Cardinal and Tin Pot
By Oh Young-jin
Assistant Managing Editor
America lost its hope on Nov. 22,1963, when JFK was killed by an assassin. It took eight different presidents, or 45 years, to get a glimpse of it back when Barack Obama was elected as its first African-American head of state last November.
Britain was deprived of its sweetheart on Aug. 31, 1997, when Princess Di died in a car crash. It is still looking for a replacement (although at least one long-term expat Brit I know detests the idea of her reincarnation).
Korea saw its national conscience slipping away on Feb. 16, 2009, when Cardinal Stephen Kim Sou-hwan died. The nation is still in grief and it has yet to begin searching for another Kim.
For a five-day mourning period, tens of thousands of people lined up, stretching for kilometers and meandering through the labyrinth of back allies through downtown Seoul, to pay their respects at the temporary glass-top casket of the late cardinal at Myeongdong Cathedral.
During my stroll one night last week, I bumped into a part of that long line of mourners and momentarily thought that they were people who were waiting to buy Lotto tickets with the dream of instant material enrichment. I felt ashamed, when I realized the reason they were braving the chilly weather.
I do understand why such a large number of people turned out for the late cardinal. Obviously, people feel the void left behind him, even bigger due to the lack of leaders they have to look up to.
From left to right across ideological spectra, and from top to bottom along societal hierarchy, supposed leaders are seen confining themselves to their tunnel vision of self-interest. The proof is everywhere ― one administration after another engaged in their agenda-pushing effort with zero tolerance; a diehard tradition of corruption in bureaucracy and individuals' pursuit of their own happiness at others' expense.
The late cardinal endeared himself to the people because he stood up to speak out when few dared to for fear of physical retaliation by dictators. He cared for the underprivileged when they were pushed into the margins at the peak of national industrialization. He chided even democratically-elected leaders when they showed signs of excess. Simply put, he played the role of a mental pair of crutches that the nation could rely on to stand on its feet and walk a straight line. His death was the loss of support that made people wobbly on their legs, not being sure of their first steps without his help. Perhaps Brits felt similarly with Di's death, as did Americans for JFK, albeit for different reasons. Those two deaths, the causes being unexpected, plunged the two countries into deep sorrow and shock. Kim had been on his sickbed for some time, but his death brought a deep sense of loss to Koreans and other civil-minded people.
Then, I wondered whether this was all there was to explain such an outpouring of emotion among Koreans toward the cardinal's death.
Impulsive as it might sound, I tried to apply what is called the ``tin-pot'' mentality of Koreans ― quick to boil and easy to cool.
Obviously, I was reminded of a self-motivated nationwide drive to ``donate'' gold trinkets during the onset of the financial crisis 10 years ago. Then, faced with the almost certain prospect of national bankruptcy, Koreans even took out small gold rings traditionally given to children at the turn of their first 100 days and saved for the rainiest day, for the purpose of replenishing the nation's depleted foreign reserves.
More recently, there were candle-lit vigils that drew tens of thousands of people in condemnation of the government's decision to resume U.S. beef imports. Often, Koreans' tin-pot mentality is criticized for its characteristically strong start and weak finish, or a job half done. But I value this characteristic, believing that it was the secret of success behind Korea's economic miracle. To go one step further with the metaphor, different utensils are for different jobs ― a big steel pot for simmering stew and a small pot for a quick fix.
Still feeling I didn't get the answer I wanted, I put this question to a table of four young reporters during lunch. One answer stood out. It was about the father of one of the reporters who turned to Catholicism two years ago. Imagining that the former atheist in his early 60s went to Myeongdong Cathedral together with fellow churchgoers, it was obvious that there was more than the boiling tin pot that was working in the collective mind of the people.
At this point, I gave up my search for more answers, when I looked into my own mind and found why I grieved. To me, the death of Kim was closer to that of a close friend, with whom I've stuck with through thick and thin, than the demise of an iconic figure of justice. Perhaps that was how he wanted to be remembered, considering his wish for a simple funeral. Still, I feel as if his last words ― ``Thank you and please love each other'' ― were ringing in my ears.