him. Remorse, longing, and reflection are a big part of Korean poetry. I have read several short poems reflecting the aging process. One of my favorites is by an anonymous poet and goes like this:

"Let me ask you, Mind,
What is the secret of your eternal youth?
My body is old -- But you have no trouble keeping up with it. If I acted as young as I feel,
I'm afraid everyone would laugh at me."

This poem describes Jim. Increasingly, it also describes me.

I enjoy working around our house. I like to build things and make my own home repairs. If you ever visit my house, you will see successful and not too successful projects. Some projects are only half completed. A few month ago, our sewer line collapsed. After several years of calling the roto-rooter man, I decided that it was finally time to dig up the old pipe and replace it with new pipe. One morning I began banging the hard earth with a pick and shovel. Finally, I decided "I'm too old to do this". There is a 25-year old man that I know, who is eager to supplement his meager income. I decided to telephone him and see if he was interested in digging. He was happy for the opportunity and dug the long ditch with gusto. He did the hard labor, but I still enjoyed piecing the PVC pipe together and getting the water to down the pipe without leaking. A person does lose something when chooses not to climb up on his own roof or dig his own ditch, but the process of aging is inevitable. The only cure for aging is death and I want to postpone that for as long as possible. My mind is still young, but, alas, my body in showing signs of getting old. I wonder if I will have the nerve or foolishness to climb on my own roof when my body turns eighty? I hope that my mind never reaches that age. There is a famous American author who wrote: "in your dreams, you are never eighty years old."

Koreans in every corner of the earth   return to top
December 4, 2002 / Number 99.

As I was growing up I never heard much about Korea. When I was in high school, the only thing I learned about Korea concerned a war that Americans fought on Korean soil and the resulting fact that Korea was divided into two halves. My first encounter with a Korean occurred when I was 22 years old. It is true that my experience occurred a long time ago and in a more sheltered part of the country. Still it is amazing to me how large a presence Korea now has in American life and on the world scene. I go to the mall and hear Korean being spoken. I drive on the streets of my home town and see Korean cars. This story you are reading was first printed on a Samsung printer. In my recent travels, I have seen Koreans in the middle of Europe and in the middle of Africa.

I have also learned of Koreans living in other corners of the world. A colleague of mine is an expert on Koreans who live in the Russian far east, especially Sakhalin Island. Some of my missionary friends visit Korean refugees who are now living in China, just north of the Yalu River. I have two Korean friends with Canadian passports and one with a Japanese passport. One of my Korean friends spent much of her youth in Germany. Since her German is better than her English, I can practice my German on her. Last week I learned of a group of Koreans living in a very unexpected place: Cuba. That's right in the Communist, Castro-controlled island of Cuba. It is an interesting story about how they ended up there.

A Korean friend of mine named Mr. Chung visited Cuba several years ago as a Canadian tourist. He happened to meet someone with Asian features and found out that this Cuban was part Korean. This was a revelation to him. Here is the story that Mr. Chung told about the Korean presence in Cuba. In 1921 about 300 Korean ex-patriots established a community in eastern Mexico. This group of men, women and children left the labor plantations in Hawaii and California to build their own dream in rural Mexico. In the 1920's Cuba was more prosperous than Mexico and more open to entrepreneurs. About half of this Mexican group migrated on to Cuba. Many of these Korean-Cubans became successful businessmen. At the time of the Castro revolution in 1959, about half of this small community fled to the United States along with thousands of Cuban refugees. My friend tells me that he can identify about fifty Cubans with ties back to Korea. All of them have taken on the Latin culture, language, and dress of Cuba. Only the oldest, who are in their eighties, can still speak a little Korean. In the five generations since arriving in Cuba, most Korean-Cubans are of mixed blood. Mr. Chung wanted to preserve the unique presence of Koreans in Cuba so he tried to rent some space in Havana for a Cuba-Korean Club. He found out that renting space for any private endeavor in Cuba is nearly impossible. Finally he petitioned the government for office space. He was turned down once, but with the help of the Korean consulate in Havana the little group of fifty gained official status. As an officially recognized group they are now permitted a small office for cultural events. If you ever travel to Cuba, look up these distant cousins and give them encouragement.

I asked Mr. Chung if Koreans in Cuba were still eating kimchee. He said that Korean-Cubans make very good kimchee, but that they eat it with a mixture of beans and rice. From his comments, I can conclude that ties to food are stronger than ties to language. I can also predict with confidence that future generations of Korean-Americans will continue to savor their national food long after they have forgotten to speak their national language.

Red Demon Fever   return to top
December 18, 2002 / Number 100.

I have been reading lately about the demonstrations in Korea against America. As an American who has lived among Koreans and who has worn the uniform of the U.S. Army, I am both amused and confused by the events. I am suspecting that it is time for the big brother to leave the house of the little brother. Let's face it. Fear of communist armies charging south is diminishing. A more realistic fear is the sudden collapse of the North and a tidal wave of starving refugees flooding south. That is really scary, because every person in South Korea would be shaken to the core. Never in the history of the world has such a well-fed and prosperous people shared a border with such a distressed and dirt-poor neighbor. What will happen when these two elements combine? What will happen when this yin and yang join into one?

I read that the demonstration spirit now prevalent in Korea was born in the exuberance of World Cup play. I wonder how many people who were in the streets during the World Cup are involved in current anti-American demonstrations? Are some trying to recapture the excitement of this group action? From the red demon spirit, many people in Korea learned how powerful collective action can be. Is it possible that an act of national will propelled a football team to success beyond its dreams? As I read the newspapers, red demon fever was bigger news than a national football team winning the quarter-finals. Fifty million Koreans from all over the world cheered their team to victory after victory. Has this red demon fever been re-directed away from foreign football players, and aimed against the foreigner in the midst of Korea?

I can understand why many Koreans feel that they are being abused by Americans. I know that I would not like it if Korean army troops were driving tanks down the streets of my California hometown. I would like it even less if foreign troops ran their tanks over my neighborhood girls. I might even participate in a rally urging my government to expel the foreign troops. But as my anger grows, I would try to remember "balance". Do I really want to act in this extreme manner without first considering all points of view and striving for a middle way? I have always been impressed that right in the middle of the Korean flag is that great symbol of balance: the yin and the yang chasing each other in an endless circle. Maybe the red and blue circle appears in the middle of the flag to remind Koreans of the importance of balance. Perhaps as protesters march and rally and wave Korean flags they will look to the middle of their patriotic symbol and remember the balance that their flag represents. Now, it may be that a balanced and considered view will lead eventually to American troops leaving Korea. That is a reasonable outcome. Whatever decision is made about the great Korea-American relationship, it must not be made in haste. It must be made with the balance of the Korean flag in mind and not with some false sense of power left over from red demon fever.