Teaching, Week 9, Part I: Korean Culture Quiz (Year 3, Day 59)

I've decided to break this week's "Teaching" entry into three parts, and you can view Part 2 and Part 3 at those links. Needless to say, it was a very productive, or at the very least interesting, week.

Between last week and this week, I adapted a lesson plan from "Garrett Gone Korean". The idea was brilliant: give the students a quiz on American culture and then explain the questions they missed. I gave the top scorers in each class a package of ramyeon (라면). During the next lesson, each student had to come up with a multiple choice question to ask me about Korean culture. I told the class that for every time I guessed the answer incorrectly, they would receive a point. Of course, for every correct answer I would receive a point. If the class received more points than I did, I would buy them all choco pies. I did have one caveat: they couldn't make a question that even Koreans wouldn't know. So, whereas "What is the most common form of kimchi?" would be fine, asking "Who invented kimchi?" would be right out.

A surprising number of the answers I knew cold, things like When was the Joseon dynasty established? (1392) and Who is the only Korean to have received a Nobel Peace Prize? (Fm. Pres. Kim Dae-jung). Others I could guess based on certain clues. For instance, my Korean teacher's family name is Park (박) and she's always bragging about how she's related to the first king of the old Shilla Kingdom (the first Korean country to unite what is modern North and South Korea). One of the questions a student asked was, "Who was the first king of the Shilla Kingdom?" and only one of the multiple choice answers had Park in the name, so I guessed that one pretty easily. Other times, my capabilities with guessing were far less subtle. Students often made the mistake of laughing at incorrect answers, so I would just guess the one that they didn't laugh at and almost invariably be right. When I pointed out why I was getting all of those correct, instead of clamming up, the students decided they would laugh hysterically at every answer.

Anyway, I highly recommend the lesson both for your students to learn about your culture and for you to learn about theirs.

In other news, I taught my kids the Electric Slide. One of them told me he was practicing it outside of class the next day. To do list: Be a cultural ambassador. Check!

Private vs. Public Education in Korea (Year 3, Day 36)

There are still things to learn even after over two years being here and even about the educational system that I've been working in for both of those two years. I have merely scratched the surface of this dig...

Apparently, the differences between public and private education in this country are even slimmer than I realized at first.

During today's Advanced Adult Free-Talking discussion, we were discussing the Korean education system. This is comfortable for all of us, usually, because it's familiar for them and it's at least interesting for me. Talking about the weather and what we all did this weekend (the same thing as the weekend before) doesn't exactly do it for me. Today's topic started out being the certification process for teachers in Korea and the U.S.

At some point there was a lull in the conversation, and I casually asked, So, how much does it cost to go to private school here? "About 300,000 won ($253) per quarter in H.S. About 50,000 won ($42)." Wow. That's really cheap! "Yes, it's about the same as it costs to go to public school." Excuse me?

Apparently, you have to pay to go to public school. Taxes don't completely cover the cost of educational materials. I'm familiar with that. When I went to high school in Winona, we had to pay a school activities fee to participate in extracurricular activities and had to raise money for special events like school plays and band trips. Paying a little extra to fill out my public education was something my family was more than willing to help out with.

But, the logical corollary to the prices in Korea is that private schools are actually mostly publicly funded.

Well, there must still be something special about them, even if they are publicly funded. There must be some distinction. Maybe they're allowed to accept only certain kinds of students?

Not so! In fact, all schools (yes, even the private ones) in major cities are compiled into a computer database, students choose which three schools they would prefer to attend, and an algorithm decides which schools match up with which students.

Well, then surely students with higher test scores or closer geographic locations must receive preferential treatment in the assigning of these schools! This is Korea after all and testing is king.

Not so! In fact, the assigning is completely random (yes, even for the private schools). The only way to boost your chances of attending one school over another is to place it higher on your preference sheet.

So, let's say that one school is particularly famous in a city. It has good teachers, good facilities, and a high success rate when it comes to scoring well on the national college entrance exam. Naturally, many students will select it as their top preference. However, since too many students will have selected this school, most will be assigned to their second or third choice. This may mean that you will have a school that is an hour and a half commute by public transportation from your home or, yes, even attend a private school.

The school has no option but to accept the student. The student, once assigned, has no option but to attend the school. Even if the school is private.

This boggles my mind. Private schools are publicly funded, and they must accept whatever students the local government assigns to it. I asked, Then what precisely distinguishes a private school from a public one?

There are a few things, actually. Wheres public schools are founded by the national government, private schools are founded by private citizens who form a sort of school board. But considering that most of them fall under government funding eventually anyway, this seems to be a minor point.

