Crossing borders through Korean culture

The contemporary international community exists in an era marked by communicative dysfunction. Amid protectionist trade barriers, technological hegemony and geopolitical competition, the world has sunk into chronic fatigue. Discussion at the Post-APEC Global Vision Summit, held Nov. 27-28 at the InterContinental Hotel in Seoul, focused on the question of what is it that this era truly needs?

Last month’s 2025 APEC Summit was not merely an economic gathering. It functioned as a form of performative art, allowing participants to feel history and envision the future. The simultaneous appearance of U.S. and Chinese leaders on the symbolic stage of Gyeongju's APEC meetings constituted a historically significant moment. However, observers around the world have raised a number of critical concerns.

As the Guardian noted, can the spectacle of Korean culture, or Hallyu, effectively obscure the structural fractures within APEC, “a loose coalition of countries united by little more than geography”? Could a cultural showcase replace substantive diplomatic achievements such as multilateralism or trade norms? Or does it risk remaining at the level of a national showcase?

Ironically, the answer to these questions lies in Hallyu itself as a kind of border crosser, but not merely a kind of diasporic figure. It is a cultural translator and creative outsider positioned at the margins of global systems, reading and translating multiple languages and worldviews, transcending fixed categories to formulate new forms. This capacity is a bridge in a fragmented age.

Korea used butterflies in its official emblem for the event, a metaphor embodying APEC’s thematic aspirations of connection, innovation and prosperity. More than a symbol, the butterfly became a vessel interweaving Eastern and Western modes of thought.

In Gyeongju, a media art show used a butterfly image that seemed carried by a whisper of wind. Accompanied by the sound of the piri, a traditional reed instrument, it appeared to have emerged from a distant past. Infused with AI-generated silver particulates, its flight released energy that dispersed like pollen into waves of gentle light. Soon, more butterflies, each representing different nations, converged. The interaction of media art and K-pop produced a luminous choreography that extended to the banquet tables where global leaders sat.

The official banquet became an experience rather than a metaphor. The sound of a daegeum, a transverse flute, opened a meditative moment, followed by the fusion of media art and K-pop by G-Dragon that created a moment where the past and future resonated as one. BTS RM’s calm speech underscored that true connection begins not with protocols but with the effort to read one another’s stories. Together, it affirmed K-culture, grounded in reflective thought, was a new kind of border crosser.

Drones painting images across the night sky proved that technology can become an art of connection rather than a weapon of hegemonic competition. It was the moment when culture, through the power of translation, became the language of diplomacy.

Some critics thought the event might be mere spectacle, but the most compelling rebuttal emerged the following day, when Korea-U.S. tariff negotiations advanced dramatically. The emotional and narrative structures articulated the previous night through art and performance had quietly accumulated an invisible reservoir of trust at the negotiating table.

That night in Gyeongju demonstrated that culture can become a highly refined diplomatic instrument.

Nonetheless, there are limitations. Gyeongju’s infrastructure did not escape criticism for falling short of the summit's ambitions. But this also reflects the reality of a nation positioned at a border where continual effort is necessary to bridge the gap between aspirational vision and material conditions — a structural condition Korea must repeatedly confront.

In Gyeongju, world leaders encountered a temporal inversion that seemed to allow dialogue not only beyond the confines of national interest but across centuries, as though conversing with Silla envoys of the past and historians of the distant future. They were prompted to reconceive themselves not simply as state representatives but as actors concerned with the continuity of civilization.

In a fragmented and fatigued era, Gyeongju revealed not the chaos-inducing wingbeat of a butterfly but the capacity of a delicate, translucent movement to still the winds and generate new order. Culture is no longer ancillary to diplomacy; it constitutes one of the most resonant voices shaping our time — and may be the language of hope available only to those situated at the border.

Lee Kyung-hwa (khl@namjunepaikcfoundation.org), a graduate of Harvard University Graduate School of Design, is the international director of the Nam June Paik Cultural Foundation.