From poor island boy to multi-business entrepreneur, Korean expat plans for more

http://english.yonhapnews.co.kr/news/2013/02/28/0200000000AEN20130228003800315.HTML
By Cho Jae-eun
Contributing writer

LONDON, March 5 (Yonhap) — It’s not every day that you get a pair of iconic, reclusive, but immaculately tailored artists peering through your windows. But when precisely that happened to Lee Ki-chul, at his London store Hurwundeki, the Korean expat-turned-entrepreneur didn’t bat an eye.

“A surprised customer came to me one day, saying that (renowned British artists) Gilbert & George were hanging onto the windowsill, glancing at the shop. They eventually came in and complimented the interior of the shop, especially the stripped walls,” says Lee, at his hair salocafe, near Bethnal Green Station in East London.

“After that day, the pair came almost every day and we all became friends. (Model) Kate Moss and (rock singer) Pete Doherty often came to the clothes shop. It received so much attention when I first opened, it was beyond anything I had ever imagined.”

Lee Ki-chul

Lee Ki-chul poses inside his shop, Hurwundeki, in East London, with a cup of coffee he brewed himself (Photo: Cho Jae-eun)

Sipping a cup of fresh coffee he has brewed, the 45-year-old entrepreneur points to a wooly cape hanging on the wall, swearing that it’s a vintage item from the Napoleonic Era. The cafe portion is packed with uber trendy accessories: stuffed animals, ruggedly cut wooden tables, antique chandeliers — and a sofa wrapped in saekdong (colors used in traditional Korean costume) patchworks.

Hurwundeki, meaning “hair” in the dialect from the Korean island of Jeju, seems to be an amalgamation of life experiences that have influenced Lee — memories of his life growing up on the island, times as a 20-something hair salon owner in Seoul, and a period when Lee was a vintage-loving arts student in London, rummaging through flea markets in search of hidden treasures.

“Now all the cafes in London have these stripped down, unfinished walls, but what influenced me to do this to my walls back when I opened the shop was a childhood ‘trauma’ of sorts,” Lee explains.

“My family didn’t have enough money to paint the walls in our house and I was so embarrassed that I never invited any of my friends to come over. I guess in a way, stripping down the paint in my shop was a sort of therapy for me,” he says, laughing.

A haircut at Hurwundeki

A haircut at Hurwundeki

As a little boy growing up in Andeok, Jeju, Lee says that he felt trapped. “I grew up in the depths of the countryside in Jeju. I felt like the kids I grew up with didn’t dare to dream. It was as if we weren’t allowed to have ambitious dreams and go off and be successful,” he says.

“But I wanted to see the world. I would daydream about giving speeches in some big auditorium, with the U.S. president in attendance.”

Soon after high school, Lee left immediately to go live in Seoul, and at his sister’s insistence, became a hair stylist.

“She kept telling me I had a natural talent for hair. I saw it as my escape from Jeju.”

Clothing at Hurwundeki

Aside from cutting hair, Lee sells clothing by up-and-coming designers at Hurwundeki.

By his late 20s, Lee, now far from his “suffocating” hometown, had a decade’s worth of success being a hair stylist and salon owner in Seoul. This success moved him towards yet the bigger dream of making the Hurwundeki name global. In 2000, he decided to face up to his lifelong ambition — and ultimate fear — of opening a business in London.

“London was, and still is, an extremely important city to me,” he says, listing some British artists and designers like Vidal Sassoon and Alexander McQueen, whom he admired as a young man.

The feeling of being trapped started creeping up on him again in Seoul, as Lee felt himself grow tired of the uniformity of trends, of “looking at the same outfits on the streets, day-in-and-day-out.”
“But as much as I loved and looked up to London, it was also a source of great fear. If I failed in London, my creativity would never really be validated.”

After graduating from the Vidal Sassoon Academy, Lee made the bold move of opening Hurwundeki near Brick Lane, East London, in 2004. His innovative shop, merging hair, fashion and cafe culture, immediately enjoyed local media attention. By 2011, culture magazine Time Out named Hurwundeki one of its top 40 shops in London.

Lee admits that he has always been quite “gifted” in being entrepreneurial. As a student, his first taste of business in London came when he started selling shoes in Portobello Market that his sister bought from Dongdaemun Market in Seoul and sent to him.

With the money from selling these shoes and some money from his salon business in Korea, Lee opened store after store in London, after the first in 2004. By 2010, Lee owned four stores in London under the Hurwundeki name. “At the height of our popularity, the clothing store on Commercial Street had to close its doors so that customers could only enter one at a time,” says Lee.

