Exploring han: shared trauma or orientalist belief?

Courtesy of Janis Rozenfelds

By David A. Tizzard

In the depths of the Korean spirit resides a notion so profound, so enigmatic, that it defies the boundaries of language and logic. It is an essence that lingers, like an indelible mark on the collective memory of a people who have endured a tumultuous history. This intangible concept, known as "han," throbs in the hearts of Koreans, pulsating with a quiet intensity that only those who have experienced it can truly comprehend.

Collective suffering

To speak of han is to embark on a labyrinthine journey through the annals of pain and suffering, interwoven with a stubborn resilience that knows no bounds. It is a testament to the enduring human spirit, molded by the crucible of hardship and loss. In the exquisite tapestry of han, we witness the echoes of ancient conflicts, the remnants of colonization, and the scars of war that have shaped Korea's destiny and what it represents today.

Han is both a collective and personal experience, encompassing a spectrum of emotions: grief, anger, sorrow, and a profound sense of injustice. It is the sorrow of a divided nation, the yearning for reunification that has endured for generations. It is the anguish of families torn apart, of lives shattered by the ravages of war. It is the silent cry of a people who bear witness to the wounds inflicted upon their land and their souls.

Inspiring culture

Yet, within the depths of han lies a profound beauty. It is a force that has inspired the works of poets, artists, and musicians, giving birth to a cultural richness that is unique to Korea. Han breathes life into the haunting melodies of traditional music, infusing it with a melancholic grace that reverberates through time. It is the driving force behind the brushstrokes of painters, capturing the bittersweet essence of existence on canvas. Han is the muse that inspires.

Han can be seen in the movie “Parasite,” Bong Joon-ho's complex satirical exploration of class dynamics in Korea. It can be felt in the despair sketched on the faces of those who risk their lives in the barbarity of Squid Game. It is heard in the screams of those who morph into demons and zombies in modern gore fests like “Hellbound,” “Sweet Home” and “We Are All Dead.” If you really listen, it can even be heard floating below the surface of some of the most popular K-pop ballads.

Thus to comprehend han is not only to confront the profound depths of the human experience, where pain and hope coexist in a delicate balance, it is also an invitation to delve into the mysteries of a nation's soul. To truly understand the culture it produces. The exploration of han invites us to embark on a soul-searching expedition, to navigate the contours of a nation's collective memory.

Youth and han

I therefore asked my Korean nephew to speak last week in front of a large group of mostly international listeners on the subject of han. The topic was given to him somewhat impromptu as I hoped to get an instinctive and honest perspective rather than a carefully considered one. Full of courage, he responded quickly: “Han is something that I know of academically. For our exams, we have to know of han and its role in the country's literature and poems. It's part of our education. Basically, we have to know it, to describe it, to talk of it if we want to pass tests and get to university. It's what makes us a good student. But, on a more personal level, as an individual rather than a student, I don't feel han. I don't know it in the sense that it is inside me, affecting my life and the choices I make. My life is one of Instagram stories and social media. It is composed of different values. Modern values. It is not one of han.”

Some of the Koreans in attendance were shocked. This was akin to blasphemy. The language, the very idea, was almost heretical. Han was to be revered, not reduced to rhetoric. Han was to be felt, to be the very essence of what it meant to be Korean. To course through the veins of everyone living here, linking them not only to each other in a profound ethnic nationalism capable of transcending the military installations that divide people North and South, but also connecting them spiritually to their past. Enabling them to share in the trauma of colonization and dictatorship ― one an externally-imposed suffering, the other very much domestic. Han was what links modern Korea to the days of the Joseon dynasty when the people of this country produced art, culture, and song without the presence of foreign influence. It is pure. Untainted.

Modernity and han

But is it modern? Does it have a place in a society that is now culturally and economically “pom michyeotda” (a newly coined term that refers to excelling at something)? You are actually far more likely to hear this latest phrase echo through the streets of Hongdae and Bukchon and serve as the hashtag on the youth's social media pages. Even advertisements are using this latest neologism to speak to modern people in their own language.

Of course it is neither my intention nor my role to say whether or not han is real. It most certainly exists to some people and it has inspired a great deal of the country's art. But people change. Values change. Culture flows in a fluid manner, defying easy explanation or assessment. So the question as to whether han exists today (in a lived sense rather than an academic one) is a difficult one. It cannot be answered purely by my nephew as there will be those who disagree with him.

But it is perhaps in that disagreement that we find the true modern beauty of Korea. No longer a monolith culture that demands individuals bend to a singular thought or political ideology, the South of this land is home to diversity and difference. It is home to han and happiness. To modernity and tradition. To the past and the future. To my nephew. To me. And to you.

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. The views expressed in the article are the author's own and do not reflect the editorial direction of The Korea Times.