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By David A. Tizzard
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In the 21st century, Korean national identity is often still seen through an ethnic lens rather than a legal or cultural one. Thus despite many non-Koreans being legally accepted by South Korea, when seen through the prism of nationhood they are commonly regarded as "others."
The adopting of an ethnic identity for nationhood is not unique to Korea nor is it a binary distinction. Research by Zeljana Zmire for example points to the fact that the Korean ethnic identity is stronger than its German counterpart but weaker than that which manifests in Japan. Gil-soo Han's work on nouveau-riche nationalism in South Korea suggests that the ethnic nationalism manifests here as a perceived cultural superiority over other nations, particularly those whose citizens have darker skin.
While many people, including myself, come here for work, opportunities, and a chance to experience first-hand a country making fantastic economic and cultural strides in the global arena, others are shipped-in alongside government policies. From the 1990s, and with an eye on its demographic struggles, the Korean government began enacting programs which matched rural Korean people men with Joseonjok (Korean Chinese), Chinese, Vietnamese, Thai and Filipina women.
Beyond the concept of nationhood and identity, this also raises the serious issue of commodification and the use of women as objects to fulfil a state's economic and demographic objectives. "International marriage" brokers earn large profits; while people on both sides often suffer.
I have personally worked with the Ministry of Justice on changes which mean non-Koreans living and working in South Korea are no longer called "aliens" on official documentation. This naturally brought some backlash from curmudgeonly middle-aged white dudes who grew up with Sting and "Men in Black" and thus obviously quite liked being demarcated as different from the local population.
However, the desire to change the terminology reflected the voices of the majority of the non-Koreans living and working here. For many students, workers, husbands and wives from other parts of Asia and Eastern Europe, the previous linguistic term (alien) was a sign of the continued dehumanization they faced in their day-to-day lives and thus there was a vocal and impassioned desire to be seen as human.
As Korea achieves well-deserved cultural success abroad and demands recognition in foreign lands for its achievements, it will soon have to begin reciprocating. The award-winning film Minari is about a Korean family moving to the United States and seeking a new life there. It's interesting to imagine what such a film would look like if the situations were reversed and it was instead a non-Korean family seeking to make a life here.
Language, as Orwell and others have long pointed out, is political. Now more than ever, countries around the world, including Korea, are coming to terms with how they address members of their society vis-a-vis gender, occupation, ethnicity, sexuality and so on. We are constantly required to update our mental operating systems.
And this shouldn't be seen as a bad thing. While far from perfect, society as whole is undoubtedly kinder and more open than it was in the past. However, it does sometimes seem a little less tolerant of those who break such newly-established social conventions, whether knowingly or not.
South Korea has performed admirably when confronted with the COVID-19 pandemic. Its people and government have monitored outbreaks, respected laws and social distancing guidelines, and done their best to keep the economy afloat. But as the stress of the pandemic and disruption to our life continues, it is all too easy to look for people to blame: scapegoats, the victims of frustration and loss.
This has raised the issue of how the media and the population see and refer to "foreigners" ― linguistically and ethically. There is often no perceived understanding of who these "foreigners" are, how they differ, what their culture is, what their needs are, their fears, desires, and the role they play in Korean society. A mere catchall term denotes "not us".
Yes, I am an immigrant. I am a foreigner. And so are many other like me. But we are not a homogenous body that can or should be defined, I don't think, simply by dint of our not being Korean, ethnically, culturally, or legally.
And with the continued use of the word "foreigner" (oegugin) linked to COVID outbreaks and mandatory testing, particularly in headlines and when used in conjunction with rising infections and negative reports, one wonders whether this might not be the time for Koreans to update this particular aspect of the language.
That is of course for them to decide. But while I stand in solidarity with all the other foreigners here, I also recognize that we are all different, that we are treated differently by Koreans, and that our identities and respective fortunes in the country should perhaps be acknowledged a little more ― and here comes the dangerous word ― progressively.
After all, what is a foreigner?
Dr. David A Tizzard (datizzard@swu.ac.kr) has a Ph.D. in Korean Studies. He is a social/cultural commentator and musician who has lived in Korea for nearly two decades. The views expressed in the article are the author's own and do not reflect the editorial direction of The Korea Times.
