Can Korea escape Seoul?

I write this from a small town called Wontong. It’s a beautiful place nestled in the mountains of Gangwondo. The various peaks rise forever on the horizon, creating a sense of infinity and bringing new appreciation to the Korean expression "san nomo san" (beyond the mountains there are mountains). The sky is blue and high. The rivers and streams run continuously through the valleys, surging past the ice and making their way for warmer climates.

The town itself is home to just over 32,000 people. There are lots of young children shouting freely in the well-kept playgrounds. In the summer, they ride bikes and in-line skates. In winter, they throw snowballs and make snow ducks using a little plastic mold that seems incredibly popular. School students mill about the convenience stores, sitting on the heated verandas eating noodles, gossiping, and DM-ing each other about their latest crush. The soldiers are the heartbeat. Generally in their 20s or 30s, they walk briskly around, their combat trousers tucked into their high-laced boots, their posture perfect. It is not uncommon to see women soldiers here, though one must remember they serve through choice rather than obligation.

Then, of course, there’s the old people. Often uniform in hairstyle, their faces wizened by the weather and Korean history in equal measure. They have two volumes. The first is a friendly cacophonous rabble, always demanding conversation and keen to know anything and everything going on. The second is a deathly silence as they shuffle past you, internalizing a great deal of physical pain. There is one other foreigner that I have seen: an English teacher in the middle school.

The school commute takes about five minutes. The piano and hapkido academy are within walking distance. The swimming pool and CGV cinema are just as close, the latter proving a popular weekend destination for children and adults alike. During the summer, our kids ride horses. They learn how to interact with animals, to feed them, to simply be around them and their smells, as well as the notion that they are stronger than us and thus deserve both caution and respect.

A few kilometres to the east is Baekdamsa, a sprawling Buddhist temple hidden deep in the mountains and not easily accessible. It was originally built in the 7th century and later restored just after the Korean War. More recently, the late military dictator and President Chun Doo-hwan spent two years there as penance for his actions which you can now learn all about in the country’s latest blockbuster movie. The room Chun stayed in remains visible and offers little more than a desk and a view.

Only a few kilometers beyond the mountains is North Korea. The maps (digital or otherwise) quickly lose points of interest as national security takes over, erasing town names and roads. It’s strange to sit so close to the border, to see reports of missiles and Cold War belligerence and yet feel so at peace. One often wonders whether this might be the safest or the most dangerous place on the peninsula. South Korea certainly doesn’t take its security lightly, however, you will only see helicopters in the sky, and tanks and other armored vehicles on the road occasionally. Locals will also sometimes give directions or reference locations based on what military base something is closest to.

Harmonious eclusion

Korea has a fabulous way of both welcoming and excluding at the same time. When discussing identity, there is simply “our country” and “foreigners.” It’s a binary system, categorizing people as either Korean or non-Korean. Multiculturalism, globalization and democracy has seen this system challenged; many do not quite fit into the binary system and now demand recognition on their own terms.

Korean people do the same geographically. Seoul is Seoul. Everything else outside the capital is known as “jibang.” Busan is certainly not the countryside. Neither is Daejon or Daeju. Yet because they are not Seoul, they are all referred to equally as “jibang.” This has led to some people exclaiming, “It’s better to be unhappy in Seoul than happy elsewhere.” Personally, I disagree. I would quite happily spend my days in the countryside were it possible for me to give my lectures and media appearances here. But many Koreans think differently. Seoul is the vortex that sucks everything into it: politics, culture, real estate and people.

This was made most apparent last week when my nephew received his college entrance exam results, determining which university (if at all) he would be able to attend. Most students again have a binary classification system: In-Seoul or not in Seoul. Quite simply, the goal is to study in the capital. After that, people choose their majors and the most ambitious aim for the top colleges and departments. Many who don’t’ achieve the requisite grades to study at a university in Seoul choose to spend another year of their life studying incessantly to improve their score. Some even do this an extra two or three years until they are satisfied, their youth spent in a cramped gosiwon repeating the same math, physics, and English questions that bear no relevance to real life over and over again.

The first five universities my nephew applied to rejected him. He had applied to six and, heading off on a lad’s holiday to Japan with his mates, the prospect of another year of his young life enduring the psychological and spiritual torment of these exams stared at him. Until, that is, he got a message. He had been accepted by Korea University. Imagine that? One of the top universities in the country had accepted him. Yet there was a look of apprehension on his face. His parents were also deep in discussion about whether this was good news or not.

You see he had been accepted to Korea University’s Sejong Campus. Roughly 110 kilometers south of Seoul, Sejong City was founded in 2007. It was earmarked as the future capital of the country by then-President Roh Moo-hyun, with various government ministries and official agencies moving their offices there to decentralize life in this country. When I worked with the Ministry of Justice, we had to travel down there to meet with people and discuss things. It’s alright as a place. Nothing special. But then life is always about making the most of the cards you are dealt. And if you are dealt a card that allows you to put Korea University on your resume, surely the hand is worth playing?

Of course it is. And he accepted the decision and will move there in March. But the plan is still to get to Seoul. To avoid the “jibang.” In this sense, while I admire and love the country’s capital, I still find myself pulled in the opposite direction to many of the people of this country. They fight tooth and nail to be sucked into the vortex, irrespective of whether it will ultimately make them happy or not. And I seek ways to escape to the countryside, where the sky is high and the horses are fat.

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.