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As a father, I think it would be rather nice to chat with my 14-year-old daughter once in a while. But this is near-impossible because, you see, she owns a smartphone. And when her choice comes down to:
(1) Wagging chins with ― sigh ― boring old Dad; or
(2) Playing games, watching video clips or texting her chums;
Well, it is no contest. The smartphone wins every time.
As a foreign reporter here, I am often asked why today's Koreans are so into high tech. The conventional answer is provided by reference to, on the macro front, Korea's economic development paradigm; and on the micro front, to Koreans' cultural behavior and assets.
Firstly, economic development in Korea has customarily been top-down: government-led, rather than market-led. So, for example: The Park Chung-hee administration strategized the Seoul-Busan highway as the basis for a modern national road network, and Hyundai, Kia and Daewoo subsequently provided the products ― i.e. vehicles ― to run on it.
That was likewise the case when the Kim Young-sam administration, in a visionary plan, made the decision to invest heavily in a broadband Internet backbone and adopt a highly advanced Code Division Multiple Access (CDMA) telecommunications infrastructure.
The latter was a particularly risky plan as CDMA had never been commercialized anywhere else, and would be out of synch with the less advanced standard used elsewhere. It would, however, grant Korea a latecomer's advantage, a technological step-up on the competition.
Once the infrastructure was strategized, the big boys stepped in: KT, SKT and LGT in the carrier space; Samsung Electronics and LG Electronics in the device space. They then marketed these products and services. (I would add that IT granted one advantage that the metal-bashing industry had not: It enabled the creation of a clutch of smart, medium-size companies ― Internet portals and game developers ― rather than just benefitting chaebol.)
Even so: What make Koreans so susceptible to tech marketing, and so enthusiastic in adopting IT? A triad of cultural reasons stands out.
Firstly, Korean traditional culture is extremely communal and educationally focused. IT enables communication and interconnectivity and education.
Secondly, Korean modern culture is highly competitive. If Lee has a new device, Park wants one too, and in the endless competition to keep up with Kim, both will upgrade devices with dizzying frequency.
Thirdly, Hangul ― the national script which was created in medieval Korea but only adopted for mass use in the 20th century ― can be read either vertically or horizontally. This suits handheld digital devices.
To sum up, for policy reasons; for industrial reasons; and for cultural reasons old and new; Koreans just love IT.
However, there may be a far deeper cultural reason at work, too, one that predates competitiveness or even Hangul; one that is hardwired in the depths of the Korean subconscious.
While Buddhism and Christianity are more visible, Korea's oldest ― and native ― religion is Shamanism. Certain aspects of Shamanism ― the presence of mountain spirits in some Buddhist temples; the practice of entering trances and speaking in tongues in some Christian churches ― have even been adopted by the imported religions. Ergo, Shamanism's influence may run deeper and wider than is generally thought in today's Korea.
Historically, Koreans were never great travelers or explorers. Their land used to be called the "Hermit Kingdom," and traditional houses are built around courtyards; windows face inwards, not outwards.
But while they may not have been great external travelers, Shamanism provided a channel for internal voyaging. In trances, mudang (i.e. Korean Shamans) enter a different dimension, converse with spirits and undertake quests ― without any need for physical travel.
Many of the online worlds that Koreans create, and/or patronize heavily, provide similar opportunities.
A massive multiple-player role-playing game is a different dimension. Internet chat rooms enable conversations with strangers. Online shopping malls take users on quests (even if the quest is for something as mundane as a new shirt.)
The problem is that the escapist dimension is often more compelling than the real one, hence the rise in Internet addiction and technological addiction.
Here, we may take a lesson from Shamans.
The most demanding task a mudang can perform is to enter a trance and descend into hell to rescue a lost spirit. These psychic SAS operations are highly dangerous, and only elite Shamans claim to be able to perform them, for they have potentially traumatic consequences: Some mudang have a shaky grip on sanity.
And that is the message I would like to pass along to my daughter ― if only I could get her attention for a moment, that is.
Andrew Salmon is a Seoul-based reporter and author. Reach him at andrewcsalmon@yahoo.co.uk.