dagNotes: on privilege and white power in Korea

[from my tumblr blog, posted earlier today]

In my last post, I talked about the problem with white people coming to Korea and suddenly becoming conscious of race. Except, they don’t see white power and privilege, which is everywhere on display. They see racist Koreans.

Then, I received an anonymous ask shouting at me for being white and calling out white supremacists and racism. An obvious troll, but one who provides me with an opportunity to discuss why white people experiencing racism like the young woman in the former post are so misinformed.

I’m white. I argue I have a responsibility to betray my inherited privilege and unearned ambition. And not for any reward either. Simply because I, like everyone else, have an ethical obligation to fight the white power structure that constructs individuals as white subjects. White people don’t exist. Whiteness is constructed and protected and inherited. I may be able to benefit most from this racist ideological apparatus that shapes capitalist society, but I should reject it. It’s a moral obligation, in my opinion.

And as some folks are claiming, I’m not doing this to point the finger at white privilege. I’m actually trying to examine how it works for myself and in my life, and I’m writing about it. DagSeoul isn’t a “white people are privileged” blog. So, please stop sending me stupid shit in my ask-box about that.

***

I don’t go around claiming I’ve experienced racism in the manner most white people do. Most talk about angry black people, hateful hispanics, crazy Koreans—jealous others whose envy for power causes them to hate their whiteness so much that they act in a racist manner. Of course, that’s utter nonsense. It’s bullshit. That’s not racism. Yelling at whiteness, hating whiteness, having a problem with white people isn’t always racist. It’s a sign of white power. It’s a response to white supremacy.

I play football almost every Saturday in Korea. I live in a Korean neighborhood, so all my teammates are Koreans. They’re all men. They’re almost all younger than me. I’m bigger than all of them. Stronger than many. I’m not the most skilled footballer, but I’ve played since 1978. I’ve got skill. I can score. I’m fast. I know and love the game. And, I can run all day. When a bald (I shave my head) and bearded white guy is booking down the field with the ball, it’s intimidating. A lot of Korean guys are super-fit and strong, but smaller than me. When I run into them at full speed, I feel it, but they really feel it. And I play a much more physical style of football than Koreans do. Fans of the game will understand this. Most guys love it when I show up with my Korean teammates to play. They talk to me on the field. It’s fun. But it’s not always fun.

When I first arrived, a colleague took me around to meet various clubs in the area. Word got around rather quickly that there was a foreigner who wanted to play and he was good. I got asked to play by my team. I was invited. I considered myself lucky. I really figured I’d have to find foreigners to play with, but I wanted so much to play with Koreans. It’s one of the reasons I was excited about coming here. Anyway, I felt accepted. In a few months, I had twenty-five younger brothers. It was a wonderful feeling.

One of the teams we regularly played often got very mad at my teammates that I was playing so well. It appeared that way to me. I didn’t get it. I’ve since learned that some Korean players think its unfair that they should have to play a foreigner. I’m big and strong and can hurt them. I don’t hurt them, but we’re talking intimidation here. I had so intimidated a couple of players that they couldn’t contain their frustrations any longer. After a day of playing together, they confronted me and my team. We almost had a brawl. My teammates were standing up for me. I was pulling guys away from one another. And one player on the other team yelled, “Yankee, Go home!” Some of us laughed. Some of my teammates wanted to fight. The oldest players stepped in and yelled at everyone. My wife had showed up to watch. She was very upset.

Simple story, right? I play. I play with Koreans. I play well. A little physical, but nothing dirty. I score goals. My team wins a lot. The frustrated players on the other team blame the foreigner for fucking up the peace. One guy says something insulting. Many white people would call it racist. Dude’s a hater. It’s not even racist.

Once, I parked my scooter in front of a cafe and the owner told me to move it somewhere else. She didn’t want it in front of her shop. I told her it was legal. She yelled at me for being a spoiled foreigner. Many white people would call it racist. But. It’s not even racist.

I’ve been involved in pushy moments in the crowded subway where I’ve been yelled at in Korean, called out as a rude foreigner. Many white people would call it racist. But. It’s not even racist.

Koreans who call me out for doing things Koreans often do and explicitly scolding me as a foreigner are often referred to by white people in Korea as racist Koreans. They’re not racists.

White people love to see racism against them. And why not. White power works that way. White people are raised to feel precious and deserving of good treatment. They deserve respect. Why would anybody pick on them because of who they are?

Fact is, there are haters in Korea. The longer I live here, on the other hand, the more I recognize my white privilege is in full effect here. And the rudeness with which I’m treated at times simply requires a little patience and understanding. This might sound patronizing, but it’s not. After all, I was brought here and treated well because of who I am, treated well in a manner that the majority of Koreans will never experience.

I’m often asked, Why would you come to Korea? Koreans talk about their country being no bigger than a booger (우리나라는 코딱지 만큼…)  or no bigger than a palm (우리나라는 손바닥 만큼…). Why would I come to a place most Koreans can’t leave? Well, the answer is because I’m privileged. That’s the answer. The humiliating aspect of that answer is its correlation: I can leave whenever I want to. In other words, I can go home. I have a place to go other than here. I can return. That’s what Koreans see me as sometimes, but especially when they’re annoyed at me. They are confronted with privilege. And they sometimes take it out on me. It’s not racism. Try telling that to many white people in Korea, though.

I’d have to be a real dick to deny this privilege. That guy yelling “Yankee, go home” at me is reaching for something to say at all in the face of my belligerent presence in his life. He was being a dick, but he can’t speak English and he yelled the one insult in English he knew might hurt my feelings. The power he feels that oppresses him in a daily manner is a problem with Korean culture, centuries of oppression. Shit I don’t get. But I’ve added another element. Now he has to play soccer, on his day off, with a white guy who reminds him of a specific and painful lack of privilege and I’m going to knock him down, too. I’d be a dick not to expect some sort of response.

Something Rachel Maddow Doesn't Know

While talking about Korean President Lee Myung Bak, fucking Rachel Maddow said the Korean language is “written in the most part using Chinese characters" during the last segment of her show while making a stupid point about pronouncing the President's name.

Apparently, Maddow’s writers didn’t even bother typing “korean and language” into Google. Hangul Day was just last week, for crying out loud. 565 years ago, Korea created its own alphabet. Hangul should not be confused with Hanja, the Chinese characters Koreans use that Maddow seems to be thinking about but knows nothing about. Maybe she was thinking about 19th Century Korea when Chinese was still prevalent here? I don’t know. Maybe she was trying to refer to the fact that many Korean personal names are based on Hanja? I don’t know. She certainly wasn’t thinking about a good portion of the 20th Century when Japan occupied Korea and outlawed Hangukmal forcing Koreans to take Japanese names and to learn Japanese.

It doesn’t matter. Korean is most certainly not “written in the most part using Chinese characters.” It wouldn’t have taken more than a minute of work to figure this out so that Maddow could make her stupid point about how we spell his name, Lee, is not how we pronounce his name in Korea, “eee”.

FTW. Americans are such idiots when it comes to Korea. Maddow should know better because she’s got an army of fans that hang on her every word. We’re still engaged in war in Korea. We have had our American hands involved with shaping this peninsula for over 100 years, often causing intense suffering and harm because of our actions: turning our backs on Korea when Japan occupied, waging war in their country, turning our backs on democracy fighters in Gwangju in 1980. We should know about Korea.

If she wanted to say something cute, nerdy and interesting about the surname 이 (most commonly pronounced “Lee” in English and pronounced “eee” in Korean) she could have talked about all the variations Chinese and Korean immigrants used.  For example: Lee, Li, Yee, Yi, Rhee are all the same name.

Here's the segment:

Visit msnbc.com for breaking news, world news, and news about the economy

Ignore my crappy Hangukmal, but not my privilege.

I'm working hard at being a better Korean speaker and reader. I'm trying to learn. I'm in my fourth year here and I've lived in the same neighborhood for three years. I feel at home here.

I'm trying to learn. I'm in my fourth year. I've lived in my neighborhood for three years. It's very hard to go from knowing beginning Korean to knowing complex Korean--what we call intermediate Korean here. So difficult. Especially out of school. The learning curve for beginning Korean is not too high. If you speak Korean as often as possible and practice with friends, you can do well because Korean has strict rules that once learned and understood help instruct more than confuse. And the longer you live here, you learn to mask your foreign accent and sound a little more Korean. But once you've mastered small talk in Hangukmal, the learning curve becomes difficult.

I'm excited, though. Next year, I'll be in school full-time, five days a week at Sungkyunkwan University. I get a family discount on tuition--thanks wife!--and am going to take advantage of it while I'm unemployed. Goal is to be at a good level of spoken Korean next Summer. I want to be able to use Korean and resort to English. That's not as easy as it sounds.

