The enduring strength of Korean culture
The story I’m going to share occurred about 20 years ago, during the presidency of Kim Dae-jung. I was part of a wide-ranging conversation at the Blue House when I perceived that President Kim was greatly troubled with the idea of lifting a ban on Japanese popular culture.
“Dr. Linton, do you think that Korea will be overwhelmed by Japanese culture if we let in Japanese culture?” President Kim asked me.
By way of response, I related the story of George W. Gilmore, a distinguished American professor who had been invited by Emperor Gojong to teach English to promising pupils during Korea’s enlightenment period, more than 120 years ago.
The American professor left a detailed account of his experiences in Korea, where he had lived for close to a decade. That account includes his observations about marriage in Korea, which began with the odd behavior of a scholar who had taught him the Korean language.
When the professor invited several guests to his house, the scholar showed up with his wife. As long as the other guests were present, the scholar didn’t so much as glance at his wife, but after the others had left, the scholar’s attitude underwent a sudden transformation.
At that point, the scholar drew his wife’s attention to the peculiar aspects of the Western-style house and gently explained Western culture to her with a loving smile. His genuine affection was evident in the way he looked at her.
The professor wondered why the scholar’s attitude toward his wife had suddenly changed after the other guests had left. But even more than that, he was baffled at the love the scholar had shown to his wife, considering their marriage had been arranged by family, rather than preceded by courtship.
The professor’s reflections on marriage can be briefly summarized as follows.
When a Korean boy came of marrying age in those days, his parents began discussing the matter with other families to find a good match, inquiring after the kindest and finest girls in other towns. After identifying a girl who would by all indications make a suitable bride, the boy’s father would drop in on the girl’s father, as if by chance.
The two fathers would repair to the men’s quarters and spend several hours playing janggi (Korean chess) and conversing about various topics, such as the weather, the government and the changing times.
Once the chessboard had been put away and the conversation was winding down, the boy’s father would rise from his seat and say, “I have a mediocre son I need to marry off. Do you happen to know of a girl he could marry?” He was fully aware, of course, that a potential bride was present in that very house.
If the girl’s father said he didn’t know of any such girls, there would be no match. But if he instead said, “It just so happens that I have a mediocre daughter of my own who I also need to marry off. Let’s see if we can make this happen,” then a marriage was in the offing.
With the fathers’ work complete, the two mothers began to hobnob, trading gifts of jewelry and consulting with a shaman to determine the ideal date for the wedding. Shockingly enough for the American professor, the bride and groom were never allowed to see each other until the day of their wedding and the beginning of their new life together.
In the West, of course, men and women made the decision about whether to get married after a period of courtship. The professor struggled to understand how people who first met on their wedding day could be as affectionate as his Korean teacher (even if that affection stayed under wraps as long as other people were around).
In the end, the professor concluded that Korea’s arranged marriages were so balanced and suitable because they joined not only the couple but also their families, which made them preferable to the Western practice of marrying for love. He suggested that the Korean approach might be more sophisticated and refined than that of the West.
After finishing my story, I advised the president to set his mind at ease about removing the barriers to Japanese popular culture. While some Japanese culture might make its way into Korea, I said, Korean culture was far too resilient for Japanese culture to ever become dominant here. I added that Korean culture was even stronger than Western culture, so there was absolutely nothing to worry about.
A year or so later, I was touring some historical sites in Istanbul ― at the crossroads of Eastern and Western culture ― when the intense heat drove me into a shop to find something to drink.
But when I tried to pay for my drink, there was no clerk in sight. I waited around, despite my parched throat, uncomfortable with the idea of drinking something I hadn’t purchased. Finally, I walked into the back of the store and asked if anyone was around.
A woman was sitting there engrossed in the television and completely ignoring me, much to my irritation. But when I saw she was watching a Korean historical drama dubbed into Turkish, I felt immense satisfaction.
It occurred to me that advising President Kim Dae-jung to throw open the doors to Japanese culture a year earlier had been the right call. That was when the Korean wave began sweeping over the world.
John Alderman Linton, an American-Korean whose Korean name is Ihn Yo-han, is a director at Yonsei University Severance Hospital International Health Care Center. He is currently the chairman of the innovation committee of the ruling People Power Party.