More helpful in differentiating the two is the fact that whereas public school teachers are assigned by the regional government (neither the teachers nor the schools have much of a say in who is placed where), a private school's board makes the hiring decisions for faculty and staff at its school. In addition, while public school teachers must rotate schools every 5 years, teachers at private school may stay as long as the school will have them. This allows the school to cultivate a prestigious and effective faculty.

Probably the most significant difference is the religion question. Let me be clear, whereas in the States, when we say private education we think of religious schools, in Korea, this is not always the case. A private school may not be in any way based on religious principles. However, quite a few are, and they are allowed to have religious services and supplement the standard curriculum with religious courses. Public education, as might be expected, remains a-religious.

Now, there are exceptions to all of this. Some schools are fully private and can thus design their own curricula and accept whomever they like without government interference. The same holds true for international schools. These schools are usually very difficult to get into and fairly prestigious. The students must take some sort of equivalence test to be reintegrated back into the public Korean education system, but this is usually no problem since the quality of education at these schools is usually far superior than at government funded public or private schools.

In addition, some areas do not adhere to this policy of placing students in whatever school a computer randomly places them in. In smaller cities and rural areas especially, schools still have the right to reject a student if the school does not have the capacity to take them in. This holds true for both private and public schools. (It is also noteworthy that students in especially poorer rural areas pay lower fees to attend school, and sometimes no fees at all, while students in urbanized areas will pay higher fees in accordance with the wealth of their area.)

It is larger cities that, as a general rule, choose to implement the random assignation policy. Still, since around 80.8% of the population is considered urban, this policy affects the large majority of Korean students. Especially large cities like Seoul divide the city into educational districts, but still implement random assignation within those districts. This has led to a problem of families buying small one-room student apartments in more wealthy districts like Gangnam in order to send their children to public schools in those areas.

Still, what is troublesome with a randomized placement system is that a secular, Christian, or Buddhist student could be forced to attend a school that they would feel uncomfortable or even resentful about attending. A Christian student may have to attend the public school across town even when his number one choice, a private Christian school, is right next door, while a Buddhist student ends up at that Christian school even though he may be made to participate in activities and classes that do not reflect his beliefs. Who would even conceive of such a system?

Apparently, it was designed to eliminate the sort of relocation patterns that Seoul experiences and general corruption in private schools.

In the first case, when a particular neighborhood in a city is richer than another, parents may sell everything they own to purchase an apartment in that neighborhood so that their son or daughter can attend the better funded school. When the school you attend is decided completely randomly, it doesn't matter where you live. This also serves to make sure that the rich don't receive all the benefits of their geographic location just because they are rich. (On the other hand, since it is completely random instead of achievement based, it does seem to discourage, or at least it doesn't encourage, academic excellence.)

As for corruption in private schools, since those schools needed to find ways to finance themselves, they involved themselves in what my co-teacher described as "illegal activities". I'm not exactly sure what these might be, but I imagine it involved accepting suspiciously large donations from parents whose children were then accepted at the school. Funding the schools publicly and forcing them to accept certain students served to alleviate this apparent injustice. My co-teacher did say that some private schools in the past would fire a teacher when they reached a certain age (older teachers are paid more) or fire a female teacher for getting pregnant. Apparently, with government funding comes certain rights for teachers.

When you plug one leak, you create another. Now, instead of overcrowding and corruption we have students making crosstown commutes and going to schools they'd prefer not to.

To be honest, this is just all a little strange to me and thus interesting. I don't actually know how satisfied or unsatisfied Koreans are with this system. Given the society's tendency towards corruption, I'd imagine they think of it much as I think of American democracy. It's not the best, but it's the best we can do.

Many thanks to Mr. Kim Dong-geun and Dr. Kim Dong-sang at Kyungbuk Science High School (경북과학고등학교) for the information in this article.

Soccer! or Football, you know, if you're not American (Year 3, Day 29)

Pohang Steelers 5, Busan Pride 1; Peace Cup Tournament Final Match

Soccer - The football that's actually played with the foot.

I like sports, but not like most American guys like sports. Don't get me wrong. Put a leather clad ball of whatever kind in front of me, and I'll run, tackle, jump, pass, shoot, or whatever else we're supposed to be doing like the rest of them. I love that part of sports.

What I don't like is the sitting in the armchair, speculating on which team is going to win, knowing every player's name and stats, and yelling coaching tips at the TV part of sports. Except for big games like the Superbowl, the NCAA Basketball Tournament, and maybe the World Series, if sports is on the TV, I change the channel to watch something more stimulating. That's just how I roll.

Going to watch sports in a stadium, on the other hand, that I'm all for. The atmosphere is what gets me. The cheering people, the open air (when outdoors, that is), the vendors and hawkers, the smell and yes the stink of it all is just wonderful. It makes me feel as much like I'm a part of the game as watching on TV makes me feel disembodied from it. Heck, I'll even watch baseball, to my mind the single least exciting sport on American television, if we're going to a stadium.

