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I recently attended a press event held by Amore Pacific, the leading Korean cosmetics company, to mark its 70th anniversary.
Myself and colleagues were taken on a tour of the firm's "beauty campus," which features striking design elements, a wine cellar-style archive of cosmetics products and (naturally) a gift shop. We were then invited to a dinner, during which the company executives and the chairman delivered presentations and answered questions from international reporters.
The chairman's stamina was impressive: He fielded questions for two hours without even nibbling any grub ― and had earlier engaged in a similar cut-and-thrust with local reporters.
What struck me even more strongly was the chairman's presence at such a public event.
Why so? Because the second- and third-generation chairmen of the mighty conglomerates which dominate Korea's economy tend to be invisible, distant personages. They do not lower themselves to attending shareholder meetings ― let alone make themselves available to questioning by the unruly rabble of the media.
Some go unchallenged by their boards, are unquestioned by their executives and worshipped by their employees. Indeed, during a scandal that struck one of the most egregious chaebol chairmen, it emerged that employees had been ordered to treat that august personage "like a god." This singular leadership is a central contributory factor to the chaebols' oft-criticized lack of transparency.
While democratization has thankfully eroded the reverence formerly paid to Korea's authoritarian political class, it is not just in business that this kind of behavior around leaders exists. A number of odd religious cults have sprouted in this society, whose charismatic founders are worshipped as virtual gods.
And of course, the most extraordinary example of god-like leadership exists not in South Korea, but in the North. There, a former communist dictatorship has mutated into a third-generation monarchy, underwritten and bolstered by the world's most insidious personality cult.
So if we accept that there is a significant presence in modern Korea of inaccessible, unchallengeable and authoritarian leaders, we should ask: Where does this culture come from?
Not Joseon royalty. The monarchs of one of the world's longest-running royal dynasties (1392-1910) did not promote personality cults, nor were they invisible or inaccessible to their subjects: Their duties required them to undertake processions and public rites ― even preside over feasts for officials and the poor.
A closer, more sinister equivalent ― particularly to the North Korean god-kings ― is imperial Japan's emperor cult of the early 20th century. Could this repellent leadership benchmark ― forced upon Korea during 35 years of colonial rule ― have infiltrated the local psyche?
Perhaps, but there exists an even more worrisome possibility: That this leadership style is an outcome of native cultural mores.
As I have suggested before on these pages, the two Koreas showcase endless examples ― in politics, commerce, industry, technology, social culture, etc ― of a casting aside of moderation in preference for distant extremes.
Hence: Could the exaggerated respect demanded by and/or paid to leaders, stem from the vertical hierarchies of Korean culture ― visible in familial and social behavior, engraved in official titles on business cards, even embedded in the grammar of the language - stretched to an unnatural extreme?
If so, that may be the worst possible news, for it suggests that groveling respect and slavish subservience is voluntarily offered by the masses below, rather than demanded by the few at the top. It also suggests that even if political democratization has been achieved, social democratization is lagging.
The good news is that younger Koreans seem less enamored of authoritarian leadership styles. This, I think, is to a considerable extent due to democratization, and the resultant socio-cultural shifts that have taken place in the wake of 1987's great event. There is now a healthy disrespect for the nation's political elite and ― in at least some circumstances and circles ― a growing questioning of the business elite.
Given all this, respect is due to Amore Pacific.
In this economy of extremes – the mighty chaebol dominating the top, the thousands of small, mom ‘n pop business swarming at the bottom ― there are few medium-sized companies with world-class potential. I imagine there are even fewer with the kind of open, transparent and accessible leadership that this company displayed.
Other aspirational Korean enterprises might consider benchmarking Amore Pacific, which in 2014 delivered a vintage year to its stockholders and has been named by Forbes magazine as one of the world's most innovative firms.
Andrew Salmon is a Seoul-based reporter and author. Reach him at andrewcsalmon@yahoo.co.uk.