It's hard because I feel super-guilty the longer I stay. I want to talk to my friends with more than small talk. It's my responsibility. I feel obligated. This obligation-feeling, the impulse to be obligated, is very Korean. It's not something we learn in the US. I feel obligated to the folks in my neighborhood to learn Korean. I could reject the obligation, as most of the foreigners who live here do. To be fair, most do try to learn survival Korean and some learn the next level, small-talk Korean. And many succeed. But it takes dedication to be good (intermediate,) even a little schooling. So, it takes investment and dedication.

I just went for a drink to the corner store and the clerk wanted to know why it's been a while since he saw me. I told him I've been studying. He asked where. I told him, no I'm writing at home. He then asked me what exactly I was doing. He didn't understand because I confused him. Studying at home? For what? Well, that's hard to explain because it's technical. And I can do it with Korean and English, which he can't understand because he can't use English. Now, I feel obligated to learn so I can tell him.

I'd never have felt this way in the US, for example, felt obligated to learn Spanish to speak with my neighbors in West Denver. I had twenty years to do that and not once did I say it with a sense of obligation, I should learn Spanish. And not one native English speaker would ever feel obligated. It's a choice. I wanted to learn Spanish, but I studied Latin. (Why the fuck did I study Latin. What a dork.)

That I still have the option to invest and dedicate myself to learning Korean language while living and working in Korea while my Korean neighbors are obligated to learn English is a sign of my privilege. And this is something many foreigners simply don't care to understand.

Annoying things white people do when they get to Korea

Arrive in Korea and insist they're an oppressed minority and discover prejudice, bigotry, exaggeration, hatred, and inequality everywhere around them. Fucking Korea!

Then, they start blogging about how bad Korea is: they post on ESL forums; they post on expat forums. The time spent is Korea becomes an examination of popular culture and media--the way Koreans see and represent foreigners. When you search for theses authors on the google, you will learn that their activism only developed after they arrived in Korea. And the ones who've left, well, they stopped their vital work informing against hate and oppression as soon as they got home.

White Power Douchebaggery, even in Korea. This shit is what I call the privilege of being able to leave minority status behind enables and emboldens thousands of privileged white mother-fuckers to speak out against non-white haters. It's Safe Activism: thousands of white people each year finding a place, like Korea, to displace their own privilege and to project their own guilt and shame.

Alien Registration Transformation & Changed My Address

Happily was E-2;
am now F-1.

It's good for two years and multi-entry.

Worth noting is that the old address system is not used by government offices any longer. Even though I gave the address I've used for three years, the one printed on the back of my ARC card corresponds to the new street name and building number. My villa number remains the same.

Last year Korea standardized addresses nationwide, affording each street a name. Before that, Koreans relied on building numbers assigned to places within neighborhoods, within districts, within cities to find people. It could be difficult. Blue street signs and blue building placards appeared almost overnight. It appears we can begin using them for official things like mail. Probably always could, but you never know.

So my address is now:

[Street Name]로26가길 70-0 B3호 (Street Name +Street# +Building# + Unit#)
관악구 (District)
서울특별시 (City)

It's simpler. I like it. Easy to find people anywhere in this maze of a city.

With an appointment and all the paperwork handy, the Visa process isn't too difficult here. I stress appointment. My replacement at my high school spent what sounds like a few hours at immigration without an appointment. And the school made him go the day all his fellow newbies to Korea were certain to show up with their new colleagues to wait. Bad idea.

Other great thing about this F-1. No testing. None.

Censorship in Korea

The Republic of Korea is under surveillance. All the time. In many ways. From snitches to cctv to censorship, there's not much that can't be censored for almost any reason.

My readers outside of Korea won't notice, but now the Korean government has decided to censor the gadget on Google's Blogger platform that displays Google Followers. That gadget is a box titled "Followers" on my blog's left-hand sidebar. In Korea, it now appears with a portion of the blue, black and white KCSC-Warning that the content is deemed offensive.

Proving once again that the Korean government has no clue what it's censoring on a daily basis. As my wife says, That's so Korean. 

Got 눈치?

눈치 (nunchi, pronounced noon-chee,) is a complex concept inextricably woven into the Korean everyday. You can go here to read a little about it. I like that somebody mentioned paralinguistics in the post. However, I had to remove an idiot's product placement in the first paragraph and citing himself from a stupid book about Korean culture. I hate when people do that--and, go figure, the link was dead anyway. I'm only going to discuss my experience with nunchi in this post. I'm not going to go into tone of voice or social status and attempt to be objective about it. That would be impossible. I like to leave that sort of cultural anthropology for the colonialist social critics and tourists. There's blogs-a-plenty of haters and fetishists out there who love to oversimplify the Korean everyday. I try not to. Moreover, there's no need to address such things. When it comes to nunchi, some people have it and some people don't.

When I first arrived in Sillimdong (신림동,) Seoul, I lived in a neighborhood with few foreigners. That's not true. Very few native-English-speaking foreigners lived near me. My neighborhood has a diverse group of foreigners because of Seoul National University and a large Asian immigrant community. I spent most of the first two-months with my colleagues and the neighborhood friends I played soccer with on Saturdays. I think I was so fed up with the United States I only ventured out for social interaction with other foreigners once or twice. I hadn't studied the language before moving here, so I relied on my wits and desire to fit in to get by. Many days were lonely trials.

One of the concepts I learned about was nunchi because I was praised for having it. That's a good thing: you don't want to hear nunchi eopda (눈치 없다) used to describe you and your behavior. Unfortunately, you either have this or you don't. I know many foreigners believe you can learn it. If you don't have good nunchi, you can learn how to perform it, but we all know the difference. And my Korean friends seem to recognize the people who possess it as part of their ethos (habit and character). If you have to perform it at the right times, you're faking it.

I first learned about what this meant after going out on my first five or six weekends with my soccer team--I play with an all Korean team on Saturdays and nobody speaks English--and with teachers to hike and to learn about the neighborhood. To be honest, I had a blast figuring out who to sit with, how to play with, how to eat and drink with my new friends. I first thought this was nunch: doing the right things at the right times. Iquickly learned that was not it at all.

I think I first heard about my nunchi after a younger teammate who takes care of the club's money insisted I need not contribute because I was a guest. I told him I wanted to be a member and shouldn't receive special treatment. He didn't understand me and simply left me with my money. I had to out-insist him. I succeeded a little later after we were all good and drunk. I have paid dues ever since. It's important to note that I decided to pay without them hinting that maybe I should. I believe to this day they'd permit me to play as a guest and without paying dues. I had to make the decision and be consistent. But to do that only would be a performance, wouldn't it? There's something about the way I communicated wanting to be with them that they appreciate in addition to my decision to pay dues, and that's much more difficult to convey right now.

The insistence to pay is one thing I think many foreigners simply do not understand and find easy to oversimplify, as is the obligation to go out with colleagues. There's a lot of literature out there, many videos, many blogs about how to know when to pay and when to attend, but they're almost every one of them over-generalized and stereotypical nonsense. I suppose this misinterpretation of complex social fabric is understandable. People want some concrete statements about what to do and what not to do. Yet, I wonder.
Westerners love to understand others. Understanding others is part of our bigoted colonialist character. It's part of manifest destiny for US citizens, for sure. I hate it. I disavow it. We get a kick out of saying that we know what something means. We get a super-kick out of dominating foreign scenes as expats. I find it rather obscene, to be honest. I think this disavowal in connection with the way I want to participate is the key to my nunchi. I don't have to think about it.

I'll give you an example of what I mean. I was the first Native Speaking English Teacher (NSET) to teach at my school. I was brought here because the school wanted an experienced teacher. I was all-but-dissertationed from University of Denver and had been teaching since 1999. So, they got me. Nobody at my school was good at speaking English. (That's changed now, the younger English teachers are quite apt and, frankly, I'm no longer needed here.) The first year, my co-teachers were substitute teachers who'd never co-taught before. However, I had one helpful, permanent co-teacher who went out of her way to try to accommodate me and advise me about learning to fit into the faculty and culture of the school.

My school is tough. It's a poor school with poorly performing students many of whom will not attend university out of high school. They'll go to open university, I suppose, but that's not a very respectable thing here. The students are not happy and not interested in my class. I don't blame them. My school is proof that Korea is hurting for educational reform. My conversation class and speaking tests only add to students' English-language study load. They're already frightened about the future. I'd say 60% of the students like me but feel oppressed when I enter their classroom.

When I first arrived at school, the English faculty held many meetings to figure out my role here and our roles together. Nobody spoke English, so everything had to be translated. When we disagreed, the translation could cause trouble because comments were often accidentally and, sometimes, willfully misinterpreted. I once said, "Let's put the students' needs before teachers' desires" when referring to use of the only room with functioning technology and it was translated, I'm not kidding, as "Gary says we're incompetent."

