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It was one of the most annoying sounds.
Most Seoulites lived with rats under the same roof in the 1970s. Once the night set in, rats came to life. The moment my family went to bed, they started running from one corner of the ceiling to the other, making noise that seemed too loud to be made by things so small.
The rat family continued to run all around the ceiling ― one after another or in a group. At some point, my father would run out of patience, leap from his bed and strike the ceiling hard repeatedly with whatever he could get his hands on.
After a short moment of silence, the rats ― you could almost hear them giggling and smirking ― would return to their running around as if they were teasing: “Catch me if you can!”
In this seemingly perennial war that took place night after night, the family which is struggling to get some sleep on the floor has to give in, leaving the family above to rule the night.
But that was until the 1980s.
The decades old, shoddy flats and houses rapidly began making way for apartments in the modernization of the capital, a boom led by Hyundai Construction, then headed by President Lee Myung-bak.
Hyundai apartments in Apgujeong-dong in Gangnam ignited the nation’s first round of speculative investments in apartments.
The mushrooming apartments deprived the rats of their habitat and playground. They were left with smaller space in the jungle of high-rise apartments. Driven out of the central city, the unloved city dwellers became a species that is hardly seen these days.
But the ostracized creature is back ― not in flesh but in graffiti.
Park Jeong-su, 39, a college lecturer, breathed fresh life into the otherwise virtually non-existent rat, sending it to instant stardom. Never had it been loved so much by so many people.
The rat’s meteoric rise to fandom started at the end of October when Park, along with one of his colleagues, stenciled two dozens of rats (a rat is pronounced “g” in Korean) on posters meant to promote the G20 Seoul Summit.
It was blasphemy in the eyes of the prosecution. The two rat admirers were indicted on charges of damaging public property.
The prosecution sought 10 months in prison. In the first trial last month, Park and his colleague were convicted on charges of causing damage to public property. They were slapped with fines of 2 million won ($1,850) and 1 million won ($930).
Fines for drawing rats on posters on the street?
What if they had sprayed cats or dogs? What if they had stenciled smaller rats? Or what if the graffiti had been done on posters publicizing events other than the G20 summit? Would they still have been convicted of the same charges?
It’s a comedy produced and directed by uptight prosecutors and judges. Lacking any sense of humor, they refuse to put up with even the slightest breath of satire.
Unhappy with the court decision, both the accuser and accused appealed.
The prosecution is seeking to put them behind the bars on the belief that the graffiti artists have long plotted the rebellious scheme to stencil the rats on the precious posters with intent to harm national image.
But few would believe that drawing of the rats brought any major harm to national interest. Rather, the party that has tarnished national image is the prosecutors. This case has drawn international attention. Several international research and human rights organizations have cited the case as a clear factor that undermines freedom of expression. It would have been a lot better if they had just laughed it off.
However, with the indictment, prosecutors turned Park, along with his rat, into celebrities, making themselves the subject to mockery.
Some bloggers began selling “rat graffiti T-shirts” online, which bear a photo of the G20 poster with the now-famous rat holding a traditional Korean lantern. They are selling the T-shirts to raise money to help the convicted lecturer cover the fine, with orders flowing in from all over, including the U.S.
The prosecution is staging an obviously losing battle against the rat. Who are they to decide what should be drawn or what should not be drawn?
With the indictment, the prosecution bares its desire to bring justice to those who it thinks poses a danger to society.
But such a lame attempt to gag people will not work. These graffiti artists don’t need permission for what they do as the rat is a breed that lives underground, seemingly without permission.
The movement to make rat graffiti T-shirts is a sign that the rat, with unparalleled survival instincts, would not scurry away. Rather they will thrive, popping up in various forms and ridiculing law enforcement.
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