Pictured: My only reason for being a spectator. (The Pohang Steelers' Steelyard Stadium)

The only trouble is that in Korea my options are extremely limited. I can go to basketball games, which are rarely well enough attended to make them interesting, baseball games, which are rarely interesting in and of themselves regardless of the number of spectators, or I can go to soccer matches. In Pohang, that trio of opportunities becomes a despicable solo. That's right. Pohang has one sport offering. Soccer. Whoo. Hoo.

Soccer is probably the least American sport in the world, both by popularity and by competency. Much like the Scots consider basketball to be a game for lasses, Americans, according to Chuck Klostermann, consider soccer to be a game of mediocrity only fit for elementary school children who haven't developed the muscular strength, the hand-eye coordination, or the competitive spirit and will to play our real sports. Stereotypically, our moms take us to soccer pitches. Our dads take us to the battlegrounds of the field, court, and gridiron.

Even the language of soccer is all wrong for American sports. A pitch? Please. And a match? I have news for you, matches in America recall the mano a mano brutality of boxing or at least the agility, finesse, and strategy of tennis. Calling sporting events "games" recalls the honor and prestige of Olympic competitions both modern and ancient, feats of strength and will and endurance. They are a test of the human spirit! All a soccer match brings back for us is memories of aimlessly and awkwardly kicking a ball in the general direction of a goal larger than the size of my bedroom wall and still not making it in--all this while our mothers and fathers discussed the most recent series for the baseball home team or the chances the local high school football team has of making the playoffs that year.

So, yes, despite the dirt cheap admission price, it took me a while to get out to a soccer game.

Last week Wednesday was my first one, and I only have one thing to say about the experience: I loved it.

And so did this guy! (One of the cheerleaders. In Korea, this is not a misnomer. He actually led cheers.)

Allow me to elaborate. American sporting events have nothing on Korean ones for what I referred to earlier as "atmosphere". Forget the Seventh Inning Stretch, no one at these games sits down. Ever. Towards the end of the match, I couldn't keep up and had to sit down momentarily to give my legs a rest.

And the cheers? The cheers are amazing. Rather than just shouting random inarticulate phrases like, "Go!" "Come on!" and the unfortunately-popularized-by-Rob-Schneider-speaking-in-a-Hispanic-accent "You can do it!", we had a veritable repertoire of chants and even full fledged songs with verses to choose from. At the head of each section was a cheerleader, usually wearing the colors of the home team (the alternative being nothing but his pants). I assume this person was just a fan (or perhaps it is better to use the etymological source, "fanatic") of the team, but he led his section with incomparable ardor and zeal. The cheerleaders would even work together, taking cues from each other about when to start different songs, cheers, or actions like the wave. (Yes, they do that here too.)

In terms of the club itself, it makes sure to give the fans the materials needed to ensure the appropriate mood. At the entrance to the stadium, each patron was bestowed with a flag for enthusiastic waving. And waved they were. Some fans even brought their own over-sized flags and banners. This flag was collected at the end of the match, though it was no trouble to keep it as a souvenir if one so desired. Around the field were written slogans declaring the spirit of the game--"Your spirit makes our blood boil!" "Soccer is war!" "My pride is here!" "Dokdo is Pohang's responsibility to protect!" and so on and so forth. (Actually, I'm not quite sure that last one was appropriate at the game. It'd be kind of like someone having a "Let's win in Afghanistan!" sign at a basketball game in the states. I mean, I agree with the sentiment, but at a sporting event? Really?)

And then there's the adoration of the fans for the individual players. They are loved. They are cheered on no matter what. If you make a goal, the throbbing masses will shout your name in unison while raising their hands in victory for at least a minute if not more. If you even make an attempt but miss, they will still praise your effort and will to win in the same manner. Everyone has their favorites, and much as is the custom in America, you can tell by the jerseys which they wear proudly. One was hard pressed to find a person without a jersey or at least the appropriate colors in our section. Upon a bad call by a referee or the possibility of a goal by the other team, the most outrageous cacophony of noise erupts from the stands. In this stadium, the audience really is the extra man on the field.

Goals are not only celebrated with lofty adoration, but with fireworks as well, and we were treated with a mini-show upon each and every one. Fans get in on the action as well by lighting flares.

After coming home from the game, which in itself was the most exciting sporting event I've ever witnessed in person, I enthusiastically posted the following to my wall:

The Steelers win against the Busan Pride, 5-1. MOST EXCITING SOCCER GAME EVER!!! I will have to go again. (hangs head in shame)

A good friend of mine, in jest, then cast this barb at my American pride:

'Most exciting soccer game ever.' So, like, it was almost as exciting as the most boring baseball/basketball/American football/watching paint dry/etc. game ever?