I had to be patient. I had to be willing to take some abuse. (That willfully awful translation of my critique is what I'd call stubborn abuse, but after a little reflection, I recalled my experience as a faculty member in college and university English departments where such complaint is common, sometimes insulting, yet permitted as a way for colleagues to vent. It's permitted there. Why should it not be permitted in Korea?) My closest co-teacher and I came up with an idea that we called "Korean Time". We'd have our meetings. I'd appear in the first part and speak about my classes, lessons, complaints and/or questions. They'd respond. Then I'd leave and permit them Korean Time: time to talk according to their style about work and scheduling without my presence, which can be oppressive. Imagine having to explain yourself all the time to a person who thinks differently about your tasks than you and your colleagues do. Why it's like the government placed a white person in your school just to insist you justify your underpaid and overworked presence each and every day. I understand the contempt. I don't like it, but I get it.

It might sound silly, but it worked. And that's possessing nunchi. They needed not for me to go away or take unearned criticism but for me to understand that my presence really alters their working environment and, though it might pain me to admit, it wasn't necessary and it wasn't useful. It's sounds simple, but being able to publicly acknowledge that I'm not the center of their universe worked wonders. And many NSETs insist as a rule that they are the center of Korea's universe.

I know a lot of NSETs who'd disagree with my interpretation. I worked with a woman at a junior high school summer camp who routinely screamed at our Korean colleagues after common confusions. She didn't and still doesn't, I'm sure, possess nunchi. But she does have (as do her partner and their friends, yes I'm dishing,) plenty to say about Korea and Koreans. By the way, there is a time and a place for screaming in Korea. And I've had my fair share of tirades. You just have to do it properly. But that's for another post.

I don't know why I'm thinking about this right now. Maybe it's because I resigned from my position and will leave my school in August. I'm taking a year off to finish my novel and defend my dissertation before attempting to locate work in an English department at a university here, well anywhere. (Though I'm happy to say that Korean university folks have already shown interest. With a little patience, I'll have a nice position here and I continue to study the language and live in the US when I'm not teaching. Home for vacation and Away for work is a nice proposition.)

I think I'm going to miss my school and my neighborhood, too. We'll be moving to a different part of Seoul. Sillimdong and my high school were very good to me. It's not the hip part of Seoul. It's gritty and dirty. The working people around here are pushy, but I love it. They permitted me to fit in, which is more than I can say for the segregated neighborhoods I lived in back home where difference is shunned and severely beaten down as a rule of citizenship. For all the cries of nationalism I hear in foreigner discussions about Korea and Koreans, I've been welcomed much more sincerely here than in most place in the United States.

Of course, the reason I'm welcomed is that, for some unknown reason, I've got nunchi. I know how to act without having to perform. I know: I'm bragging. Fuck it. I've earned it.

On Teaching and Teachering (repost)

I wrote this almost a year ago.  In my last post, I use the word "teachering". I thought I'd repost a portion of the blog when I first used the word.

From June 15, 2010:

***Judging from the bulk of lesson plans I see circulated and the general discourse about teaching (in Korea,) the less-experienced teachers seem to make the wrong decisions for what may seem like very practical (read, good) reasons. Teachers tend to decide that the requirements of the lessons and demands of the culture are so significant that they must insist students accept a classroom environment the teacher thinks will work best for them to meet curricula-determined goals. I disavow this practice. I guess this could be my reaction to useless lesson planning practices. After all, how long have teachers been composing plans based upon concrete goals that are met only after imposing a strict outline of timed classroom activities? It's stale; it ignores students.

A good lesson plan illustrates a teacher understands how to define an attainable goal. A good plan never addresses how and what students think about it. Moreover, detailed plans always determine how students should approach a lesson. Therefore, plans limit creative and critical discourse. Nowhere in these lesson plans are students visible. Students are unnecessary to its implementation, and they will be present when a lesson is discussed and assigned. They will be given a lesson. I know many teachers who can compose wonderful lesson plans who cannot teach, aren't interested in teaching. They are good plan implementers. And the students' grades are merely numeric representations of the quality of implementation. In fact, that's how both the US and Korean Republic see education. This is the prevailing theory of education: if students receive high test scores, then they are learning.

My Korean colleagues often sadly approach me and apologize because I have had to "lower my expectations" since coming to Samsung High School. When I first arrived, I thought this was because my Principal had read my CV to the teachers in a faculty meeting before introducing me. It was embarrassing. I'm proud of my work but I don't brag. And some teachers were intimidated. What was I doing here? They asked it; I asked it. But I have learned that they're thanking me for working hard and trying to be respectful. I'm not good with gratitude. I have a real problem seeing myself as good. And it's even harder for me to figure out how to return gratitude. I'm terrified of obligation and never quite get it right.  . . . When I first arrived, were it not for my experience, I would have been shocked to discover that it's close to impossible for me to properly complete my contracted tasks--that much of my work, in the traditional sense of teaching lessons, is pointless.

But I have learned to stay focused on the students. To love my students and not necessarily their work. And so, when I'm reminded how sad it is that I have to lower my expectations, I respond with a smile and say "No problem." What's the point of explaining that I find such apologies demeaning to the student body? It's not worth it. I know how my colleagues think about my most recent approach to developing lessons: they see my newest take on teaching students here as a lowering of expectations. It is decidedly not that at all.

The level of English in my working-class district is lower than you might expect. I have 2 or 3 out of 35 to 45 students, in 20 classes, who can listen to a question in English and answer using complete sentences or meaningful clauses and phrases. That's about 60 out of 600-700 students I regularly see. As a result, the first thing I ditched was the English-Only Classroom. For me, that was the easiest part of the environment to change.

Even before arriving in Korea, I wholeheartedly disagreed that enforcing English-only in classrooms encourages and supports the students. Now I can say without a doubt that it's merely wishful thinking to suggest a classroom can be English-Only. It's a ridiculously limiting conception of language as well, as if language were only spoken. The students are not thinking in English. No matter what they say or think, the English language is always already in context with Korean language and culture. We might as well use that to our benefit. English-Only classrooms in Korea are much more about making English teachers more comfortable. I hate classroom power trips. Thus, my classrooms are proudly bilingual.

I would suggest that newer teachers in Korea think about ways to assert themselves in the classroom. Co-teachers will attempt to dominate younger and inexperienced teachers. They'll attempt to police your classrooms. If you need help and are a brand new teacher in search of guidance, this might be a happy coincidence. On the other hand, many teachers have practical experience and will find that Korea's classroom culture is odd, possibly alienating. One of the first things to learn while teaching here is how to fairly and positively manage a Korean English classroom. It takes some work. But the conflicts that will arise and headaches that follow are worth the stress. If you're a good teacher, they will respect your different style. If the students dislike you and you can't teach, they're going to get rid of you as quickly as possible anyway. And I agree with them. Korean students shouldn't be the lab rats for Western teacher wannabes. (I don't mean to be overly cynical or rude to younger teachers, but using another culture's student population as a tool to explore your options back home is unethical to say the least. It's something a teacher wouldn't do.)

The second thing I have learned is how to see the classroom as my students do: a boring, uninspired series of lessons about how to properly answer multiple choice questions based on reading, listening and thinking about ideas in English. Korean English teachers handle this aspect of the job. It's a teacher-stands-in-front-of-the-class-and-tells-you-what-things-mean kind of situation. And Korean students are often much more accepting of receiving such lessons from a Korean than a foreigner. Korean education culture mandates this approach as necessary to teach the students how to prepare for their standardized tests. The advanced students take notes and passively listen and the students who are slightly behind sleep or daydream. The issue for me, as an NSET (Native Speaking English Teacher), is a matter of role: What is my role in the Korean high school classroom?

I've decided my role is to be the one consistent English-speaking presence necessary to acclimate students to the sounds and logic of the English language. By using English with them, I'm performing what it sounds like, how it acts, what it means, and when to use it. In addition, I am what it looks like. This role is in opposition to how most foreign teachers work. This is not to say that they aren't well-meaning teachers with strong lessons. But who are they kidding? I have seen videos of lessons about idioms that drive students mad with laughter. But a PowerPoint presentation with videos and an active classroom is still a lesson about an idiom that relies on a stupid comparison between Konglish and English usage of English language words. It's simply not teaching language. It's teaching jokes. At best, it could be referred to as "reaching an understanding" about a routine. And, in many cases, a teacher risks reinforcing bad habits and lazy routines.

Many NSETs attempt to improve on the Korean English teacher's work and talk about teaching as a competition between co-teachers. At times, they wish to correct the mistakes and to encourage more contemporary usage. Many of the lessons online are based on improving the language the students already know. I think this approach almost gets it right but the flaw is in the pedagogy. NSETs like to be The Expert English Person on Campus. They like to own the language. They complain about the mistakes Koreans permit in their lessons and textbooks. They like to correct cultural errors. They like to transmit Western cultural lessons via language lessons. And as a result of playing the leader, they often find themselves very much an outsider in their schools. They become English Language Informers--the tool in their schools to illustrate who knows English well and who doesn't: somebody who is approached only when the locals can't answer a language question without an expert's help. I want nothing to do with this role. It's a means to alienate myself from my students. In addition, I may be an English teacher, but I do not own the language.

