Archive 2004 August 2 - DMZ. The DMZ (short for Demilitarized Zone) is one of those curious tourist attractions that no one should describe as "fun," yet thousands upon thousands flock to it. When asked how the trip was, my only reply was "freaky." You get the point. This ain't no Disneyland. For those unfamiliar with Korean history, the DMZ is the buffer zone created after the end of the Korean War (1950-1953) that separates communist North Korea from democr--, er, non-communist South Korea. Although no military personnel/equipment is allowed within the DMZ, both sides have ammassed thousands of troops and heavy weapons on their respective sides of it. Since the end of the war, North and South have been engaged in an icy stalemate punctuated by several violent incidents, both near the DMZ and elsewhere. Most notably, in 1968 North Korean agents, on a mission to assassinate the South Korean President, infiltrated deep into downtown Seoul before South Korean troops intercepted them and foiled their plot. Given this history, it should be no surprise that the area remains incredibly tense, even despite recent measures to remove various propaganda materials (e.g., massive signs and loudspeakers). I won't drone on about the details of the DMZ and its various "attractions"; instead, you can read a brief overview here. Instead, I'll detail the various places that I visited and my reactions to the experience. On the way to the DMZ, the landscape looks like any other swatch of beautiful Korean countryside--except for the constant presence of barbed wire fences and the occasional guard tower:
The other side of the fence, it should be noted, is not North Korea; instead, it's the South Korean side of the DMZ. The Military Demarcation Line that marks the border between North and South is deeper inside the DMZ. First stop inside the DMZ, Dorasan train station:
Yes, as the sign indicates, the next stop is Pyeongyang, the North Korean capital. This station opened two years ago to great fanfare, but to my knowledge, as of now there is no regular train service to the North. This station is more of a symbolic gesture of the nation's reunification desires. Next stop, Dorasan Observatory post. Here it is, ladies and gentlemen, a picture of North Korea:
That and a bunch of tourists. For reasons undetermined, tourists are not allowed to go the edge to take photographs, hence the unusual composition of this picture. Anyway, the border line runs at about the level of the telescopes, and the mountains in the background are securely within the North's borders. From here we could see the massive North Korean flagpole (the tallest in the world), "Propaganda Village" (empty buildings the North claims is a worker's paradise), and Panmunjeom, or the Joint Security Area. Read more about this stuff here. Next stop, the Third Tunnel, so named because this was the third North Korean infiltration tunnel discovered by the South. These tunnels were built for the obvious purpose of launching a suprise attack on the South. This particular tunnel wasn't completed at the time of its discovery, so this entrance was built by the South so they could go down and seal the place up. After completing that necessary task, they turned it into a tourist attraction--go figure. Photography was not allowed inside the tunnel, but we were able to walk all the way to the point where the South had built three concrete walls to seal off the tunnel. Barbed wire, a concrete slab, and a security camera--just a few hundred meters beyond that (and the other two concrete slabs) was North Korea. After the tour, I prepared to re-enter the tunnel, defeat the barriers, and infiltrate the North in the name of Democracy:
I would have posted pictures of my mission, but I was captured by North Korean soldiers who made me delete the pictures I took of their side, including a money shot of me round-housing Kim Jong Il on the jaw. Seriously, though, this was an extraordinary experience. You don't need me to tell you how insane and tragic the division of the Korean peninsula is; that much should be obvious. I'd read a lot about the war and the current state of the DMZ, but nothing could have prepared me for seeing this in person. I come away with the indelible image of a beautiful countryside scared--defiled, I might even say--by miles upon miles of barbed wire fence. As the landscape is marred, so too are the Korean people. I conclude with this image of the sun setting on the Han River, taken from the car on the way back to Seoul:
I hope that, through aesthetic terms, I've been able to communicate the tragedy of this situation, perhaps the Cold War's most terrible legacy. What would it take to get the barbed wire and guard tower out of this view? Think about it. -MSL 2004 August 9 - Return of the blog. After an uncharacteristic one week absence, the blog is back. Why the gap, you may be asking? Simply put, not much interesting has happened this last week. I'm back to the normal routine of class, homework, and teaching. So unfortunately, this is going to be one of those bullet-point entries rather than a well-thought out treatise on censorship, Korean politics, or something similarly deep.
Finally, to make this entry somewhat worthwile, here's an advertisement found in a subway station. "SOUP: Performance Feminism Fashion." Think about that for a while. No, on second though, don't think about it.
The thing is, when living in Seoul, one sees so much of this completely nonsensical English that it ceases to be amusing or strange until one stops to think about it. I could make a whole website devoted to stuff like this; in fact, one does exist for such English butcherings in Japan: http://www.engrish.com. That's all for now. Hope everyone's summers are ending well and that all you Yalies are looking forward to yet another "Bright College Year." -MSL 2004 August 14-15 - Goin' down to my daddy's farm No, those aren't the lyrics to some Muddy Waters blues tune; instead, it's a pretty accurate description of what I did this weekend. Kunsan is a small port city located in the southwestern part of South Korea. My father was born there in 1946, lived there through his high school years, returned after completing college and military service, and left in 1975 for the United States, where he's lived ever since. Today, Kunsan has a population of roughly 250,000. Almost all of my mother's extended family has immigrated to the United States, but most of my father's family remains in Kunsan. My objective this past weekend was to visit them--in particular, my great-uncle, who raised my father after my grandfather passed away--and peer into my father's past. Mission accomplished, and then some. Let's put it this way: it's one thing to know that your father grew up in rural Korea. It's a completely other thing to see the cramped village in which he grew up, the farm where my dad's cousin still works the fields and the chicken farm that my great uncle used to run. See below:
The farm. At the right edge of the picture is my dad's village. According to my dad's cousin, this looks pretty much the same as it did when my dad left in 1974.