... you're either with the terrorists or your against them. It's American football or terrorist football. American football comes with beer and cheerleaders. Terrorist football comes with secret detention and enhanced interrogation techniques. You can choose.

It's a fair question. You may question my sanity with this new found love of mine, thinking I have somehow lost my American-ness or what have you, but consider this. Take a closer look at this picture:

Remember this guy?

Do you see that row of men in the foreground of the picture, and the row directly behind them, and ye, even unto the row behind them? Notice that they all wear the red and the black jerseys (and the expensive ones at that), that some even have the team's towel scarfs, that they stand ready to cheer at the direction of the craziest cheerleader. That sturdy bunch, that motley crew, the rowdiest of the rowdy fans--they are the United States Marines.

When the U.S. Marines, arguably the most American, macho, and hardened of all possible spectating groups, are cheering for a sporting event, it's gotta be an event worth cheering for.

Ultimate (Year 3, Day 26)

One of my favorite past times here is playing Ultimate. For the non-initiated, Ultimate is an amalgam of different sports that's easy to learn and exceptionally hard to master if only because it's played with a disc that will either fly away or stop in mid-air depending on the direction the wind is going. There are end-zones like American football, constant running like basketball, and team-play like soccer (or football, if you prefer). Usually, it's a non-contact sport, and a congenial one at that (Even high level events are self-officiated). It's very popular with college aged kids in the States, and apparently with Whites in general. You might be surprised to learn that it's a popular activity in Korea, and indeed I would be too because it isn't, at least not among actual Koreans.

Expats on the other hand love it, and some cities actually have tournaments in not full out leagues. Jeju-do, Korea's island paradise, has international tournaments with teams even flying in from such exotic locales as Idaho, USA. One friend told me that the league in Seoul is so competitive that you actually have to know what your doing or you'll get chewed out by the other players on your team. There are friendly pick up games too, of course, but in the expat crowd, Ultimate is serious business.

Here in Pohang, we usually have a modest--some might say impoverished--showing of about 8 people on a good week, although two weeks ago we had as many as 14. Sometimes, the numbers are as low as 5. It's not enough to host tournaments or to have leagues, but we still have a blast playing our quick 5-point games, and it's something we look forward to every week. In fact, I'm rather disappointed when we don't get a game going, but that's Ultimate for you, I guess.

One of the biggest obstacles to playing Ultimate is finding a place to play. We used to play on POSTECH's soccer field. It was spacious, flat, and well-maintained. The only trouble with this was incurring the ire of locals who wanted to use the field for its intended purpose; that is, soccer. Go figure.

Now, we use a rather narrow and short field near POSTECH's campus. The terrain is rough, the grass is rarely mowed, and because it's surrounded on trees, it has the dual disadvantages of debris on the field and the creation of a wind tunnel that invariably blows directly against one of the teams.

It also has the disadvantage of being in a scenic locale. This makes it a prime place to take pictures for portraits, have church picnics, and just go for a plain old walk through the middle of the field. This is presumably because the soccer field is unavailable for these activities as well. This is a problem because when you're playing a game with a disc that, in a skilled thrower's hands, can cross the length of a soccer field, there's a potential that people in the vicinity could get nailed in the head with one.

Now, when a church group is there playing, we move to the other end of the field. When a group of children are shooting pictures in hanbok for their portraits, we try to make our field a little shorter. If a group has decided that the best place to do either of these is smack dab in the middle of the field, we politely ask if they might mind using one end of the field instead. We understand about sharing space, and everyone can enjoy their respective activities that way.

A lot of Koreans on the other hand do not seem to have the same concerns about shared space that we do; or, to phrase it another way, Western society believes in sharing space, not time, and Koreans believe in sharing both.

Let's say, for instance, that you are walking along with your spouse and two kids and see a group of people playing a game. The game involves running, jumping, and throwing a large white disc at each others' heads. You see that the game space is marked out with cones indicating boundaries of play.

Do you

A) ask the people if they might stop the game momentarily so that you can pass quickly to the other side of the field?
B) walk around the field thereby avoiding any unnecessary contact?
C) walk through the middle of the field at a slow pace without apologizing and nearly get clobbered by a player a time and a half your size?

If you picked C, I need to talk to you about imperiling your life and your elementary aged daughter's life as well.

Let's take another example. Let us say that this time you are leading a small group of children in some traditional activities and games. They are having a grand old time of it. A group of strapping athletes approaches you and asks if you wouldn't mind using one end of the field so that they can set up their weekly game. You acquiesce, the children continue their activity, and the players start their game. During the game, the children begin to stray onto the playing field.

