PASSIONATE KOREA

John Casey visits a

land of garlic, tradition and yearning for unity

'IN ENGLANDO', said the taxi-driver who was taking me from Pusan to Kyong- ju, 'you have King Elizabetha. She is very beautiful.' (I am pretty sure he was not getting mixed up with King Diana; and it would have been pedantic to correct it to Regina Elizabetha.) I report it as I heard it, since I may be the only Briton who has heard the looks of his sovereign com- mended by a Korean taxi-driver. The same driver sang gospel hymns to me, to the accompaniment of his karaoke machine (`Do you know that one?' — but they all sounded like variations on Annie Laurie), told we that he regarded Englando as 'No. 1 Soccer nation', and had never heard of Mrs Thatcher. I had just arrived in Korea by ship from Japan, and this was a promis- ing beginning.

I had vaguely expected the Koreans to be not unlike the Japanese. This could not have been more wrong. Compared with the Japanese, the Koreans are argumenta- tive, passionate, undisciplined and unfasti- dious. Going from Japan to Korea is like going from Milan to Naples. I noticed something else as soon as I got on the underground in Pusan: a smell of garlic pervades the whole. The Koreans eat raw garlic with crudités at the beginning of a meal. They also take it medicinally, believ- ing that it cures everything, from the common cold to cancer. The Japanese think that the Koreans smell. They do rather pleasantly, of garlic.

To say that the Koreans have a love/hate attitude to the Japanese would be (how should one put it?) a half-truth. Japanese tourists must feel uncomfortable at times in Korea. At one of the chief tourist sites in Pusan they are confronted with a very large statue of Admiral Yi — the Drake of Korea — who defeated two Japanese invasions in the 16th century with his deployment of iron-clad 'turtle ships'. His exploits are recounted in Korean, English — and Japanese. All the royal palaces in Seoul have notices detailing the outrages committed by the Japanese — in burning this one down, or turning that one into a zoo. The most important palace has a shrine with pictures showing the murder of Queen Min of Korea by 'Japanese hood- lums' and the burning of her body with kerosene by her murderers.

I often found myself recalling Yeats's words 'great hatred, little room'. Certainly the Japanese attempt to extirpate Korean language and culture has left unrelentingly bitter memories. While I was in Seoul a distinguished professor of philosophy died. He was in his late eighties. Under Japanese occupation (from 1910 to 1945) it was forbidden to use the Korean language in schools or universities. This Professor nevertheless always lectured in Korean. One day the Japanese Inspector General of Education descended on the university, and attended his lecture. It would obvious- ly have been folly for him to persist in lecturing in Korean, but rather than speak Japanese, he gave his whole lecture in German, of which his students understood not one word. The Inspector General decided that this must be normal for a philosopher, and took no action.

There is also something like hatred for the former President, Chun, and a wide- spread desire that he be 'punished'. His family are suspected of embezzlement; and many have never forgiven him for the ruthlessness with which he put down an armed insurrection in Kwangju. He may be despised even more than he is hated. He was regarded by the educated class as a man of no culture, to be ruled by whom was shameful. The persistence of Confu- cian traditions in Korea is striking. Not only should a ruler be cultured — he should show it in his calligraphy. I was visiting the splendid new arts centre in 'Let he who has no caste system . . . Seoul, for which Chun was responsible. The Korean I was with, and an employee of the Centre who was showing us around, both stopped to sneer at an example of Chun's calligraphy which was on display. People still loathe the memory of the late President Syngman Rhee; but if you ask them about his calligraphy they will show a grudging respect, and agree that he was, after all, something of a scholar.

UNTIL a few months ago anything re- sembling Marxist thought was forbidden in South Korea. Even to advocate neutrality for the country was a crime. The result is that the students are now gorging them- selves on forbidden fruit. They are reading Marx, Lenin and even (heaven help them) Kim Il Sung. They are demanding that `technocratic' economics courses' be sup- plemented with political philosophy. There is a strong whiff of the Sixties in Seoul. I gave a talk to some graduates on Dr Johnson as a moral philosopher. After- wards one of the younger dons asked me whether I did not agree that Johnson's moral opinions were irrelevant to the modern world, since we now understood that all morality is class-based.

Unlike the Japanese 'radical' students, whose sole contribution to political thought is to shout all the time, Korean students have a serious political tradition. They were substantially responsible for bringing down the despotic Syngman Rhee in 1960, and suffered many deaths. But they do seem to be in a political muddle. In a recent poll 85.8 per cent of them. held America chiefly responsible for the divi- sion of the country; and more than half thought that the Americans had come, not as liberators, but as the establishers of a `colonial fascist regime' in the South. At the same time 79.3 per cent said that American forces should remain in Korea `for some time to come'.

There is a mood of euphoria at the moment, and an urge for re-unification so strong that it is assumed that obstacles will somehow disappear. People are surprising- ly reluctant to criticise the North. One academic said that the Kim Il Sung regime was essentially an example of 'agrarian authoritarianism' and therefore closer to Asiatic traditions than the 'economic indi- vidualism' of the South. When I used the word 'bureaucracy' of socialist regimes, I was reminded that this is not a term of abuse in the East, but describes what government is.

The result is that the North seems to have all the political initiative. This really is a paradox. Everyone knows that the South is about to become a great economic power, and that the North is an economic catastrophe. It is said that a delegation from the North was secretly in Seoul seeking financial assistance for their bank- rupt country. Apart from its enormous army (750,000 troops to the 542,000 of the South — this despite the fact that the South has double the population and is much richer) the only advantages the North has are the yearning for national unity, and the disaffection from successive despotic regimes, which pervades the South. But these are powerful weapons. One has the impression that despite recent economic success, and despite the enormous pride that people are taking in the Seoul Olym- pics. Southerners do not really believe in the legitimacy of the regime. The politics of the students may be deeply unrealistic and impatient. But when one remembers that South Korea has been ruled, with brief intermissions, by foreign, or foreign- supported despotisms since 1910, it seems more appropriate to respect their long- suffering.