All NSETs should meditate on this mantra: I know I am not in Korea to change Korea.

On the other hand, I love Korea. So, why is it not enough for me to simply be myself using the language and being a teacher being myself using the language? It really does boil down to being a teacher or being like a teacher. Am I teaching or teachering?

I do everything I can to work with students on improving classroom discourse to permit as much student participation as possible yet insist that we maintain a useful direction. After all, we must succeed at focused study with a purpose. In my classrooms, even when I'm evaluating the students, I try to encourage them to use the language they have already learned in order to practice it and become more familiar with it. I insist they attempt to speak in coherent sentences when possible.

You may think I have set the bar rather low. I'd disagree. I have renovated the English classroom. Once a week the students feel at ease when an English teacher walks into the room. At ease because I am the Native Speaker, not in spite of it. (Although my co-teachers often feel alienated in my classroom. Yet again, that's for another post.) This serves an important purpose. I'm the guy you can speak your lousy English with because I'm patient and kind and want you to succeed. I'm not here to inform you that you're incorrect. Quite the opposite, I'm the one who will tell you, "I understand." I'm not concerned with your ranking nor your grade. I'll insist you use English, but I'll support your attempt. In addition, I'll not cater to you nor insult your intelligence. I'm the teacher who knows you know the answer but can't figure out how to say it. We'll figure out a way to say it together. Consequently, I'm the teacher who will insist that English is only possible in conversation with others no matter how much the government and anal Westerners insist it's about correctness.

I'll give you an example. This month we're working on illustrating six themes from the film, Cloudy with a Chance of Meatballs. While some of my students are preparing to find jobs and begin a life of hard work, many students are working towards university life. So, it's important that they begin thinking critically about ideas they encounter in texts. They need to be able to generate reasonable statements about those ideas. They need to know how to use examples from texts to support their statements. And they need to improve their English speaking skills.

I don't have enough time with them to work on reading and discussing texts. I do have time to screen films. We watch a film; I hand out vocabulary. We discuss the language in the film and homework is to familiarize themselves with words and phrases that are new to them. I encourage them to use dictionaries but require their answers in class be in their own words. They aren't permitted to speak in dictionary-ese. The following week, groups have to stand and answer questions about the new words and phrases. We spend one week writing sentences about the meaning of familiar words from the narrative. I assign homework to group leaders who must organize their groups and get them to present a discussion about one of six themes. In their presentations the following week, they must use the language from our earlier vocabulary work. Again, I assign homework asking the students to draw an illustration of their group work about a theme. Their illustration must contain a slogan that captures the spirit of their chosen theme. I sneak a little practice on writing a summary into an art project. The following week, group leaders present their work and the class evaluates the presentations.

It sounds like difficult work, doesn't it? It is and it isn't. These are smart lessons that permit duplication. In other words, in any given school year, I can help the students develop comfort with new vocabulary and English language culture using a format that entertains them. The material in each lesson is new, yet it recalls prior work. The students can become comfortable with my teaching style and a classroom routine without me having to give up the complexity I think is necessary to actually promote learning. I have a lesson ideal and a general direction that maintains a focused and accurate purpose.

The most time-consuming part of the preparation is putting students into groups because I make sure the groups contain high-performers and low-performers, students who both know and don't know English. The students teach one another by listening to their group members discuss how to complete the work and other groups present their work. They become the experts. Students learn who to trust and ask one another for help. I encourage the groups to routinely give others the answers. I encourage students who know the answer that a person standing doesn't know to share their answer. Students know there is nothing wrong with hearing an answer and then repeating it. Of course, they must learn to hear the most correct answer. As a result, I have discovered a way to permit a noisy classroom.

It's much more complex and demanding than anything they're accustomed to as students of English, yet they enjoy it. The difference is that we work in groups and share our results and discuss our problems understanding the meaning of the English language in both Korean and English. The classroom becomes less about the assignment and a teacher's evaluation than it does about the discourse needed to address the questions at issue within each stage of the assignment. Moreover, the students are involved with evaluating their performance as the final lesson requires classes to discuss group performance.

Ultimately, I'm satisfied because this is a practice I'd use with Seoul's most privileged students. It's not something developed with my students in mind; it's something that works regardless of social class. The lessons permit useful participation from all kinds of students, and their participation is required to be in concert with their classmates' work. I'm engaging with them on what can be thought of as their terms. In other words, I'm not reinforcing the stupid ranking system where the best and brightest are rewarded as they shame their classmates who haven't scored as high on their tests. (This is a problem in US classrooms, too, where teachers use the smart kids to motivate the kids who aren't doing as well. It's demeaning. As far as I'm concerned, it's a kind of training for corporate life that should be banned from the classroom.)


I've been using a word lately to distinguish between useful and useless teaching practices. Teaching is always useful teaching. Teachering is when what you do in the classroom fulfills your obligations but does not necessarily have anything to do with your students. Teachering is always useless.

Testing, Testing (Part Two)

This is a continuation of "Testing, Testing" posted last week, April 13. In that post, I wrote:

I’m working on two posts that I’ll soon publish. Maybe I can complete them this evening. The first will explain the work I planned for my classes and illustrate the expectations I had looking ahead to the tests. The second post will illustrate the test and discuss the results, student reception, and their apparent study habits. I’ll try to offer an honest evaluation about the success of the lessons and exam.

I've been sidetracked because the work on my critique of progressive libertarianism and meritocracy has been rather fun. Sidetracked isn't the best term, I guess. I've been reading and haven't taken the time to write about the last month at school. Here goes.

First, I'll discuss the work we completed over a four-week period leading up to the conversation exams. I teach 20 classes each week, each class has 35-42 students. Korean high schools have three grade levels, first through third. I teach the first and second grades. For three weeks, we watched three short-films and worked in groups to discuss and write sentences answering questions about settings, themes, characters, moods, and genres. In the fourth week, we reviewed the three shorts in detail, trying to focus on how to speak about the more interesting scenes in each story and to reinforce new vocabulary. The fifth and sixth weeks have been for the speaking tests. Next week, the students will take their regular, midterm exams. As you can see, I've developed a method for teaching my high school English conversation class that builds a conversation over a four week period. I do this to reinforce new vocabulary, to promote acquisition and to build confidence through familiarity with the chosen subject.

I like this method for two reasons. As I mentioned in my first post, my students' English language skills are lower than expected and desired for university-bound 16-19 year olds. Rather than focus on rudimentary language games that entertain as much as teach, that they've played since early childhood, and rather than focus on building confidence through staging scenarios for conversation via cheesey conversation-starter exercises, I believe my lessons reinforce the kinds of English my students will be required to use as students over the next five years. The lessons are designed to be accessible to almost all my students while being practical for those who will attend university. In addition, my approach doesn't insist that I teach only to the smartest students who are likely going to be competing with many thousands of students, many from higher ranked schools, for positions at the most respected Korean universities. And I simply refuse to teach to the middle, which is always teaching in opposition to critical thinking. My lessons produce space for all students regardless of their English proficiency to practice English and build skills, vocabulary, understanding and confidence.

As teachers we ought to help create a potential for learning to occur rather than work on teaching learning. We help make it possible to produce spaces of learning. We don't create the space and then permit students entrance to it nor  do we enter a space already created and then direct students how to use it. We produce space with the students and work in it together. In Korea and United States, the dominant mode of teaching is what I like to call teacher-ing. Teachers perform for the students. If you want to see heinous examples of this, go to You Tube and search for English Conversation Classes in Korea. You'll find many examples of teachers as clowns. Entertaining, maybe. Hard work, maybe. Not teaching. But the kids and colleagues think it looks like what good teaching should be. In a future post, I'll offer a further critique of this kind of teaching.

Teacher-ing contains things: information, data, language, personality, ethos (both habit and character), intention and equipment. Students are offered an opportunity by teachers to learn what is provided within the well-rehearsed performances. Students who figure out how to score well on exams are rewarded. In addition, students who behave well are rewarded. Some teachers are great performers, but the learning that occurs is never related to the performance. We're all too aware of this; some teachers and administrators love the performance so much that they are unwilling to actually give up and teach. They're dedicated teachers, for sure. They're just not good teachers. They're good performers; good at being the center of attention; they're good graders. In fact, we're learning, much to the chagrine of the education business and its biggest supporters and benefactors, that scoring well on exams and good behavior are not only inaccurate indicators of learning, they may measure something other than learning altogether.

