Onward march of original hallyu

By Andrew Salmon

At an hour when most Koreans were bemoaning their loss to Australia in the Asian Cup late Saturday night, some overlooked the good news that arrived for local sport: The International Olympic Committee had agreed to include a Korean event in the 2020 Tokyo Paralympics.

The inclusion of para-taekwondo in the Paralympics belatedly mirrors taekwondo's inclusion in the world's most prestigious multi-sport event, the summer games. Under the "sport for all" banner, everyone is now invited: no athlete will be left behind.

The idea of para-taekwondo may strike some as ridiculous, even Monty Python-esque. In fact, I attended (full disclosure: at the invitation of the World Taekwondo Federation, or WTF) the World Para-taekwondo World Championships in Moscow last year. I too, had low expectations. I was confounded by what I saw.

Taekwondo is a kick-based sport, and the para-athletes largely had upper body disabilities or injuries. Many make for this shortfall by developing jaw-dropping dexterity in their lower limbs; a Moroccan athlete demonstrated making a pot of tea using his feet. The resultant skill on the competition mats was remarkable to witness: The spinning, kicking, leaping para-athletes blew me away.

Indeed, some taekwondo para-champions were simultaneously champions in their respective country's able- bodied championships, which I suspect is a rarity in any sport). So for me, Moscow proved both moving and inspiring.

Yet taekwondo's Paralympic inclusion it is just the latest triumph for a sport that has gone from zero to hero in under half a century. While the adjective "traditional" is frequently (and erroneously) paired with "taekwondo," no sport has developed so fast, or is so firmly committed to constant innovation.

Taekwondo first emerged after the Japanese colonial era. In subsequent decades, it would be claimed that taekwondo originated among ancient, native fighting style. These claims were demolished when the antique Korean martial art, taekkyeon, regained popularity in the 1990s: The sole master of taekkyeon to survive into the modern era had had no contact with, or influence upon, taekwondo's founding fathers, all of whom were instructors of karate in the 1940s.

However, taekwondo accelerated away from its roots and has not stood still since. Taekwondo instructors prioritized the most spectacular striking techniques ― high kicks ― and added armor so they could fight with contact. Meanwhile, under Seoul's aegis, national and international organizations were founded to administer, standardize and disseminate taekwondo, first as a martial art during the Vietnam War, then as a competitive sport worldwide.

This ambitious agenda was underwritten with floods of sweat equity by the Korean instructors dispatched overseas to carry it out. But the combination of vision, efficient administration and hard-working instructors provided an unprecedented success that would be crowned with taekwondo's Olympic entry ― leaving its competitors, Chinese wushu and Japanese karate, on the sidelines.

Today, the Seoul-headquartered WTF continues experimenting with rule sets and technologies to make bouts both exciting and fair; the adoption of video replays and electronic impact sensors make taekwondo not just a technologically advanced sport, but a transparent one.

The next challenge is to make taekwondo, already one of the world's most popular participation sports, a spectator sport. It looks feasible. The tag-team championship format ― featuring teams sending an athlete charging onto the mats, sparring furiously, then exiting for the next substitution ― is wickedly exciting, even for those unfamiliar with taekwondo.

Moreover, the athletes are both attractive ― taekwondo, like fencing, breeds athletes with svelte but strong physiques ― and affable; unlike more commercialized sports, taekwondo still preaches the virtues of sportsmanship. (A British sport reporter who covered football told me how refreshing it was to cover taekwondo, whose athletes are both charming and accessible, unlike soccer...)

It is often said that Korea's modern culture first spread worldwide in the 1990s via hallyu. This overlooks taekwondo. In fact, "taekwondo" rivals "kimchi" as the mostly widely spoken Korean word internationally; it has been a hugely successful cultural export. Hundreds of millions of people worldwide have learned it, and it is firmly entrenched markets such as the EU and USA where hallyu has barely penetrated.

While the endless hallyu ballyhoo in public discourse here betokens insecurity, cooler heads prevail in the WTF. Although the organization is headed by Korean academic Choue Chung-won, and most HQ staff are Korean, there is no Korean agenda in the sport. On the contrary, the WTF understands that taekwondo, to prosper worldwide, cannot be Korea-centric, but must be globalized, hence the wide medal spread of recent championships and the rise of powers like Iran and Russia which are now challenging Korea's customary dominance.

So the onward march of taekwondo looks set to continue. Korean companies and organizations seeking to make inroads abroad could do worse than to benchmark the WTF.

Andrew Salmon is a Seoul-based reporter and author. Reach him at andrewcsalmon@yahoo.co.uk.