The business’ rapid ascent, however, came to a grinding halt in the face of the global economic crisis. Forced to close down three of his four shops by 2011, Lee now operates the salon, cafe and clothing shop under one roof.

“The recession was a big hit in the fashion industry and my store, like all brands, suffered,” he says. “It’s hard sometimes. The other day, my wife (who helps around the shop) said to me, ‘I didn’t come to London to wash dishes.’ Any business worth its salt is going to have ups-and-downs. And my business will always be an ongoing process.”
In a strange twist of fate, Lee decided to go back to the place where, as a little boy, he had so wanted to escape from. In an attempt to push his business forward, Lee went back to his roots, opening a restaurant/cafe on Jeju last year named Osorok, which serves up organic dishes using home-grown vegetables Lee grows himself. He says the restaurant/cafe is the first move for the Hurwundeki brand to go global, and that he has been eyeing Beijing as his next destination.

He still misses Korean food, his parents and friends back home. But after 11 years in London, he admits it’s often difficult to readjust to the “Korean” way of doing things.

“I saw my service staff at Osorok being trained and was so shocked that they were expected to bow to customers at a 90 degree angle. It was quite disgusting actually,” he says, his forehead creasing into a frown. “I am not saying I am British but I just wish that the service mentality in Korea was more natural.”

This natural approach, Lee says, is important for him, in his belief that service or entrepreneurship shouldn’t be forced.

“I think customers recognize when service is coming from the heart. And you have to enjoy what you do to present this kind of attitude.

If you work for 14 hours a day but you don’t grow tired of what you do, other people will like what you are doing as well.”

Having dipped his toes into fashion, hair, interior design and food, Lee says he wants to focus more on hair in the future.

“Fashion and design are mature industries. There is not much I can add. However, the hair industry is still relatively young and there is much more room for innovation and improvement,” Lee says.

Regardless of the field of expertise however, Lee says that it is working and being creative that drives him every day.

“Like Yves Saint Laurent did, I want to work until the day I die.”

The 18th Presidential Inaugural Address

“Opening a new Era of Hope”
http://english1.president.go.kr/activity/speeches.php?srh%5Bpage%5D=3&srh%5Bview_mode%5D=detail&srh%5Bseq%5D=2617&srh%5Bdetail_no%5D=1

Park-speech

My fellow Koreans and seven million fellow compatriots overseas,

As I take office as the 18th-term President of the Republic of Korea, I stand before you today determined to open a new era of hope.

I am profoundly grateful to the Korean people for entrusting this historic mission to me. I also thank President Lee Myung-bak, former Presidents, dignitaries who have come from abroad to celebrate this occasion, and other distinguished guests for their presence.

As President of the Republic of Korea, I will live up to the will of the people by achieving economic rejuvenation, the happiness of the people, and the flourishing of our culture.

I will do my utmost to building a Republic of Korea that is prosperous and where happiness is felt by all Koreans.

Fellow citizens,

The Republic of Korea as we know it today has been built on the blood, toil, and sweat of the people.

We have written a new history of extraordinary achievement combining industrialization and democratization based on the unwavering “can do” spirit of our people and matching resolve.

The Korean saga that is often referred to as the “Miracle on the Han River” was written on the heels of our citizens who worked tirelessly in the mines of Germany, in the torrid deserts of the Middle East, in factories and laboratories where the lights were never turned off, and in the freezing frontlines safeguarding our national defense.

This miracle was only possible due to the outstanding caliber of our people and their unstinting devotion to both family and country.

I pay my heartfelt tribute to all fellow Koreans who have made the Republic of Korea what it is today.

Fellow citizens,
Throughout the vortex of our turbulent contemporary history we always prevailed over countless hardships and adversities.

Today, we are confronted anew with a global economic crisis and outstanding security challenges such as North Korea’s nuclear threat.

At the same time, capitalism confronts new challenges in the aftermath of the global financial crisis.

The tasks we face today are unlike any we have confronted before. And they can only be overcome by charting a new pathway by ourselves.

Forging a new path is seldom an easy task.

But I have faith in the Korean people.

I believe in their resilience and the potential of our dynamic nation.

And so I pledge to embark on the making of a “Second Miracle on the Han River” premised on a new era of hope hand-in-hand with the Korean people.