Do you

A) ask the children nicely to come back over the play area?
B) order the children to return the prescribed zone at once? Their lives are in peril!
C) leave them be (they're just children after all), smiling all the while, until the players stop their game and come over and tell the children that it's dangerous themselves?

If you answered C, I need to talk to you about placing other people's children in peril.

This isn't confined to our Ultimate games either. When I practice shooting basketball, I often have children walk through the court in front of me, sometimes even stopping right under the basket that is my intended target and then just stare at me. (Actually, given my accuracy, that's probably the safest place for them.) Adults are not immune to this either, and although they won't stand directly under the basket, they will walk in front of me in herds on their way out of the elementary school where I sometimes practice. No apologies, no rush, just a person moving from point A to point B by the most direct course--a straight line.

In the States it's a little different, and, while I'm not sure about the rest of the Western world, I imagine the same case might hold. At an early age, I was instilled with the wisdom to avoid running out onto basketball courts when games were in progress, that I shouldn't have my picnic on an active soccer field whether defined by chalk lines or cones, and that I should always ask permission before crossing through someone's campsite.

I mean, we even apologize or ask to be excused for passing in front of someone's line of vision at a store with narrow aisles! Let's face it, there's only one way through and that way is in front of the other person. Aren't we basically saying, "I apologize for the limitations of space-time and the cramped interior design of this room"?

I think there are two things going on here. One is that Koreans have a different conception of shared space. As I said before, Koreans don't necessarily consider occupied space to be off limits. If it's in a public area, then your Ultimate game will have to deal with the picnic that's smack dab in the middle of it. That's just something I've had to get used to over here. If a person bumps into you on the subway, there's no apology because it'd basically be saying, "I apologize for the limitations of space-time and for the fact that my country is 15.7 times more densely populated than yours, but hey, at least I'm not blocking your view in the aisle!"

(Actually, over the summer while I was visiting Seattle with my cousin, we noticed a Korean tour bus in the vicinity that I deftly translated for her. Later, in the Pike Place Market, a densely built, hunched, Asian woman practically bowled my cousin over without a word of apology and continued on her merry way. My cousin just stared after her in utter disbelief, and I grinned at her and said, "Don't worry about it. I guarantee you she's Korean, and that's just how they role over there.")

But what's more reflectively interesting to me is the second thing that's going on, and it's a new experience for me.

This is mere speculation, but remember when I said that Ultimate isn't popular with Koreans? It would be better to say that Koreans just don't understand about Ultimate. I don't mean that they can't comprehend the rules, in fact a few Koreans play with us and quite well. I have even taught some of my students to play as a cultural lesson. I mean that, as an imported game that is almost exclusively played amongst expatriates, they don't get how important it is for those that enjoy the game to have uninterrupted play. For them, it's just a goofy thing that the foreigners do every once in a while. It isn't anything past that, and, since it is unknown, doesn't garner respect. By marking out the space on the field, we don't actually reserve it because, when you try to explain the game to a Korean, they say, "That's ridiculous! It sounds boring." (I often have the same reaction when someone mentions baseball, actually.)

Let's put this in perspective. Imagine that you play tennis. One day you come to your regular tennis court that you've played on every weekday after work for a whole year and you find that a game of sorts is already in progress. Some foreign men are kicking a soccer ball back and forth across the net, and while it's clear that it's some sort of game they're playing (It has a ball, an obstacle, passing... Seems like a game to me!), it's also fairly clear to you that it's not tennis and has no right being played on a tennis court. You tell them they have to leave so that you can play your game, or you at least scowl at them through your racket as you sit on the bench waiting for them to leave.

The thing is, that game is a real sport called chok-gu, and in Korea is quite popular (It's similar to volleyball). There are televised national tournaments for it, even. It seems ridiculous to us because we've never seen it or never played it, but it's a real thing that just isn't well-recognized in the rest of the world.

Ultimate's the same way here. It's a sport native to my country that, when transplanted, just doesn't register as an organized, team-based activity. In fact, for all intensive purposes, it is just a bunch of strange foreigners having a laugh on a Saturday afternoon.

Still, it'd be nice to have a laugh without running over any bystanders.

By the way, those kids that interrupted our game this weekend? C-U-T-E! Enjoy the pics.

What is Authentically Korean? or, A Visit to Yangdong Folk Village (Year 3, Day 22)

Yandong Folk Village

Recently, my co-teacher, Mr. Kim, invited me along on a recruitment trip to a middle school in Pohang. "Afterwards, we can visit Yangdong Folk Village. Have you been to Yangdong Folk Village?" he asked. I've been to many folk villages. "Mr. Son's ancestors lived at this one. If you have time, how about going there?" Well, I've never been a recruitment trip, and the personal connection with the village could make it more interesting. Sure, why not?