Teacher-ing is the performance of the material in a lesson combined with a sincere hope that students will model the performance and through modeling learn the lesson. I use the word teacher-ing because I believe the performance is actually one step removed from teaching: it's a teacher doing teaching. Good teachers look like good teachers because they're doing things teachers are thought to do and thought ought to do and their students react well to the performance. Teaching, on the other hand, is about working within the public discourse community to produce a space in cooperation with students, school administration and others in the community in which learning occurs through purposeful discourse about different subjects. The objective is that students learn to actively participate in the subjects in a manner that can benefit themselves, the teacher, the school, the community. They learn how to do, to think and to create in cooperation and work with others. Teaching is something one does in a discourse community. It's a role, certainly, but not performed as if on a stage. A teacher's work is performed in media res.

I could continue to make this issue more complicated. In the US, for example, individualism is tied up with the idea that we are sovereign unto ourselves though we are citizens of a state and as such participate in the maintenance of a social contract, whether or not we are conscious of what that means. In Korea, this sense of sovereignty may in fact exist but is not much permitted in school. It's just not encouraged. Here, school is a place of highly structured collectivist culture. And not in the way Americans often think of it: school spirit, clubs, fraternities, sororities, etc.  At any rate, I'm not addressing this significant aspect of teaching in this post. I'm trying to articulate I believe we ought to create lessons that promote teaching rather than resort to teacher-ing.

My classes are 50 minutes in length. I like to have 15 minutes of group work each week, and I usually explain/lecture for about 10 minutes. Half of each of my classes is spent either speaking with the students and them speaking with me, so in some sort of conversation, and/or listening and observing something that is presented in English. This year I'm using short films with little to no dialogue. The films tend to be around 2-3 minutes in length. My rule is that they never be more than 10 minutes. I want at least 15 minutes of conversation in each class.

I can't assign reading in my classes for two reasons. We have few materials and little money for materials and I have no way to insure the students will complete homework. Basically, I get 50 minutes a week with 20 classes. It's very difficult to cultivate a productive and useful space for English language learning and acquisition to occur in a meaningful and consistent manner.

I must bring all materials to class and leave with them and must be able to set-up the classroom in a matter of minutes or else I lose valuable time with my students. I decided that bringing a laptop and necessary cables was the best solution. I can start a class in the time it takes for a projector to warm up. While I get the computer, screen and projector set up, my students form groups and distribute my weekly handout.  I'm going to focus on one lesson rather than all three, but describe to you the procession of lessons in summary. Though I've created a routine for my classes, the lessons build on each other. In my classes, we really do work together to approach a useful, meaningful and somewhat interesting English conversation about our subject.
Over the last month, my students have practiced speaking first about setting and characters, second about themes and kinds of stories, and third about how stories make us feel. The fourth week, we sat back and watched all three short films, one after the other, with the volume down low, and we spoke about each scene using the vocabulary I provided them on the handouts.

My next post will present, in detail, one of the three lessons. The following will discuss the speaking test. The third will offer a critique of what I think about the kind of teaching I have witnessed in classrooms here. Needless to say, I am not impressed and happy about it. I have to attend a teacher training session next week, and I'll pan my third post so I write about it as well.

Legend of the Persecuted White Guy

David Sirota's new essay in Salon is good reading.  Here's the article from Newsweek asking whether or not white masculinity can survive the recession.  With a straight face.

We all know the truth about white male privilege. Even now, white men are statistically the most insulated group in society.

The legend of the persecuted white guy (and his girlfriends) exists even in Korea, where white guys love to write I Hate Korea blogs because Koreans don't privilege white people by default. The white power structure is in full effect here and the privileges white skin with good English with good education affords translates into a standard of living that is, in fact, more comfortable stable than for the majority of Korean citizens. Koreans know it and some--not all mind you and nowhere near close to all--resent it. White people are massively privileged in Korea.

Imagine what would happen in the US if our government used tax revenue to bring native-speaking Spanish speakers from Mexico into public elementary, junior and high school classrooms--and paid those native speakers with graduate degrees more than many of the citizens who teach at those schools get paid, paid for their flights to and from the US each year, paid for much of their housing, paid for their medical care, paid for their pleasure, paid for their pensions, and when they left paid them nice bonuses. Imagine what would happen then.

White people, especially white men, hate unpackaging privilege and thinking about it. Talk to a libertarian about privilege and you'll see where I'm coming from. Bring up white power structure with many liberals and you'll get a fight.

DagSound: Kill a K-Pop Fan For Rock and Roll

I love Korea. Love calling Seoul my home. Love my Korean family. But boy do I hate K-Pop. I made this to sum up my feelings about mindless, corporate Korean Pop and its fans as it and they destroy music one unimaginative, stupid single at a time.

Korea actually has a very cool Rock and Roll history. (There are posts about it in the DagSeoul and DagSound archives. You can find good stuff on the good links left on this old post about Korean Psych and Acid Folk. Some of the links are dead, unfortunately. If I had my turntables in Korea, I'd upload everything I've found.)  Some amazing artists. Even the old 노래 style is great compared to contemporary pop, which is actually little more than repackaged pop music from other places, sometimes simply plagiarized, accompanied by awfully boring lyrics, and mostly intended to sell junk Samsung, LG, Doosan, Kia and other corporations produce.

Manipulated Image produced from the wonderful Marty Perez "kill a punk for rock and roll" photo that was eventually used on the great Oblivians album, Popular Favorites. Love this photo. Perez took it at a Black Sabbath concert in Seattle, 1982. Sabbath was opening for Dio.)

The Korean Quotidian: Office Routines

I'm sharing an office with one of those OCD guys every Korean office seems to have. He's very nice and constantly cleans. When he's not cleaning, he's teaching; when he's neither teaching nor cleaning, he's hiking. He's mopped our office floor five times in three days. I think he needs some help.

The mopping at my school involves the coldest water and a mop. Nothing becomes clean: doesn't look clean, doesn't smell clean, isn't clean.

Constant dirty pooled
Water and wet smell,
Dust and mop cotton.


Keywords: musky, dusky, dank, dirty.

Wet concrete, kept wet, only slightly visibly erodes leaving a fine and consistent gray dust on its surface. It's a sneaky erosion. It makes my obsessive and anxious office mate believe the floor is never quite clean enough to leave alone. He's expediting its erosion. A wonderful signifier for his state of mind.

His look betrays the kind of anxiety that quietly unsettles the daily order, gives the appearance of cohesion and adherence to a routine that is always unraveling. Where am I going to find enough time to clean this office before I have to teach. It suggests when he returns from the classroom, fifty minutes later, he'll have forgotten he worked so hard to get it right the first time. He'll clean again.

Reading Notes

I'm reading Michael Breen's The Koreans: Who They are, What They Want, Where Their Future Lies (Thomas Dunne Books, 1998. Revised, 2004.)

The book is sold as "[a] splendid work of explication and analysis" for and about Korea and Koreans. If I were Korean, I'd hate these books.

Maybe it's an easy critique to make, but Breen's writing is one moment fair and the next paternalistic, patronizing. He's aware of this and the book, so far, has several sentences sprinkling his intent not to be that way. When a writer has to tell his readers what he's not intending to do, then he needs to reconsider focus, direction, or genre. To be fair, much important work in writing represents an author's failure to accomplish his or her intent.

I don't mind anecdote and memoir, nor do I mind the critical analysis that often accompanies firsthand accounts of other cultures. Breen's observations are not trite. They are complex and careful, though often digressive.

As a reader, I do mind when interesting and anecdotal travel writing poses as vital cultural discourse and attempts to sell an author's illustration and caricaturization of an entire culture to his readers as authoritative vis-a-vis the author's own culture's view of the world and the subjects in his work. Breen is offered expert status on Korea and Koreans because he's an expat journalist who has extensively covered Korean business and politics. I'll write more about this in the coming days, but I can't shake this: when a foreign business and politics journalist claims he knows about the everyday lives of everyday Koreans, he's completely full of shit and gravitas.

It's not that foreigners shouldn't write Chapters on Korea, as Breen does, entitled "Korean Heart". Do share with your Western readers what you've decided is so complex about Korean passions and intellect: how, even though you admit you can't understand it, you have something valuable to say about it. Nothing at all wrong with the attempt. What's improper is the uncritical acceptance and implementation of a mindless binary about Western and Eastern consciousness that itself is based upon a complex series of mutual misrepresentations and generalizations about several cultures. It's as if the binary opposition is in itself an excuse for painting not one but all cultures with broad brush strokes for the purpose of making some rather simple points about other people appear poignant and complex.

Sounds like I am really having a go at Breen, doesn't it? I don't know about that. I'm dissatisfied with the state of intellectual discourse in books about Korea. I think he's a talented writer. It's clear he cares about Korea. I suppose I don't know what to do with his book. I guess I find it intellectually lazy. I'm reviewing it right now and yanking passages to illustrate my points. So, more to come shortly.

What Privacy? Getting Personal in Korea

"Do you mind if I ask a personal question?"
"Can I ask you a personal question?"
"Can we talk privately?"
"Do you mind a personal talk?"

