The infinite revolutions of Seoul's humans

There are no more deserts. There are no more islands. And yet, and yet, we need them. For us to understand the world, we need poetry as much as we need peace. And where better to find this than Seoul.

Millions have lived under this eternal, high, often starless, sky. The physical land has frequently changed its name — in its previous lives it has been called Wiryeseong, Namgyeong, Keijo, Hanyang, and many more monikers lost to the wisps of memory – and it will no doubt do so again. For while the sky and the mountains are infinite, human memory, nostalgia, emotions, even things as seemingly dogmatic as ideology, are fleeting. The conflicting tribes of bears and tigers, the rivalries of the Buddhists and the Confucians, and the existential battle of freedom fighters and mustached colonists preaching modernity have been replaced by another soon to be future memory of the past: the communists and anti-communists.

Still cold

History books tell us that the Cold War ended somewhere around 1989. People danced to the music of David Hasselhoff in Berlin, Metallica assaulted Russia with its battery of thrash, and Francis Fukuyama predicted democratic utopia for everyone from his desk at Telluride House. Those history books, however, were not written in Korea. They did not contain the figures of Hong Beom-do, Rhee Syngman, Kim Il Sung, Kim Gu, Alexandra Kim, Kim Yong-bom, and Pak Hon-yong. They forgot to include the hegemonic political line that would shape a country's elections and cultures far more than the noise of transgender toilets, cultural appropriation, or the worry of immigration.

The Cold War still rages here more than ever. Tanks, missiles, and heavily armed young men who wish of little more than a soft bed and a warm woman split this land in two, rupturing the natural flow of the mountains, rivers and energy around the land. If geomancy has ever been a thing, surely here, with barbed wire having replaced trees, the energy must surely be negative. “Only the modern city,” Hegel said, “offers the mind a field in which it can become aware of itself.” In nature, we are more keenly attached to the sky and the mountains. The Korean division has us gazing at our navels and inner-selves rather than the infinite that confronts us. We now witness everything but see nothing. We have lost our vision.

And while the political animosity between blue and red, between left and right, between two entities who have more in common with each other than they would ever dare admit, seems an unsurpassable divide, it would be wise for us to remember that the disagreements between Confucians and Buddhists were once just as ubiquitous. The arguments and the people change; yet the sky remains the same. For now, at least.

The new world

Antonio Gramsci said, “The old world is dying. The new world is yet to be born. Now is the time of monsters.” Our old world was successful. Capitalism, democracy, socialism and modernity in various parts of the world lifted many out of poverty and servitude. The degrees and speeds obviously differed but the change from 200 years ago is evident. But are those old systems still working now? Are people today confident of getting even the basics of life such as a house, a job, and a partner? Are they confident that their political system presents with them the best possible leaders capable of making the most appropriate decisions? It doesn’t seem that that is the case. Yes, we have Netflix, yes we have social media, and yes we can get on a subway for a relatively cheap price and enjoy a hot drink in a warm coffee shop. But we need more than pleasure. We need progress. And we need stability. The old world, however, creaks. It is evident in the old men who argue with each other in positions of power or the young people who use old arguments to become just like those above them.

In Korea, one cry of Communism bloodies the neck of an opponent. The yell of fascism dizzies the eyes of the attacker. The two fighters swing at each other. There is little regard for technique or sophistication. The only thing that matters is the viscousness and ultimate success of the attack. The onlookers, the baying crowd and the den of social media gangsters profiting from the violence, itself a truly pale and inglorious memory of the colosseum of yore, all get covered in the blood and sweat of the combatants equally. Yet for the rich, no umbrella is better than money. They can dry themselves off while the rest of us walk away soaked with the misfortune of others.

And so here we stand, like "Gladiator 2." A sterile repeat of humans at their worst: turning on each other in order that one might be king. Clawing like beasts for power. And the whole time failing to realize the truth we all know yet ignore in favour of selfies and tweets. All of us are humans, one and the same, brothers and sisters, and the true lord is that sky above us. Dispassionate in its observations of our latest incestuous fighting, never having seen change beyond the words we use and the methods of attack we employ. Whence will come change? Can the blue dragon roar?

Where is the new world? What does it look like? Is Korea capable of giving birth to it? Can this land and its people serve as a nurse to a baby of the future and give the sky something new to look at? Or will talk of communists and China, of Japan and colonization, of Pyongyang and feudal memories still scream from the otherwise silent streets of Seoul?

Revolution now?

Every so often here in Korea a revolutionary wind blows that fills this island with hopes of a new world and the twang of fallen glories. Around us are the echoes of clashes of empires. The power of history can be heard retching. Another page unfolds before us.

As days are added to days, we move stones from here to there. Take down towers and erect buildings. Rebuild palaces. Like Camus' Sisyphus we are to imagine ourselves happy, insta-fueled and dopamine driven, but we forget, or perhaps remember that all this has been said before. Often in far loftier and more beautiful ways. We are but an imitation. A clone of our ancestors, dressed differently certainly, but still pulled by those same instincts that prompted our ancestors to action: justice, revenge, and love. We now just philosophize and fight by sending tweets rather than firing arrows or raiding palaces.

Oh, to actually be unique.

In its constant pursuit of totality, Korea is the child of disproportion. Born with a fervent desire for unity and a singularity of thought, it finds only division, suffering and conflict. That is its tragedy. Nature contrasts her indifferent skies with the madness of men. And with the sky empty, with God dead, we are left with nothing but history and power. Until perhaps, that is, we find poetry again.

Only the sky knows. Yet it remains silent.

For now.

Dr. David A. Tizzard (datizzard@swu.ac.kr) has a Ph.D. in Korean Studies and lectures at Seoul Women's University and Hanyang University. He is a social-cultural commentator and musician who has lived in Korea for nearly two decades. He is also the host of the "Korea Deconstructed" podcast, which can be found online.