The recruitment trip was uneventful. The way the teachers kept talking while the students listened unconfidently to the pitch reminded me of when military recruiters would come to my high school when I was "of age."

The village on the other hand was quite interesting, if for no other reason than Mr. Son offered this little tidbit on the way up to the village.

Can you see the church? Neither could I.

"This church used to be inside the village, but the government ordered it to move." Oh, really? "Yes. It did not exist during the Joseon dynasty," the dynasty which the village was supposed to reflect. I see.

There it is! Behind the tree with a non-descript roof so it won't disturb history.

According to the handy tourist guide, we can extrapolate where it used to be!

Notice the location in the middle of town and the bright red roof.

Isn't photographic history fun?

That seemed reasonable enough. I've just recently finished reading Henderson's Korea: The Politics of the Vortex, a book that, among other things, discusses the Korean national character or what it means to be truly Korean. I'm reading a book right now that just came out this Spring called Seoul: A Window into Korean Culture that indeed is at least giving me a view into the author's, Mr. Choi's, window on Korean culture. Both delve into what is the authentic Korean, the former primarily in terms of his or her social-political character, the later in terms of his or her aesthetic character.

But in reading both books and in taking in their respective perspectives, I have to ask, What is authentically Korean? This has been an especially poignant question for me since reading Konrad Lawson's "Why not Teach Us Hwatu?" in the 2008 Fulbright Korea Review. In the article, Mr. Lawson wonders at the cultural components of Korean language classes designed for foreigners living in Korea, classes that I myself have attended many times. These cultural components tend to place a heavy emphasis on things authentically Korean, games like yutnori (윷놀이)and traditional musical styles like pansori (판소리), while neglecting more modern imports like Go-Stop (고스톱) and Trot (트로트). He speculates that since these imports reflect past imperial oppression, especially at the hands of the Japanese, Korean teachers are loathe to teach them. This would seem logical enough if it were not for the fact that Go-Stop and Trot appear to be infinitely more popular in Korea than yutnori and pansori, and thus would be a boon to those trying to learn Korean as it would help them make friends.

I myself had some experience with this. When I asked my Korean tutor in Pyeongchang to teach me Go-Stop since she said she knew the rules, she said, "I'd rather not." Why? "Because it's not really Korean. It's from Japan."

Fair enough. There is a terribly brutal history between the two countries, and many Koreans tend to feel a mix of shame, anger, and saddness over that occupation period.

Perhaps this tendency towards seeking the "authentic" and "genuine" in one's own culture is natural in largely homogeneous nations with profoundly deep histories not built on the need for massive immigrant populations. Perhaps it is only because I'm from America--a nation with few traditional customs, dress, or lifestyles that apply to any specific group, much less to the nation as a whole--that I cannot imagine throwing out mariachi music or Indian food just because it doesn't reflect my ethnic background. After all, if we started doing that, there'd be no American culture left, or at least, granting that America has developed some wonderful additions to world culture of its own accord, far less than there was before.

And, being the historically interested fellow that I am, I can understand the need for accuracy in the presentation of a cultural exhibit. Still, walking through the village, I couldn't help but notice something. Tell me if anything looks out of place.

I'll give you a hint. LG, satellites, and plastic all come from the 20th century...

Tractors are a bit earlier, but not diesel tractors with internal combustion engines.

There was also a horse, which makes sense. This is a farming community. Traditional Joseon society was primarily agrarian. But, I've gotten to know the difference between northeast Asian horses and European horses. Asian horses tend to be squat and powerful. He was most certainly not Asian, much less Korean.

So, why is it that all these manifestations of foreign influence are allowed in the village, but the church is not? Why can we have the electrical convenience, but not spiritual? When I asked Mr. Kim about this, disclaiming that he of course did not know the exact reasons, he speculated that a few factors could have been involved.

The church does not reflect Joseon architecture. Seodang on the other hand could be allowed because they reflect Korean Confucianism. He was unsure at this point whether it was just the physical building that was the problem or the teaching that happens inside the building as well. Also, while everyone needs electricity for good health and survival, not everyone uses the church.

This becomes an even more interesting question for me for two reasons. The first is, Does the church represent a break from Korean culture? and the second is, If we are to base the village on the traditional Joseon dynasty, are we allowed to determine a certain time period within Joseon in order to eliminate that break?

The first question interests me because, from what I have seen, Koreans have made the church an integral part of their culture. Christianity is a recognized religion in Korea and, depending on which data sets you are using, comprises between 26% and 49% of the current population, and even at 26%, they are about equal to the number of Buddhist adherents. (There are few admitted adherents of Confucianism and Shamanism left, though you can find them.) And, although the church may have originally been an import, it is a far cry from that import as it is practiced today. Koreans have made the church their own. As I have observed it, it is legalist, prosperity gospel driven, and, perhaps most poignant, nationalist. The last sermon I heard at a Korean church insisted that God had chosen Korea to convert China so that China could then convert the world and Korea could control the world through China. Not all Korean churches are like this, of course, but the point is that Korean Christianity is Korean.