I arrived in Korea in late August 2008 with no idea what to expect from my school or new students and colleagues. I quickly discovered most of the information on the web from blogs and ESL web sites was exaggerated, improper, or horribly skewed. I was prepared for more work, more expectation, no preparation, a poor school district, a language barrier, and a rather radical change in my diet. Two things affected me more than anything else: Koreans are not as good at English as everyone insists they are (yet they are better than they think they are) and Koreans have no real expectation of privacy in their daily lives and don't do much to extend that to their privacy-obsessed western guests. The language thing doesn't bother me at all. But I had to quickly learn how to handle the lack of privacy.

I really did fear the above questions about private matters more than anything because they always dealt with what are the most taboo subjects for polite conversation in the United States. Generally, I enjoy conversations most when the discourse gets personal. I abhor small talk and prefer uncomfortable silences to meaningless chats. I like digging into issues and concerns no matter how trivial. I love watching people talk, especially when they get to personal matters. I'm a voyeur; I enjoy causing trouble; I like being engaged with others.

I discovered on only my second day in Korea that a personal question or private discussion here has to do with matters Koreans know Westerners like to keep private: there is no sense of shame or prohibition about bluntly asking a person to be frank about private matters. During my first few weeks in Seoul, these discussions were often wickedly personal interviews with me providing intimate details about myself to a relative stranger who appeared no more than momentarily interested. I often explained a personal detail in a hallway in between classes.

My new colleagues and students weren't trying to be provocative. They were satisfying a curiosity. This curiosity and satisfying it are what Westerners here often criticize as a rude or mean Korean behavior. The stares, the questions, the quick conversations can often seem like interrogations. I have commented on dagSeoul about this. White folks trek across Korea pointing, staring, teasing, laughing, and sometimes interrogating Koreans and yet are shocked when a Korean returns the favor with a comment about stocky or overweight white bodies, blonde hair, blue eyes, strange accents, drinking, sexuality, among other things. There are dozens of popular, Korea blogs written by white folks. Each of them has posts about rude Koreans. Yet each blog has within its archives many posts observing Korea and Koreans as if it's nothing at all. I think it's apparent people don't get irony.

Within my first 72 hours in Seoul, I was asked about my religion, my politics, my body shape, my lack of hair. I can only imagine what many of the foreigners I've met while living here did when confronted with similar questions. I got a weird kick of it, I must admit, but did become a little indignant with some particularly intrusive questions. I think I was shocked because I was taken from the airport directly to my school to work. I had no orientation period, nor time to sit and consider where I was, what I was getting myself into, what my fellow foreigners were like, and what Koreans thought about us.

I learned very quickly that my new Korean friends ask the personal or privacy question because they have learned that what they will ask next may offend me--US, actually. However, they aren't asking because they don't want to offend us; they are asking to warn us what's coming next. They are going to ask regardless of your answer. I think this is what some westerners find rude. As if to ask, Why seek my permission if you're going to dig into my personal affairs anyway?

No matter what you think of the question, you'll eventually hear it. It's better to be prepared. If you answer No, you're safe. Unfortunately, answer No several times and you'll always be kept at a safe distance. If you answer Yes, you must be ready for what will follow. Answer Yes several times, and everybody will assume it's permissible to continue personal discussions. Things got very personal with me. I'm very comfortable being a public individual here. So, I frankly answer all sorts of questions I know most people wouldn't.

Here's the tricky part about navigating these questions. I was asked about my background. Most Koreans want to know a foreigner's heritage. I mentioned Irish and Swedish and spoke about my family's focus on Irish culture. Koreans believe they have an affinity with Irish people, so that turned out well. Nevertheless, the conversation quickly became about religion because the teacher I was speaking with is Catholic.

Are you Catholic? I was raised Catholic.
Do you go to church ever Sunday? No.
Why not? I have some real problems with the Church.

That's how I decided to answer realizing I couldn't really explain to her in my native language the complex relationship I have with Catholicism. I just said, I don't feel I can go anymore. The response I got was something I've never heard from a Catholic and likely never would in the United States. The woman talking to me said, I'm worried for your soul. Please let me take you to church. I beg you to come.

I politely declined. I smiled. And we went to teach. I still remember walking down the hall and thinking "You've got to be kidding me." Here I was at my job and being cornered to discuss religion. My American self was ready to cry harassment. But these are not extraordinary discussions here. Iㅜ addition, this happened between periods, in that ten minute break between classes. Basically, I was being introduced to Korean scolding as caring. But the lesson I learned that day was that I had to be willing to both truthfully answer the question and politely accept the response if I was going to participate in these personal discussions.

Here's another example. I was asked, Why are you fat? Talk about awkward. I had serious health problems with intestinal bleeding before coming to Korea. I was considering an operation to remove a Meckel's Diverticulum that doctor's had diagnosed after a series of various tests. And I worked my ass off getting into shape and healthy to come here. I was running 40k a week and working out everyday. I was in the best shape I have been in since high school. When I was asked if I was fat, I just about lost it. But I am a barrel-chested and stocky man living in a country of thin, sinewy Korean men. If you're not thin here, you're fat. It's that simple.

I absolutely hated the fat discussions. Your fat. Your big. Are you healthy? Do you exercise? Why don't you lose weight? What do you eat? I had been overweight. I had been unhealthy. I have to stay healthy and keep an eye on things because it's likely that one day sooner than later, I will need an operation to fix what appears to be a congenital defect in my intestines. You'll likely sympathize when I complain that I hate thinking about it. But what was I supposed to do? Getting upset and complaining about it wouldn't change anything. Telling the person asking the question how rude that sounds to an American certainly wouldn't work. I had to decide to continue saying Yes or to begin saying No.

The fat discussions ended when I began playing soccer with the college students in my neighborhood and knocked the living crap out of them while outrunning them. Now, I am "strong Gary". They were amazed that I'm fast and in shape. An uncomfortable question turned into a nice accomplishment for me: I was able to feel wonderful about me and my body for the first time in a while. But I had to endure being put on the spot and that was hard.

Actually, they still call me fat from time to time. And that's another point worth considering: you really do have to be willing to sacrifice tact when have a discussion in English with most Koreans. Their vocabulary is understandably limited to a popular set of ordinary English words. For body type, the vocabulary is quite limited. Words like beautiful, pretty, ugly, fat, thin, tall, small, old, young, cute, healthy, not healthy, sick, and good are as much as most people will be able to use in any given conversation. Folks often know more words but rarely use them to be able to recall them while talking. I think it's very important to realize this, to admit it, and to allow for the problems that will occur as a result of the limitation.

To talk about health here often means directly addressing your body or their bodies. I turned what I saw as an unfortunate obsession into a benefit for my language classes. We had lessons about vocabulary to describe people. It was refreshing not to have to focus on political correctness and politeness. I was able to run through a whole set of vocabulary in a basic and honest way. As a result, I learned a few things about the horrifying ways the kids describe each other. I write "horrifying" because the teachers do nothing to challenge some of the hurtful ways Koreans classify each other by face shape, height, width, gender and age. I'd say the classification is enabled if not actually encouraged. I had a female student exclaim in response to being called a grandfather by her classmates, "Well, it's OK; I am ugly."


The noun phrase "personal question" means one thing for westerners: for me and my friends, we try not to get too personal because it's considered impolite in many social situations. A personal discussion is for friends. We permit people to volunteer such information. The more friendly, the more personal. If a friend confronts us about personal matters, it usually because what they see has become problematic and/or worrisome. For Koreans, it's a phrase that can be used before talking about private matters of personal significance. More than any folks I have met, Koreans will withhold judgments about a person until they know about you. A good first-impression is paramount, yet it's the discussions after that impression that will be used to classify you in some manner. I found within two months living here, people were quickly deciding whether or not they could be friends with me based on my likes, dislikes, personality, family history, spirituality, politics, et al. And not as they got to know me, but as they had a short and personal discussion about me.

So, the best way to think about personal questions is they are warnings about what is likely to happen if you answer Yes. Namely, I may offend you with my curiosity about you, your body, your politics, your religion, and/or your family. I write "personal" not to be sarcastic. It's just that we don't typically talk about personal matters when getting personal with each other. When getting personal, we purposefully relate a claim and reasons for making that claim to a person and his or her behavior and beliefs. And it's a difficult thing to do with strangers because we don't know them very well and must base our claims on assumptions that are likely not entirely the case. And it's a difficult thing to do with our friends because we more or less objectify them in some way to address a matter of disagreement. Getting personal often has a pejorative sense.

If a Korean wants to talk to you about personal matters that involve you, you'll likely be addressing marriage or your body. Why aren't you married; why don't you date; why are you fat; why do you die your hair; why are you always mad; why are you tired; why don't you dress well; do you drink; why do you live with your girlfriend; do you like Korean women/men? These are simply annoying questions that nobody wants to answer in front of strangers.

In a worst case scenario, you'll be talking about your lifestyle. As in, you came to work smelling of 담배 & 소주 (dambae/cigarettes and soju) and toothpaste and they want to know if you drink too much. Or, more innocent but still invasive, you called in sick on a Monday and your coworkers all assume you were hungover. It's an uncomfortable discussion many foreigners have with their Korean coworkers at some point.