I will usher in a new era of hope whereby the happiness of each citizen becomes the bedrock of our nation’s strength which in turn is shared by and benefits all Koreans.

Economic Revival

My fellow countrymen,
Today, I would like to propose a new way forward fostered on a mutually reinforcing cycle of national advancement and the happiness of our people.

The new administration will usher in a new era of hope premised on a revitalizing economy, the happiness of our people, and the blossoming of our culture.

To begin with, economic revitalization is going to be propelled by a creative economy and economic democratization.

Across the world, we are witnessing an economic paradigm shift.

A creative economy is defined by the convergence of science and technology with industry, the fusion of culture with industry, and the blossoming of creativity in the very borders that were once permeated by barriers.

It is about going beyond the rudimentary expansion of existing markets, and creating new markets and new jobs by building on the bedrock of convergence.

At the very heart of a creative economy lie science technology and the IT industry, areas that I have earmarked as key priorities.

I will raise our science and technology to world-class levels. And a creative economy will be brought to fruition by applying the results of such endeavors across the board.

The new administration’s Ministry of Future Planning and Science will be tasked to lead the emergence of a creative economy in tandem with this new paradigm.

People are the nucleus of a creative economy. We live in an age where a single individual can raise the value of an entire nation and even help in rescuing the economy.

New opportunities to serve their country will be opened to numerous talented Koreans thriving across the global village. And to those who are equally enabled at the home front, efforts will be enhanced to allow them to become convergence leaders imbued with creativity and passion as pillars of a future Korea.

In order for a creative economy to truly blossom, economic democratization must be achieved.

I believe strongly that only when a fair market is firmly in place, can everyone dream of a better future and work to their fullest potential.

One of my critical economic goals is to ensure that anyone that works hard can stand on their own two feet and where, through the support of policies designed to strengthen small and medium-sized enterprises, such businesses can prosper alongside large companies.

By rooting out various unfair practices and rectifying the misguided habits of the past which have frustrated small business owners and small and medium-sized enterprises, we will provide active support to ensure that everyone can live up to their fullest potential, regardless of where they work or what they do for a living.

It is precisely when the major players in our economy come together as one and pool their strengths that we can bring happiness to the people and enhance our nation’s competitiveness.

It is on this foundation that I will breathe new energy into our economy and realize a “Second Miracle on the Han River” that culminates in the happiness of the Korean people.

Happiness of the People

Fellow Koreans,
No matter how much the country advances, such gains would be meaningless if the lives of the people remained insecure.

A genuine era of happiness is only possible when we aren’t clouded by the uncertainties of aging and when bearing and raising children is truly considered a blessing.

No citizen should be left to fear that he or she might not be able to meet the basic requirements of life.

A new paradigm of tailored welfare will free citizens from anxieties and allow them to prosper in their own professions, maximize their potentials, and also contribute to the nation’s development.

I believe that enabling people to fulfill their dreams and opening a new era of hope begins with education.

We need to provide active support so that education brings out the best of an individual’s latent abilities and we need to establish a new system that fosters national development through the stepping stones of each individual’s capabilities.

There is a saying that someone you know is not as good as someone you like, and someone you like is not as good as someone you enjoy being with.

The day of true happiness will only come when an increasing number of people are able to enjoy what they learn, and love what they do.

The most important asset for any country is its people.

The future holds little promise when individual ability is stifled and when the only name of the game is rigid competition that smothers creativity.

Ever since childhood, I have held the conviction that harnessing the potential of every student will be the force that propels a nation forward.

Our educational system will be improved so that students can discover their talents and strengths, fulfill their precious dreams and are judged on that bases. This will enable them to make the best use of their talent upon entering society.

There is no place for an individual’s dreams, talents or hopes in a society where everything is determined by one’s academic background and list of credentials.

We will transform our society from one that stresses academic credentials to one that is merit-based so that each individual’s dreams and flair can bear fruit.

It goes without saying that protecting the lives and ensuring the safety of the people is a critical element of a happy nation.

The new government will focus its efforts on building a safe society where women, people with disabilities, or anyone else for that matter, can feel at ease as they carry on with their lives, no matter where they are in the country.

We will build a society where fair laws prevail rather than the heavy hand of power and where the law serves as a shield of justice for society’s underprivileged.

A Flourishing Culture

Fellow Koreans!
In the 21st century, culture is power. It is an era where an individual’s imagination becomes creative contents.

Across the world, the “Korean Wave” is welcomed with great affection that not only triggers happiness and joy but one that instills abiding pride in all Koreans.