The second question--whether we can modify the inclusive dates of the Joseon dynasty--interests me because Christianity began making inroads into Korea during the Joseon dynasty, albeit rather late. The Joseon dynasty lasted from 1392 to Japan's annexation of Korea in 1910. The first Christian in Korea actually came over during the Hideyoshi invasion (Not exactly an ideal way to start...) in 1593. In 1603, the first missionary came over from China and began disseminating literature. It is important to note that this first missionary was not from the West and was in fact Korean. However, the successful planting of churches and the first big numbers do not occur until 1784. From that point on, though the church is persecuted, it flourishes, and it does so within the context of Joseon culture.

Now, I won't argue that Christianity isn't an import. I am however concerned about Korea's tendency to erase aspects of its history that it doesn't find particularly reflective of its culture or history, or perhaps more appropriately, of what it wants those things to be. Why not have a memorial sign outside the church explaining what it is doing in the middle of the village?

Mr. Choi, the author of that book on Seoul I mentioned above, also has concerns about this, but for something much closer to the Korean psyche. If you decide to hike up Namsan in Seoul, you might come upon a small clearing with a fountain within a well shaded grove. However, unless you know what this grove used to be, you will never realize that it was the site of Japan's Shinto shrine worshiping the Emperor. After the occupation, it was demolished and a small garden was planted in its place. Yet there is no sign to indicate what the place is. No plaque. No educational guide. No shame. You will, however, see the statue of a Korean patriot who assassinated the governor-general from Japan.

It's concerning because the powers that be in Korea (and throughout the world, not least of all in my own country, America) want to present a certain history to you, a history that conveniently ignores certain truths about its past to present a traditional culture that satisfies its own perspective on Korea's traditional national identity. This identity, all present evidence to the contrary, doesn't include imports like Christianity, though it is more than happy to include air conditioning units made by LG.

Then again, it's not as if everyday Koreans won't talk with you about these things or aren't aware of them. My co-teacher was fine with explaining the situation of the church with me. When I visited a fellow teacher's host family last year, they were more than happy to show me how to play Go-Stop.

The Legend of Bokbunja, a Korean Raspberry Wine (Year 3, Day 15)

This, my friends, is bokbunja (복분자), a Korean wine made from raspberries. Although it is sweet, to me it tastes a little like cough syrup. Still, it's better than the usual local swill by far and can be found for no great cost at most moderately priced restaurants here.

As the entry for bokbunja on Wikipedia will tell you, the drink is supposed to promote both health and male sexual stamina. Now, in Korea, many things are supposed to do this, and men are especially interested in increasing their stamina, or at least in telling me that a particular food we are eating at the time will accomplish this for us. (For the record, I've only eaten two of those three linked foods.)

Whenever a Korean man tells me that something or rather is supposed to have the same effect as chomping on little blue pills, I usually put on a confiding grin and say, "Oh, really? And why is that?" The usual response is, "I don't know. People just say that."

Not so when my adult English class and I partook of bokbunja over a meal of raw fish and tempura. With bokbunja, I got a story.

But before I tell the story, it is important to know what bok, bun, and ja mean. All three are hanja, or borrowed Chinese characters. The first is 복 (覆) and can be roughly translated as "flip"; the second, 분 (盆) as "pot"; and the third, 자 (子) as "person".

And now the story.

A long time ago, a farmer was picking raspberries, and, deciding that they'd make a pretty tasty brew, proceeded to make a lovely liquor out of them. He had his fill of the delightfully delectable drink that night and promptly passed out. Having neglected to relieve himself before setting himself to repose and having slept quite soundly the night through, he of course had to release the pressure, so to speak, upon waking up the next morning. So, he dragged himself over to the chamber pot and relieved his aching bladder. The stream had such great power that the pot flipped over, needlessly fertilizing the ondol floor of his thatched roof hut, but inspiring him to christen the cause of his new found male virility, bokbunja, or, roughly translated, "It'll make a man flip his pot!"

To me, this would seem to speak more to the beverage's powers as a diuretic than its qualities for enhancing "male stamina".

Universal Standards on Stereotyping - MC Mong's "Indian Boy" (Year 3, Day 8)

Watch this video. Then we'll talk.

