Is Korea `Our Nation’?
By Jon Huer
Korea Times Columnist
Nothing represents all of Korea, Korean people, Korean culture, everything about Korea, and all its tribalistic connotations better than their collective reference to the nation of Korea as "uri nara," literally "our country."
The term is used quite unconsciously, and not necessarily intended for nationalism or jingoism. Whether it is the Korean soccer team, the Korean weather, the Korean economy, or anything else that means "Korea," they use the term "uri nara," "our country." So it is always "our country's soccer team," "our country's weather," or "our country's economy."
A TV anchor was soundly criticized once for referring to the South Korean delegation at a North-South conference as "the South Side" instead of "our side." The question is, does this usage strengthen Korea's nationalistic tribalism or does it merely symbolize the latter?
By contrast, Americans generally refer to their country as "this country" or "the United States," or "America," more or less as an objective reference to their nation. It would sound somewhat nationalistic or even jingoistic if Americans always used "our country" when referring to the United States. I never trust an American who refers to the United States as "this great nation of ours." By definition, a man who flatters his country flatters himself, and is likely to be in some "lying" occupation.
Why is the Korean habit of saying "uri nara" worthy of our attention? Because it goes straight to Korea's most formidable referent that identifies, binds and captivates Korea, with all its promise of grandeur and greatness: its nationalism, or emotionally, its tribalism.
It is a Korean habit to refer to themselves as "our country," whether or not any collective reference is consciously intended. To foreigners, this easy and unconscious habit of Koreans calling their nation "our country" can be unnerving as it gives the feeling of irrational nationalism and emotional tribalism.
From an American-Western perspective, neither nationalism nor tribalism should apply to a nation that is a global trading partner and a technologically sophisticated culture with aspirations to be a first-rate world member.
To Korea, things "Korean" are significant only because they are connected to Korea in a primeval way. Every overseas Korean or partial Korean who does anything, great or small, gets special attention because of the Korean connection. If a Korean musician debuts at Carnegie Hall, or a Korean golfer wins a tournament, or a half-Korean plays professional football in America, or a Korean-descent scholar is hired at Princeton, or a Korean writer pens a book in America, or whatever, it is a major story. And only because the musician, the golfer, the football player, or the writer is Korean, or part Korean, does the Korean media go agog over them as if they are true world greats.
Years ago, during the World Cup, Korean commentators on TV were objective and astute in describing the games if they involved foreign teams. When the games involved the Korean team, however, the same commentators completely lost their objectivity and astuteness. They simply turned into unabashed cheerleaders for Korea, all the while calling the Korean team "uri nara team."
Interestingly, the more Korea opens up to the world with big events, such as the 1988 Olympic Games and the 2002 World Cup, the less open Korea becomes. Long-term foreign residents in Korea are unanimous with their judgment that, instead of becoming a more global civilization, a more world-wise society, Korea has become meaner, less friendly, and more tribe-like with its successes. In their view, Korea has become more "Korean," more "uri-nara" after such international exposure.
Examples of Korean Tribalism Abound.
Koreans are perennially engaged in a battle of will to name the body of water between Korea and Japan the ``East Sea." One newspaper lamented that 95 percent of world maps refer to it as the "Sea of Japan". The issue has Korea all riled up from time to time whenever one map maker or another refers to and marks the sea the "Sea of Japan." To Korea's great consternation, the name-of-the-sea struggle draws absolutely no interest from anybody else in the world (similar to the issue of the sovereignty of the Dokdo islets, which Japan also claims, calling them Takeshima). In spite of Korea's indignation, nobody seems to consider it significant, other than as a name to go by.
Most Koreans shrug off a common-sense argument that might go like this: There is the "Indian Ocean," the "Gulf of Mexico," the "Philippine Sea," and many other such names that bear a specific country's identity. But no one associates that name with any kind of ownership of the waters. Certainly, no one thinks India owns the Indian Ocean or Mexico has claim to the Gulf of Mexico. Korea is practically alone in attaching such significance to a body of water between two countries.
The Dokdo-Takeshima issue flares up at Japan's instigation, and Korea's reaction is predictably emotional and even violent. People have rallied in protest; some cut off their fingers in anger; some others attempted self-immolation; some even demanded a war on Japan. This Korean tribalism is one button those in Japanese know how to push whenever their own nationalistic mood strikes. Koreans fall for it every time.
Many Korea observers keep reminding their Korean friends that the developed world, which pushes for open trade and internationalism, considers narrow nationalism a sign of arrested development, and Korea does not endear itself to the world with this practice.
Not calling Korea "uri nara" may seem to be an insignificant step. But it would improve Korea's image beyond measure, as it would indicate that Korea is now mature enough to look at itself objectively and honestly.
The writer can be reached at
The opinions expressed and the observations described in these articles are strictly the writer's own and do not represent any official position of the University of Maryland University College or the USFK."