This is a result of a foundation created by the convergence of both tangible and intangible heritages of five thousand years of Korea’s cultural splendor as well as our spiritual ethos.

The new administration will elevate the sanctity of our spiritual ethos so that they can permeate every facet of society and in so doing, enable all of our citizens to enjoy life enriched by culture.

We will harness the innate value of culture in order to heal social conflicts and bridging cultural divides separating different regions, generations, and social strata.

We will build a nation that becomes happier through culture, where culture becomes a fabric of daily life, and a welfare system that embodies cultural values.

Creative activities across wide-ranging genres will be supported, while the contents industry which merges culture with advanced technology will be nurtured. In so doing, we will ignite the engine of a creative economy and create new jobs.

Together with the Korean people we will foster a new cultural enrichment or a culture that transcends ethnicity and languages, overcomes ideologies and customs, contributes to the peaceful development of humanity, and is connected by the ability to share happiness.

My Fellow Koreans,
Happiness can only flourish when people feel comfortable and secure. I pledge to you today that I will not tolerate any action that threatens the lives of our people and the security of our nation.

North Korea’s recent nuclear test is a challenge to the survival and future of the Korean people, and there should be no mistake that the biggest victim will be none other than North Korea itself.

I urge North Korea to abandon its nuclear ambitions without delay and embark on the path to peace and shared development.

It is my sincere hope that North Korea can progress together as a responsible member of the international community instead of wasting its resources on nuclear and missile development and continuing to turn its back to the world in self-imposed isolation.

There is no doubt that we are faced today with an extremely serious security environment but neither can we afford to remain where we are.

Through a trust-building process on the Korean Peninsula I intend to lay the groundwork for an era of harmonious unification where all Koreans can lead more prosperous and freer lives and where their dreams can come true.

I will move forward step-by-step on the basis of credible deterrence to build trust between the South and the North.

Trust can be built through dialogue and by honoring promises that have already been made. It is my hope that North Korea will abide by international norms and make the right choice so that the trust-building process on the Korean Peninsula can move forward.

The era of happiness that I envision is one that simultaneously unlocks an era of happiness on the Korean Peninsula while also contributing to ushering in an era of happiness throughout the global community.

To ease tensions and conflicts and further spread peace and cooperation in Asia, I will work to strengthen trust with countries in the region including the United States, China, Japan, Russia and other Asian and Oceanic countries.

Moreover, I envision a Korea that shares more deeply the travails of others while also contributing to the resolution of key global issues.

Fellow citizens!
Today I assume my duties as the 18th-term President of the Republic of Korea. Let me assure you that I will journey with the people who have bestowed this tremendous responsibility upon me to truly open a new era of hope.

The responsibility for governing the nation falls on the shoulders of the President, and the fate of the nation is determined by the people. I ask for your strength and support as we take the Republic of Korea on a new path.

We stand on the threshold of a new era where our nation and people must walk in unison and where the nation’s development and the people’s happiness jointly form a virtuous cycle.

The success of our journey hinges on mutual confidence and trust between the government and the people, and their ability to move forward in partnership.

I will earn the trust of the people by ensuring that our government remains clean, transparent and competent. I will endeavor to shed popular distrust of government and strive to elevate the capital of trust.

I humbly ask for your support, wherever you may be, not only in the service of your own individual interests, but also in answering the call of the common good.

In the needy days of our past, we shared with each other whatever we had. Even in the midst of their hardship, our ancestors had the generosity of mind to leave aside a few persimmons for the magpies during the harvest season. We are a people that had long led a life of communal sharing.

Reviving that spirit once again and building a society flowing with responsibility and consideration for others will allow us to be confident that a new era of happiness that all of us dream of is truly within our reach.

Such a spirit will offer a new model for capitalism that is in search of a new compass and set an example for addressing the uncertain future that confronts our world.

I ask that you place your trust in me and my government, and join us along the path to a new future.

Let us all work together towards a new era of happiness and hope, so that we can all become partners in another miracle or a new chapter in the “Miracle on the Han River.”

Thank you very much.

Coming to Britain: Koreans make a home in the heart of England

http://english.yonhapnews.co.kr/n_feature/2013/01/03/49/4901000000AEN20130103007300315F.HTML
By Niels Footman
Contributing writer
LONDON, Jan. 8 (Yonhap) — Arriving in the United Kingdom as a single mother with three young children in the late 1980s, Hyeon-ja Jo harbored great expectations.

