Graffiti encroaching on Seoul

Seen is graffiti drawn on storefronts in Euljiro, central Seoul. Courtesy of Richard Pennington

By Richard Pennington

I like to think of myself as a modern guy, open to contemporary ideas and trends. And so I am, in many ways. And yet there are some issues on which I am undeniably “old school.” That was on display in my Korea Times column of Sept. 9-10, 2020 about tattoos. I stated ― reasonably and coherently, I hope ― that I do not like them.

My response to graffiti is much the same, although the negative vibes generated seem to be even stronger. I will defend people who get tattoos in one sense: They are merely defacing their own bodies. The same cannot be said for graffiti “artists” who use spray paint and markers to decorate public and private property. Like tattooing, graffiti is not new. Pompeii, buried in volcanic ash in 79 AD and uncovered in the 18th century, had some form of graffiti on its walls.

In Austin, Texas, where I come from, graffiti was omnipresent. You simply could not get away from it. Graffiti covered many walls, signs and buildings. A railroad car not heavily tagged with graffiti was inconceivable. Fences and street signs were not exempt. I was offended when the Austin American-Statesman ran articles which sought to legitimize and celebrate graffiti. Instead, I suggested we call it what it is ― vandalism and indication of the cultural decline of a neighborhood, a city or even a nation.

There is much less graffiti in Korea; compare the subway trains of Seoul (none) with those of New York City (a superabundance). But things, I regret to say, are changing. I have walked the streets and alleys surrounding Seoul National University, Yonsei University, Korea University, Hongik University, Ehwa Womans University, Hanyang University and several other colleges, and graffiti is always there. Some people have chosen to express themselves in this manner, causing my blood pressure to rise.

A few weeks ago, I went shopping in the Euljiro district with my friend Park Jun-yeong. We saw block after block of this “artwork.” Jun-yeong, less than one-third my age, made no effort to counter my vociferous disparagement of graffiti. He did, however, express some appreciation of its aesthetic qualities. As long as the shop owners give their OK, he said, all is well. “How often does that happen?” I retorted. These vandals are going to politely ask for permission to put an ugly blemish on the front or side of a shop? I cannot envision that happening.

We engaged in some ad hoc research, going into a coffee shop, an office supply store, a telephone services shop and a women's clothing store. The employees and owners to whom we talked were surprisingly relaxed about it. The first suggested that there should be some government-led direction of where graffiti can and cannot be. The second said essentially the same thing but admitted that many shop owners and customers are repelled by graffiti. The third said, “Graffiti is kind of cool,” and the fourth went a step further by asserting that it might even be a boon to her business.

Michael Myung, a shopper in town from Cheonan, South Chungcheong Province, had this comment: “Some graffiti drawings are good. I admit that it is a type of art. But do it on canvas or on your own wall. Get permission when you do graffiti on property belonging to the public or to others. Anything else is just vandalism.”

Seoul is located in Northeast Asia, but it is a Western-oriented city. And by that I mean it is influenced by American culture. Hip-hop music, dance, clothing and attitudes originating in the U.S. come straight here, although I might wish otherwise. Whether to blame the Americans or the Koreans who ape them is rather beside the point.

The Seoul Metropolitan Council is not about to suddenly adopt a zero-tolerance policy about graffiti, sending clean-up squads in every direction. It's accepted. A visitor to Paris, Toronto, Hanoi, Bucharest, Jakarta, La Paz, Manila, Oslo, Cancun, Karachi or Lagos will find the same thing, except in some cases it is even worse. Surely there is no graffiti in Riyadh or Singapore, right? In fact, there is, albeit on walls lining designated “art streets.”

My concern is the city in which I live ― Seoul. A half-century ago, old-timers tell me, there was no graffiti here. Amid the martial law promulgated by Park Chung-hee, citizens dared not engage in such behavior. To be caught was to risk getting worked over by some baton-wielding cops. Furthermore, Confucian-based respect for both public and private property was still strong. Somewhere along the way, such an ethos changed. Or perhaps it has vanished entirely.

There is no use asking who does graffiti and why, or debating its artistic value or meaning. Whether I like it or not (and I definitely do not), graffiti is a fact of modern-day urban life.

Richard Pennington (raput76@gmail.com), a native of Texas in the U.S., works as an editor at a law firm in southern Seoul. He has written 22 nonfiction books, including "Travels of an American-Korean, 2008-2013." He is the director of an NGO, the Committee to Bring Jikji Back to Korea.