Rude Britannia
By Andrew Salmon
There was a time when Britons sang “Rule Britannia” and it meant something. British hard power waned but with British soft power flooding the world, “Cool Britannia” was a fair millennial replacement.
Given recent events, however, the nation might be more accurately branded with a new strap line: “Rude Britannia.”
The world gazed on in astonishment as a nation of supposed tea sippers and hat tippers plunged into anarchy. Eradicated were images of retired majors, firm-but-gentle nannies and Hugh Grant fops. Instead, a new Britain ― a Britain of inner city depredation, feral youth and nihilistic violence ― cavorted manically across television screens worldwide.
Those familiar with the UK might have been shocked, but not surprised. After all, this is the nation where the Friday night piss-up and the Saturday night punch-up are as much a part of the national tapestry as royal weddings and village-green cricket matches.
And it is not as if we have never suffered public disorder before. One of the UK’s gifts to the world is football hooliganism, and the nation was rocked by severe race riots in the 1980s.
What was new this time was where the righteous anger of Middle England ― that embattled-but-extant class which still practices good manners, patronizes country pubs and cultivates rose gardens ― was aimed.
Indignation was heaped upon the violent oiks who took manic delight in trashing city streets, private property and the national reputation. But more bitter vitriol was aimed at the police force and its spineless political masters.
In the first nights of rioting, not only did coppers decline to wade in with batons whirling, they stood by and watched London burn. A once-respected force looked less like a law enforcement mechanism, more like a bunch of knock-kneed pants-wetters, wringing hands but not cuffing any.
Serious questions hang over police training, culture and leadership. The force, it seems, have had their metaphorical testicles amputated by years of touchy-feely political correctness. There was a time when the name of the game was to instill respect for the law, deter crime and nab bad boys. No longer.
Now the buzzword is “community policing” ― apparently a euphemism for keeping inner city gangs on friendly terms with local constables. Tough measures are not taken for fear of “police brutality” accusations. Meanwhile, budget cut after budget cut whittles down numbers.
The result was seen in the riots: de-control. Few believe we have seen the last of it.
But that is the U.K. Such things could never happen in the ROK, surely?
On the face of it, there is a very public deterrent, for one legacy of the authoritarian past is Korea’s conscript-manned riot police force. Their serried, taekwondo-trained ranks present a formidable impression, a mix of mass, power and competence. Those Darth Vader helmets! That samurai armor! Those kendo batons!
Yet, they are not the hard men they were in the bad old days: Liberal democratization has clipped their claws.
President Kim Dae-jung (who, as an opposition politico, had found himself on the business end of a riot policeman’s boot more than once) famously forbade the use of tear gas. Since then, police muscle has atrophied.
In the 2008 Seoul demonstrations ― ostensibly over the phantasmagorical issue of BSE-infected U.S. beef imports ― coppers were wearing kid gloves, not mailed gauntlets.
I personally witnessed riot police lines facing abuse, missiles, charges and beatings. There was no response. A prominent right-wing newspaper building was trashed by demonstrators opposed to the organ’s editorial stance. Police stood by.
As was the case in the UK, politicians finally ordered stern tactics after demonstrators morphed from rumor-fuelled, anti-US beef naifs into hardcore anti-government protesters.
There are broad questions here ― questions about the rule of law and the role of law enforcers in democracies. But to stick with the local scene, there is no question that Korea’s boys in blue face issues.
The ROK’s first national force was staffed by the same men who had served the hated Japanese colonial force. In the 1970s and ‘80s, the riot police were the authoritarian governments’ blunt instrument. They may not have enjoyed respect; they did engender fear.
Today, fear has evaporated ― that is appropriately democratic. But respect probably never existed and efficiency is questionable, among both riot and civic forces. This is where the problem begins.
In terms of accidents, Korean roads are among the OECD’s most dangerous. Yet in those (rare) instances when drivers are pulled over by traffic cops, it is common to see locals remonstrating furiously.
I am infuriated by regular demonstrations outside a government building near my office. Protestors block pavements and roar, chant and thunderous music blares all day. This is massively disruptive to all around. Police do nothing.
When my home was burgled, my (Korean) wife was reluctant even to report it to the police. She was convinced (rightly) that they had no hope of catching the villain.
I am not alone in thinking the above. The excellent serial killer thriller “Chaser” (written and directed by a man who had worked in a local station) showcased the staggering incompetence of neighborhood cops.
Fortunately, there is one area where Korea is streets ahead of the UK: The behavior of rioters.
In Britain, rioters ― this is true of political demonstrations, rather than the opportunistic looting we saw recently ― frequently attack private property during their rampages.
Koreans, who noisily demonstrate at the drop of a hat, still respect private property.
For that mercy, we should be grateful, but let’s be clear. The security and safety of Korea ― one of this nation’s great unsung selling points ― is down to the social compact, not law enforcement. At present in Korea, there is no underclass, but if the social compact ever cracks, law enforcement may prove unequal to the situation.
What happens when both social compact and law enforcement mechanisms are broken? “Rude Britannia” stands before us and it is not a pretty sight.