At first, I was appalled. I'm not Native American--or, as the Canadians would say, First Nation--or anything, but it seemed to me the utmost of bad taste. MC Mong, the main artist in this song and, I'll admit, one of my favorites in K-Pop, seems to mock the cultures of the true natives to my native land. He and his cadre wear ridiculous headdresses and dance around like savages in the jungle and the desert and a football game apparently being played in a black hole, all the while hunting down two explorers who dared consider partaking of his treasure horde. Despicable. At the worst, insensitive. At the best, just plain ignorant.

It seemed to me indicative of how Koreans I've met tend to stereotype other cultures.

It didn't help my opinion of it that this is the poster advertising the album.

The hangeul says, in effect, "Mong becomes an Indian boy."

It also didn't help my opinion of it that the first time I saw it, I didn't have the benefit of subtitles. I was in the cafeteria at school, and, as is their custom, the students turned to the Korean MTV equivalent MNET, which incidentally, unlike MTV, actually frequently plays music videos. I felt a little sick watching it but managed to finish my meal.

I went up to my room to figure out what the lyrics for the song were, and for the most part, besides the possibly offending "I am an Indian boy" lines, it is a simple upbeat love song--a boy declaring that he was lost without his girl and that he will always protect her.

And it was here that my gut reaction--my conditioned response as an American bred in a racially diverse environment that shuns all forms of stereotyping--began to recede and my mind began to say, "Well, now wait a moment. Assume charity. What are the words and the images together actually saying? What does it mean for MC Mong to say that he is brothers with Geronimo? What does it mean to be an Indian boy?"

So, let's be charitable for a moment and assume the best of Mr. Mong. Let's assume that he's neither malicious nor ill informed. Let's assume that as in all his videos, he's using caricatures to portray an idea, and that it is our job, as the viewers, to try to understand what he's communicating to us.

An Indian boy would then seem to be:

• A marksman ("My arrow is aimed at your heart.")
  
• Someone who spends a significant amount of time outside (Dancing under the stars, sleeping in the desert, building fires)
• Someone of incredible endurance (his breakfast is kisses from his love)
  
• A globetrotter (going to Alaska, Niagra, the Nile, etc.)
• Someone to be trusted and who will look after his love ("You're the one I'll protect until the end"; "I'll do anything for you")

The imagery holds up with much of this. We see MC Mong's Indian boy as being proficient with archery (so long as he was aiming for his love's head and not her heart...), always outside (with the possible exception of the black hole football game), in various locales worldwide, and almost always in defending or support positions (protecting the treasure from greedy explorers, in the stands as a band member at a sporting event, and as a lineman on the football team).

In fact, as with most of MC Mong's headliner songs, the main image of the song seems to be only slightly related to the actual theme of the song. Stereotypically, we don't think of Native Americans wearing Sioux headdresses living in tropical jungles, sitting at tables, or dancing in deserts. Nor do we associate them with Alaska, Niagara Falls, or the Nile. The same holds true with hip-hop and tie-dye style clothing. What's more, we typically don't associate them with football or marching bands, unless we happen to go to a school or support a professional team with them as our mascots ("And Indians?" "Don't be racist, Timmy, they're called 'Redskins'").

In the end, MC Mong was probably just using the image to convey a story he wanted to tell about a boy meeting a girl and wanting to be with her forever and how fun that can be.

Still, the question must be asked, is using stereotypical images of a culture (or, at least perceived stereotypes, because his formula for creating a stereotypical Native Americans is apparently, "Take any person in the world in any setting. Put feathers on their head.") even for apparently harmless and complimentary purposes to be allowed?

My gut American reaction is still, "No," that we're better off not having to ask this question in the first place, that, in the end, not having this sort of imagery in the consciousness is probably better for harmony between cultures.

But then I think about it. It is fun. It isn't the sort of racist stereotyping where he's actually making fun of someone (a la Dave Chapelle, Carlos Mencia, Chris Rock, Jeff Foxworthy). He seems to have this conception of Native Americans as people who like to have fun. He's not insulting them for that. He's joining them in that. In fairness, I don't know of any culture that doesn't like to have fun. And perhaps, because MC Mong is Korean and I'm an American, he feels comfortable calling himself a fun-loving brother of Geronimo and I don't.

For me it raises questions of the universality of cultural taboos. In other words, are stereotypes taboo in all places at all times for all peoples? Can we impose our standards of what is appropriate, politically correct imagery on other peoples when we don't share a common history? Are we only uncomfortable because we are Americans and have built our country on the backs of whom we whites considered less than ourselves? Are Native Americans even offended? Or are we Americans just ashamed of our past and want to hide our shame behind "staying P.C."? Would the rest of the world say, "Lighten up!"?

That's part of the reason I came to Korea, after all. To get the world's perspective on things we Americans take for granted. I asked my students what they thought of this video. "Teacher, it's just fun."

In the end, I would say this video seems harmless.

But how harmless is it really?