The house where my dad was born. This apparently has changed since my dad lived here, but you get the idea: American suburb it is not. Let's go back to my great-uncle. He's seen it all: the Japanese occupation, the Korean War, seeing my dad off to Vietnam, and then to the United States. He is not a man to be taken lightly, but he certainly is from a different era, and I felt every year of the generational and cultural gap between me and this man. Within an hour of meeting me, he looked me in the eye and in Korean said, "You're not an American. You are a Korean." Later, he told me (through one of my dad's cousins who was translating) that because my family's ancestors were successful Korean aristocrats and government officials, I, too, will be successful. He also felt my skull and declared its shape to be indicative of a smart mind. Good to know that if my education and my talents fail me, I have my ancestors who lived hundreds of years ago and my skull structure to fall back on. I easily dismissed his talk of phrenology and my aristocratic background, but my great-uncle's proclamation of my identity is still providing me with food for thought. Like most "ethnic Americans," I've struggled with my identity my entire life, and this struggle has only intensified here in Korea. So am I Korean, or am I American? My passport, my Korean language skills (or lack thereof), and my penchant for heavy metal and hamburgers would point to the latter. So what matters more--what's on the inside (e.g., my cultural habits, tastes, and language ability), or what's on the outside (e.g., my black hair, brown eyes, and other features that allow me to completely blend into this sea of Koreans)? Do I stand as my own person, or do I carry with me the lives of those who have come before me? Alas, I have no answers to these weighty questions. All I am sure of is this: you haven't explored your roots until you've seen your daddy's farm. -MSL
2004 August 19 - Buckshot. As in, scattered. Here's the latest from this side of the world: Tuesday (8/17): met my Korean teacher from Yale. She certainly was pleased by how much my Korean had improved since I'd last seen her in May, but that didn't keep her from correcting my grammar mistakes during our conversations. Always the "seonsaengnim" (teacher). Also met her charming students that she taught at Brown. Wednesday (8/18): I bode farewell to my student, who is returning to his American high school this weekend. When I asked his little brother and sister (in English) if they were going to miss their big brother, they laughed and said, "maybe." Cute kids. In class: I want to kill my classmates. They are driving me crazy with their incessant chatter during class and other forms of distracting behavior. Chalk one up to the approaching end of the term? And finally, I hereby succumb to a blog cliche: your listening (and my egotistic) pleasure, here's a short playlist of tunes I've been listening to recently, along with links to listen to/purchase them in the iTunes Music Store. Check 'em out:
That's all for now. Going to meet my uncle tomorrow, more on that after the weekend. Oh, and finals start next Monday. -MSL 2004 August 22 - Hi. You must be my cousin. Nice to meet you. This past weekend saw the latest addition to my bewildering family saga in Korea. For those of you joining late, I met my uncle (i.e. my dad's brother) and my aunt for the first time in my life back in June. Last weekend, I visited relatives in Kunsan (my father's hometown) and witnessed first hand the rural environment of his youth. My uncle and aunt had been curiously absent from my life over the past two months, so I was certainly looking forward to seeing them. The weekend brought a few unexpected surprises, though; my great aunt came up from Kunsan to Seoul, and my cousin also came into town. Strange that my aunt did not inform me that they, too, would be here this weekend, but it also makes sense given that my relatives later sprung two days worth of family activities on me with no prior notice. To make a long story short, this weekend was something of a repeat of last weekend, in that I struggled to make familial connections across language and cultural barriers. The words aren't really coming to me right now, so let me just put it this way: the experience of families scattered by immigration and diaspora is inordinately complex and difficult. What most people take for granted in their family relationships--even just a simple conversation with grandpa about school or jobs or anything--is still nearly impossible for me to achieve. As always, I feel lost, confused, and torn between two worlds. Some of you may recall my great uncle's proclamation on my identity, that I am a Korean and not an American. While riding the subway this weekend, my great aunt came down on the Korean side and declared that I need to marry a Korean woman. My aunt disagreed and said I am in fact an American. My uncle had no comment. I conclude with a bit from Casablanca that perhaps sums up my feelings best: STRASSER What is your nationality? RICK I'm a drunkard. RENAULT That makes Rick a citizen of the world. Sage words from Rick Blaine, everyone's favorite expat. Here's lookin' at you, kids. -MSL 2004 August 29 - Lost in Translation, Part __ Well, these uncharacteristic one-week absenses are now becoming, well, characteristic. My apologies again, as things got a bit busy last week. Finals have come and gone, and they were predictably not challenging. Also predictably, I did less than spectacularly on my speaking test. This problem carried over outside the classroom to Insadong where a shop clerk responded to my broken Korean in Japanese. I was too bewildered and embarassed to say anything about it, so I just let her ramble on to me in Japanese while I stared back blankly. Domo arigato. I saw The Terminal last night and thoroughly enjoyed it. At first, I thought the humor behind Tom Hank's thick Eastern European accented, broken English would be lost on the Korean audience, but it appears they were able to adequately convey the gist through the subtitles. The Koreans and the Americans laughed in all the same places, although I doubt they were struck by the same wistful feeling I felt when I saw Tom Hanks' character shrouded by the reflected New York skyline. Returning to the recurring question of my identity: my great uncle says Korean, my great aunt says Korean, my aunt says American, and my dad's cousin says American. This week my mom's friend claims that I'm a "Korean born in America. After all, your blood is Korean." Again, see Casablanca quip from August 22. Hope everyone is looking forward to a new year back at school (most likely at Yale, but wherever it may be), especially if it is your last. Leave no stone unturned, no opportunity untaken, no day unseized. Have fun. Going home on Thursday. It's been a strange summer. -MSL |
