Corean Creation

During the World Cup, a frenzied event celebrated fervently throughout Korea, I saw numerous shirts, signs, and flags emblazoned with Korean symbols and slogans, all bearing the name "Corea". Korea with a "C"? Why? The explanation given, which seems to be the popular simplified sentiment, is that when Japan conquered Corea, romanized at that time with a "C", they would not allow for a mark of superiority by allowing their conquered country to precede them when listed alphabetically. Thus, they changed the "C" to a "K" so that it would be Japan, Korea. Nowadays, many people revert back to the "C", whether for sentimental reasons or to make a political statement. "Corea" hearkens to a time of independence as well as unity between the north and south.

I like this sentiment, but having no strong political motivations to spell Corea as such, I usually leave it with a "K". It's less confusing. And though I support a person's choice to express themselves thusly, I react warily, seeing behind it the expanse of attitudinized superiority. The subtle racism that is woven into the minds like a weak, inferior thread in Korean culture was evidenced to me by anecdotal stories my friends told this past weekend. It is for this reason that I now write.

Jen told me a story relayed to her by one of her students. This student had, as a child, been told the Corean story of creation. This is exactly as it was told to me. Long ago, before any humans existed on the earth, God was up in his great kitchen, baking a batch of cookie-like humans. The first batch he burned, so he put all of them in Africa. The second batch was undercooked, so they were put in Europe and North America. By the third batch, he got it right, producing a perfect golden-colored batch of human-cookies. This perfect batch was placed in Asia. This story is appalling; to say nothing of its theology, it supports such blatant racism, resembling, I am sure, similar stories in the sordid past of my own nation. It is unacceptable.

Then I was speaking with friends of mine, a married couple here. I haven't asked to use their names, so I won't. They have lived here with their children for a few years. White children in Korea are subjected to even worse forms of ogling and violation, with strangers feeling free to come over and touch them. My little sister Lindsey will remember when she came to visit being wearily petrified of the masses of people who came too close, who stared too long, who acted too familiarly. It is a part of Asia's community mindset, that children are part of the greater group, to be loved and shown affection by all manner of strangers. We are more protective in the West, though often for our detriment.

In any case, they were walking on Haeundae beach's boardwalk this past summer, their children and Korean nanny just behind. Strangers on the beach gasped and talked loudly about them, likely crowding around them. One of the children turned to the nanny and asked, "What are they saying about us?"

Before giving thought about protecting them from the bluntness of her culture, she answered, "They're saying, 'Those children are so beautiful. It's too bad they grow up to be so ugly like their parents. It looks like they've already had plastic surgery.'"

The mother and father were left aghast, walking ahead and chuckling to themselves about the gall and ignorance of Korean culture.

At times while living in this culture, especially with my Korean friends whom I love so dearly, one can forget how strongly Koreans feel about their superiority in intellect, in physicality, in progress, in everything. This weekend was a harsh reminder of how it far too often is. Although they vehemently deny any racism in this culture ("We don't even have black people," I've been told before as a defense.), its existence is so putrid, it is in danger of damaging all that is good here.