I WISH one could find out more about Kim II Sung. For instance, does this sinister/comic figure actually exist? If he is the same Kim who fought the Japanese (as he is alleged to be) then he must be extremely old. But on television he looks in the chubby prime of life. And is he the solemn egomaniac who, some years ago, added much to the gaiety of nations with a series of two-page advertisements in the Times, explaining his philosophy of life,in all its triumphant banality? Something like 20 per cent of all Koreans are called 'Kim'. It is not just a common name, like Jones. The Kims are a real clan, or rather a clan of clans. It is appropriate to ask a Kim whether he is a Kim of Taegu, or Kwangju, or whatever. I am told that someone was once visiting Kim II Sung, and in politeness asked him which of the Kims he was. 'I am Kim of Korea', he replied — surely a rather fine example of megalomaniac humour.

He has proposed a confederated Korea to be called 'Koryo' after an ancient Korean kingdom. But his regime must by now be simply a burden to the Russians and Chinese. A united Korea, constitu- tionally committed to armed neutrality, would not be against the strategic interests of any country in the Far East. Kim Il Sung's 'agrarian authoritarianism' would then surely vanish. If Kim, in his jealousy and chagrin, were to commit a truly monstrous outrage against the Seoul Olym- poics, he would enrage the Russians and Chinese, and bring the prospects of Ko- rean unity immeasurably nearer. But I suppose he realises that.

CHRISTIANITY is a very visible presence in Korea, especially its spires as seen from the railway. I travelled by train from Pusan to Seoul, and every city seemed to be full of Christian churches. Often these seem to be ordinary houses, or even apartments, with spires stuck on. They are usually hideous. In fact one has the impression of a not very attractive propaganda campaign to make Christianity look stronger than it really is. Many of the churches belong to American-inspired revivalist sects, which have no respect for traditional Korean culture, and are in effect helping to destroy it.

However I did go to Sunday Mass in the Catholic Cathedral in Seoul. There are services every hour, and it was packed to the doors. The women all wore white lace mantillas. The reponses were given by the congregation with voices of such musicality that it sounded very like a chant. There was an overwhelming impression of fer- vour — and an overpowering smell of garlic. The moment came for the hand- shake — one of the unattractive liturgical innovations of Paul VI. I always dread this, and stare hard at the ceiling, hoping to be left alone. But suddenly the Cathedral was full of people bowing on all sides — an utterly dignified and somehow properly liturgical gesture, which avoids all the gaucheness of the handshake.

I WAS staying in Seoul with a professor of English, who had been a friend of Empson, and who is a distinguished poet and trans lator of poetry. He was also described by another poet, in Pusan, as 'the last Con- fucianist'. Since being in the Far East, I have often reflected on the tradition of arranged marriages. The Japanese admit that about 30 per cent of marriages are arranged — which probably means that the true figure is much higher. They seem slightly embarrassed by this un-Western survival, but I have the impression that some of the most compatible unions were 'arranged'. My friend in Seoul told me that his marriage was arranged in the most traditional Korean fashion. Not only had he never met his bride before the wedding ceremony — he had not even seen a picture of her. His son's marriage was also arranged — but with more concessions to `You must help me officer. My husband's buried under the Saturday supplements.' modern ways. He told me that his son had `interviewed' 50 or 60 'candidates' before settling on one. He had five requirements for a bride: she had to have a good education; she had to be tall (since he is exceptionally tall for a Korean); she had to have a good moral character, a good face, and come from a good family. I observed that presumably the young ladies would also have the right to refuse. 'Yes', he said, tut they all wanted to marry him.'

Japanese girls are said to desire three things in a husband — that he be tall, have a good education, and have no mother.

AT SCHOOL at an early age I had to choose between Greek or Geography. I chose Greek. So my knowledge of the geography of the British Isles has always beep shaky. But I used to know the map of South Korea perfectly. This is because as a boy I followed the Korean War in the newspapers, and saw the white area, which represented the territory controlled by the United Nations forces, retreating daily from the all-engulfing black of the North Koreans until, in the bleakest days of the war, it was a little blob around Pusan and just about included Taegu. The names Pusan, Taejon, Inchon, Seoul, Imjin, had as much magic for me as do Baalbek and Venice for the young narrator in Proust. In my prep school we regularly enacted the conflict between North and South Korea in the dinner hour. (I was usually Syngman Rhee, and since I was always careful to choose the strongest and most aggressive boys of my side, freedom and democracy were always victorious.) So on my last morning in Korea, back in Pusan, I visited the United Nations cemet- ery. It was intolerably moving, as such places always are. One reason was the sense it gave of a lost world. The memorial names all the countries which sent contin- gents. They include South Africa, Cuba, Ethiopia. Even Sweden sent a hospital unit. The Americans lost 33,000, the Brit- ish 1,100, the Turks 800. Luxembourg lost two — which sounds like carelessness. Since all the American dead were repatri- ated, the cemetery is dominated by the dead of the British Commonwealth. I visited rather a lot of their graves, partly through the half-superstitious sense that not many people do so. The idea that the war was a crusade by the United Nations on behalf of freedom and international law is preserved in this cemetery in its pristine brightness. I do not know how many people still believe it. It is good that North Korea was unable to subjugate the South. It is not true that the South was in any sense 'free'. It is unproven that the North Korean attack was part of any larger conspiracy against 'the West'. In other words, the war was probably justified, but the propaganda which surrounded it was mostly lies. So here they remain, in a far away country of which we knew legends. One trusts the earth lies light upon them.