(to be continued...I have a nasty cold and it's hard to write and keep a focus. I'll add to this post and develop some of the ideas as I get well.)

Kicking Against the Pricks

Reports: SKorean Internet addicts let baby starve - Boston.com

Posted using ShareThis

When something awful happens in Korea, awful enough to make the news--police killing protesters, sexual predation, parents killing their children, a President committing suicide--the entire culture seems to participate in a collective and public embarrassment and dread regarding answering what it means that something that awful could happen in Korea. They don't want to talk about it; it puts everyone into a real funk. It's an entirely different response to similar and more common incidents in the United States, where I feel Americans expect such spectacles and especially on the evening news. I was about to ask a Korean colleague about the Internet Addict story the other day and found myself pausing suddenly and changing the subject. I realized that I was only asking because I wanted to make her uncomfortable. I was a little shocked at my motivation.

When considering the seedy United States, Koreans hear old and new stories about lynchings, rapes, fathers killing their families then killing themselves, an increasing number of convicted sex offenders, and rampant drug addiction. Anything spectacular happens in the US, and I will be asked about it over lunch. My interviewer will study my response with a subtle yet shocked expression as if to say, Really, you seem all right but what's wrong with you guys? (Lately, the questions have been about health care. Why don't you want everybody to have health care?)

Not that I'm bothered for a moment that Koreans believe Americans are perverts. So much of this is based on naive acceptance of gossip as fact, and I'm kind of the example that proves otherwise. On the other hand, the history of Americans in Asia, and Korea in particular, is far from exemplary. Sure many of us are doing good work here, but that's not enough to change the overall perception of the US and American culture. And judging from the activity I've witnessed here, it wouldn't surprise me to find out that my Korean friends think we're childish and self-centered snobs. I've heard as much, but with an apology because I'm not that way but America seems like it is. Add to the suspicions that we are, in fact, the most militaristic nation, consistently driven to protect economic interest through participation in foreign wars and maintaining a militarized presence in many countries, and you know it's safe to say that you'd have to be a jingoistic prick to not sympathize with their lack of trust and faith.

Anyway, I have to admit that Americans are often treated like the perverted 14 year old down the street who the parents tolerate but keep at a distance because they think he's been humping their dogs while they work. Or, at least that's how I sometimes feel about the stares I get from women, grandmas, and old men while I'm walking around town. Many of my friends complain about how we're perceived, but it's going to take a long time for Koreans to collectively decide there's true value in global multiculturalism and to learn to reform the nationalist spirit with which it shelters its racism and racists.

I would be a little more interested in my fellow expats' complaints if included in them were, for example, any compassion for other workers, other immigrant laborers who live here and are truly oppressed, like say the thousands of Chinese who live in close to abject poverty in my Gu, who slave away in Seoul's restaurants. But this is representative of a general disconnect white Americans have from the reality of oppression. White folks love to complain about how they are treated while ignoring the horrible oppression of others. Throw them an orphan to cuddle or an old comfort woman to cry about on weekends and they're back to complaining about racism at Monday night dinner. The excuse for complaining ad nauseam being that nobody should be treated this way. I hate the "least of all me" mentality most: the notion that we are to be treated well because we are here habit.

I don't buy it. I think it's easy to look at Koreans in Korea and criticize their failures at understanding what multiculturalism is all about. It's easy, not because Korean society is so monolithic, but because Americans fail at achieving the benefits true multiculturalism can provide a diverse society. We fail at it, yet we expect Korea to open it arms to us and provide with access to its culture without expecting us to assimilate and while permitting us to appropriate.

This story about the baby who starved while her parents were playing a video game where they were raising a virtual child has scandalized Korea and Koreans. They abhor stories like this and are extremely embarrassed by them. I was in a devilish mood the other day and thought about going around asking folks about it, teasing them I guess, like they ask me about American embarrassments. But I checked that little devil and let the temptation pass. Who needs another white guy telling them that their country has problems? Especially when I am one their problems.

South Korea opens prison for foreign convicts

from the BBC:

The number of foreigners in South Korean jails has more than doubled in the past four years to about 1,500.

The prison's director said the inmates would still be able to pursue the "Korean dream" that had led them to the country in the first place.

The prison is about 100km (62 miles) south of the capital, Seoul, in Cheonan.

Inmates are given classes in Korean culture but can also view satellite TV from around the world and eat non-Korean meals. A number of the guards are fluent in English, Russian or Chinese.

***

The government has said the facility aims to respect the inmates' human rights and treat them in a humanitarian manner regardless of their language, culture or religion.

"We will operate this facility for the inmates to recognise that their 'Korean dream' was not a failure," said the prison's director, Kim Pyung-gun. "We will give them a message of hope."

Ok, so what's this "Korean Dream" Kim Pyeong Gun is talking about. It's the first I've heard about it.

서울시장: What are your favorite markets?

서울시장 (seoul shijang): Seoul Market

I'm gathering photos and working on a post about Seoul Markets right now. The city has hundreds of them. And a few are world famous.

I love market strolling and so I'm wondering about your favorites? Write about the markets you visit in the comments. And if you live outside of Seoul, tell us where we should go when we visit your town.

dagConfessions: Power & The Right To Peacefully Assemble

A US citizen visiting Korea for more than a year might have a hard time understanding Korean Democracy without doing a little homework. My wording might seem a little odd, but I think I could have been here for three months and not have come away with the desire to write this post (other than to share the story.)

The longer I live in Korea, the more I learn about the way the government and police operate. What disturbs me isn't the fact that I know about oppression and now I can see it happening outside my window. I'm not precious. I'm coming to terms with the fact that I haven't ever experienced a difference in how citizens think about Law. I guess I'm experiencing a kind of alienation for the first time that I could easily permit to become anger and frustration directed at Koreans and about Korean culture. But I want to resist that temptation because I think it's power I'm experiencing. Power, that as a white guy from the US, I have never confronted. I've read about it, sure. But this is different.

Koreans and Americans do not have the same experience and understanding of Law. A little knowledge of history explains the experiential aspect of the difference between our cultures. It's our, Korean and American, understanding of Law I want to quickly focus on before sharing a story from The Hankyoreh to illustrate my feelings. Feel free to comment if you disagree or want me to flesh this out. I'm more than willing to.

Many Americans, I'm ashamed to admit, don't really know that the reason we think and act like we do, as Americans do, has a lot to do with Laws. In the US, we have a Constitution and system of Laws that protects rights and punishes crimes. Americans like to talk about Rights all the time. We like to insist our Rights are Natural, even that we are born with them. We even have much of Continental Philosophy (See, Kant et al.) to back-up our notions that democratic life within a capitalist market is part of Nature's unknowable plan to guide us to ever more control of ourselves and toward overall Liberty. Nevertheless, we forget that without our enforceable social contract, all our Rights would simply be wishful and hopeful thinking. Yes, I'm saying that Americans take it for granted. I think we all know this is true.

Koreans have Laws with a big "L", too; it is, after all, the Republic of Korea. But Korean citizens don't think about their Republic as a Republic of Laws in the same manner Americans do. Laws in Korea are tools used by the police and the government to enforce the government's will, which is more appropriately stated as enforce the majority Party's will.

Koreans simply cannot freely speak in public in opposition to their government's ruling Party without worrying about punishment. Nor do they have the ability to freely assemble to protest and/or to organize in dissent without worrying about punishment. And when they do assemble in groups in active dissent, punishment does occur. A tourist passing through Seoul on a summer weekend would have to be blind not to notice the massive police presence in the streets.

I'm trying to come to terms with the visible and sometimes abject oppression many Koreans and immigrants struggle with here. The only thing that keeps me from running back to the US in disgust is that I'm well aware that, though Americans like to pretend it's otherwise, we have abject oppression in the US that is quite comparable while less widespread. In Seoul, it's easy for me to see it. I'm not from here. At home, I have to look for it. But it's there.

What I'm trying to come to terms with is understanding the middle-ground Korea occupies right now between the totalitarianism of the recent past and a more free Democracy of the sometime in the future. And I want to understand why Koreans don't have the feeling that it's their right. That's for another post, though. (And I should say that all the liberal and leftist Koreans I have met would say that it is their right. I'm generalizing here, of course, and I hope not too much.)

Below is a link to a story from a recent edition of The Hankyoreh. Korea's versions of Conservative Republicans are members of the Grand National Party (GNP). The American GOP and the Korean GNP have a lot in common. At this moment in time, both parties' membership likes to claim that they know better than everybody else how to legislate. In addition, they are the parties of old, well-off men and their sons and their wives. GNP visions of Korean daily life remind me of the white power structure that guides the GOP through its decision-making back home.

Currently, The GNP is attempting to enact a law that would make it illegal for people to assemble in groups between 10pm and 6am. The dissenting members of government insist that this could be handled by instituting a permit process, that an outright ban would be too extreme.

The law isn't the problem here; the warrant the GNP uses to argue in support of it is the problem. The GNP's reason is that somebody might break a law or a late assembly might turn violent. It's a real problem, this logic. A US citizen would say without too much pushing: Hey, a person has to commit a crime before being charged with one. We don't use laws to prohibit people from choosing to break laws. People choose to participate in our social contract. If a person breaks a law, then we punish that person. And so on.

In Korea, the social contract is an idea and law is a tool used to enforce participation. For the most part, Koreans accept this enforcement. Rather than shaping legislation that encourages peaceful participation in free discourse, laws that suggest what a true disturbance is, a law is suggested that prohibits all assembly. Most foreign historians and essayists on Korea like to argue that the existence of this general acceptance of oppression is a hangover from the bad days when dictators ran daily life in Korea. Well, I think that's a shitty excuse for a real problem that needs real reform to ever change. In addition, I think it's terribly patronizing to listen to white intellectuals talk about Korea's hangovers. It's a shitty, demeaning, and anti-intellectual means to addressing a complex cultural construct.

GNP introduces bill to completely ban nighttime outdoor assemblies

Here are two paragraphs from the article. They highlight the problem I address above:

The GNP lawmakers at the committee meeting, including Cho, called for the bill to be passed during the February extraordinary assembly after the bill had been handed over to a subcommittee for legal deliberation. GNP Lawmaker Kim Tae-won said concerns over the destruction of evidence or escape were great regarding nighttime assemblies, and they could very likely turn into violent demonstrations. Thus, he added that until a peaceful demonstration culture takes root in South Korea, a time restriction would have to be placed on outdoor demonstrations.

Democratic Party Lawmakers Kang Gi-jung and Kim Yoo-jung, however, protested the bill, saying that since it excessively restricts the people’s Constitutionally-guaranteed basic rights, it would be better to place limits on noise or venues rather than time. They called on the GNP to drop discussion of amending the Assembly Law and instead hold hearings to gather public opinion. A bill proposed by Democratic Party Lawmaker Chun Jung-bae and Democratic Labor Party Lawmaker Lee Jung-hee, currently stuck in committee, would in principle permit nighttime outdoor assemblies under the condition that participants maintain law and order.

dagTunes: 펄 시스터즈 (The Pearl Sisters)

I'm a little obsessed with traditional Korea pop. One of my favorite vocal groups is The Pearl Sisters, featuring sisters Bae In Soon and Bae In Sook. I can't find much about them in English. From what I can tell, their mother originally encouraged them to sing as "The Kim Sisters". Lee Nanyong was an actress and singer during the Korean War and it sounds like she got her daughters involved in 노래 (norae, song) contests held on the military bases. The girls like performing and soon were recording. They became popular with the backing of Korea's godfather of rock'n'roll, Shin Jung Hyeon, the subject of my next post.

Anyway, if you know more about the sisters, leave a comment.

Contemporary K-Pop is such weak, fashion-oriented, easily-consumed and forgettable junk that researching the 50s, 60s, and 70s Korean Pop, Folk, and Rock scenes has been a real joy. Korea has a wealth of musical treasures. You just have to dig a little to find them.

I can't wait to hit the used record stores in 남대문시장 (Namdaemun Market) and attempt to find some of the music I've grown to love.

Much of the late-sixties to mid-seventies pop & rock music is garage and folk influenced. There is plenty of progressive and hard rock around but the best is the psychedelic tinged folk and folk pop and songs like The Pearls Sisters' garage pop.

"Shadows of the Two" and "I'll Wait" (During the first song there's a little pause in the audio that lasts about 3-4secs.)



The next one is called "커피 한잔" and is probably the best song about "a cup of coffee" I've ever heard:



I like "I Can Not" quite a bit. It's a nice garage pop number:

Purchasing a Scooter in Seoul

This can be a rather daunting project. Who do you trust? At least, that's how I approached the matter. I am a scooterist in the States and have experience buying scooters: one modern and several vintage. In my opinion, two things matter most: knowledge and trust.

Trust is difficult away from home. Not speaking but a little Korea and knowing that much is lost in translation, I was worried about walking into an autobike shop and negotiating with an ajossi about a new or used ride. The prospect of shopping via Craigslist or 4OKs was equally as aggravating. Many foreign scooterists in Seoul know nothing about the machine they are riding. Understandably, they have absolutely no idea about their scoot's condition.

Take my advice, I'd stay away from a bike being sold by a temporary, foreign owner unless you have someone you trust check it out first. (Even if you know the person selling the bike. Nothing like a bad sale to ruin a friendship. Trust me. I've seen it happen.) Buying a scooter from somebody because the bike looks good and not knowing anything about its history could very well be a ticket to a hospital bed. Scooters are simple machines, certainly, but because they are simple it doesn't take much for them to become dangerous modes of transportation. Remember we don't have garages here in which to get under a bike and check it out on a monthly basis. People, especially foreigners, ride their scoots until they break. Then have them fixed cheaply. Then ride some more. Why would you be willing to give money for that bike without first knowing about the bike? A bad front fork from slamming the scoot down curbs and in and out of street holes or a weak braking system and you're in trouble. Just sayin.^^

So, first there's trust. And I'm picky. I didn't like a lot of what I saw, though I wanted something specific. In the end, Praise and I began planning to go to shops and sussing out a trustworthy ajossi. What we learned is priceless.

First, find an ajossi who wants to do business with a foreigner to increase his own business and this guy will bend over backwards to find you the scooter you want. They're easy to find because most small business owners in Seoul operate via word-of-mouth. If an ajossi wants your business, he'll tell you as much because he'll see you as a good investment. If he's uninterested in your business, he'll ignore you and I'd suggest going to a shop where you're not ignored.

Of course, you're going to pay a little more than you would if you bought from a foreigner exiting country. But I can tell you the experience is worth 20-30 manwon more. There'll be a finder's fee of around 10manwon and the scooter will be worth more, too.

I should say that the guy who helped us hooked us up with a scooter with less than 700km that goes in the US for 2800$ for what came to 900$. In Korea, the Bella goes for around 1.8 to 2.0 million won, and we bought it for half that. He basically sold me a new, 125cc scoot from Suzuki that is popular in each international market under various names (in the US, Genuine sells it as The Buddy,) with a good reputation for being a solid performer, for almost 60% off. I'm ecstatic.

But it wasn't luck and it wasn't only my knowledge of scooters. Anybody can get this deal. The only reason my seller did this was because I'm a foreigner and he wants other foreigners to come to him to buy scooters. He made an investment. He could have held that scoot and sold it to somebody else for 1.3-1.6 million won. Now I don't know how he got the scooter and, quite frankly, I don't care. It wasn't stolen or abused or in an accident, so I don't need to care.

I was going to make offers on used scooters on store lots until I got a good deal. But there are so many Chinese scooters around it was looking as if to be safe I'd have to buy a new scoot. Let me make it clear to my friends reading this: those Chinese-market scooters may look cute and be cheaper but they will end up costing you more because you constantly repair them or you will be in an accident. Either way, it's heartache. Don't buy them. It's super-simple in Seoul to find a used Korean (Daelim,) Taiwanese (Kymco,) or Japanese (Suzuki) scooter for between 80 and 150manwon.

In addition, it is highway robbery to pay for a popular scooter like a Genuine Stella or a Piaggio Vespa in Korea because it will cost you at least 2,300$ to ship it home. You simply will not find a buyer who will pay you what it's worth when you leave Korea. They are expensive new and you'll want at least half back for what you've paid. The nice scooters, the vanity scooters, are far too expensive in Korea because only rich Koreans ride them. Even the restored vintage scooters are cheaper here than Italian or knock-offs like the LML or Genuine Stella. In addition, I've been riding my scoot for 300km and I can tell you that Seoul is murder on a scooter. Without a garage and tools and parts, a good vintage or fancy modern scoot is like throwing money away. Anyway, I'm getting off point.

I was going to make an offer on a used scoot but the ajossi at the store asked me what I wanted. I had told him that I was in a scooter club in the US and that I knew how to work on scooters and knew what I wanted. He immediately told me not to buy the used scoots on his lot because I'd have trouble. So, trust is good folks but knowledge is how you find a deal. He knew he couldn't sell me the junk because I was looking under the bikes and checking out wear and tear and asking questions. And wouldn't you know it, he said he'd find me a bike. In 48 hours, I was riding with Praise on the back of a cute, durable and stylish modern scooter that was like new for almost a third of the price.

I'll hook anybody up with this man. And when I have time this weekend, I'll be taking some more photos of my bike and his shop. I'll post the info. I told him I would. If you're looking now, get in touch with me and I'll send you his info. He doesn't speak English. You will need somebody who is fluent in Korean.

So, photos to come and some more scooting in Korea info as I have stories to come.