“I’d thought that Britain would be a great place,” says Jo. “But in fact, when I got here it was rather disappointing. Arriving at Gatwick (London’s second-largest airport), it felt like Gimpo (an international airport in Seoul): small, kind of provincial. Americans are so tall, but British men … weren’t.”

Twenty-four years later, despite her initial misgivings, Jo remains firmly in the U.K. Arriving in the very year South Korea was announcing its own accession onto the world stage with the 1988 Seoul Olympics, she settled in southern England, where she subsequently remarried, raised her family, and built up a successful restaurant business that now employs all of her children.

Hyeon-ja Jo, a 25-year resident of the U.K., stands outside her restaurant Cah Chi in the Raynes Park area of Greater London. (Photos courtesy of Niels Footman)

Hyeon-ja Jo, a 25-year resident of the U.K., stands outside her restaurant Cah Chi in the Raynes Park area of Greater London. (Photos courtesy of Niels Footman)

“For 13 years I had a virtual monopoly on ‘sundae’ in the U.K.,” she says, thus ensuring a steady stream of home-sick Koreans hungry for the pungent blood sausage. Today, however, thanks to Korean food’s growing profile and a spot for Jo’s restaurant, Cah Chi, on the prestigious Time Out list of London’s top 50 restaurants, so many Brits visit on weekends that “you wouldn’t even know it’s a Korean restaurant.”

While the longevity of Jo’s stay may be unusual, her status as an expat Korean in the U.K. no longer is. Britain is now home to somewhere between 22,000 and 40,000 South Koreans, depending on your source. Of that number, a sizable chunk live in England’s southeast, with as many as 15,000 residing in or around a single, otherwise unremarkable town in London’s suburbs: New Malden.

Surprisingly, given its decidedly low profile in comparison with Koreatowns elsewhere, New Malden is now reckoned to be the largest Korean community in Europe, with roots stretching back almost 60 years. Though its origins as a Korean enclave are hazy, Winny Yoon, who works at the Korean Residents Society (KRS), says that New Malden initially attracted Korean residents due to its proximity to Wimbledon, where the early South Korean ambassadors lived. Next came big Korean companies and their managers, followed by seconded staff, adventurers and entrepreneurs, and a steady stream of students.

Jin Mi, on New Malden High Street, is one of the many eateries catering to New Malden's large community of Korean expatriates.

Jin Mi, on New Malden High Street, is one of the many eateries catering to New Malden’s large community of Korean expatriates.

Today, New Malden is a distinctly London-esque type of oddity: a little slice of a far-off culture, slotted right in among the trappings of Britishness. On New Malden High Street, amid the obligatory Greggs bakery and Tesco and Waitrose supermarkets, are restaurants with names like Asadal and Sorabol, a Park Jun Beauty Lab, a noraebang (karaoke) and, of course, a smattering of hagwon (educational institutes). Nor is New Malden’s embrace of Korea restricted to the southern half of the peninsula: According to Yoon, many of the shops and restaurants there are staffed by some of the estimated 2,000 or so North Koreans to have gained refugee status in the U.K.

For all its growth over the last two decades, New Malden and the Korean community remain newer and less entrenched than much of the Korean diaspora elsewhere in the world. However, a significant number of Koreans are choosing to come to the U.K. of their own volition, or elect to stay here once they’ve arrived.

A common sight in Korea but rather less in the U.K.: a branch of the HanaTour travel agency in New Malden

A common sight in Korea but rather less in the U.K.: a branch of the HanaTour travel agency in New Malden

Mijeong Cho came to England 12 years ago with her husband, who was working for the elevator company OTIS. Her husband now runs his own removal company, catering largely to Koreans, which has suffered of late thanks largely to tightened visa laws stemming the arrival of new immigrants. But Cho has no plans to leave, and is now applying for a British passport.

“I like living here, but we’re here mainly for our kids’ education,” she says. “It’s a big thing for me as a mum knowing that my kids aren’t stressed at school.”

Housewife Jeong-yeon Choi agrees. “In Korea, competition is so severe, but in the U.K., there isn’t any competition,” she says, in a statement that will surely come as a surprise to British mums. “It’s great that children can just learn naturally.”

However long Korean immigrants stay, life in the U.K. is not without its challenges. Complaints abound of officious bureaucracy — especially regarding business regulations — and poor or just painfully slow service. “If you order a bed in Britain, it can take six weeks. In Korea, it’d take 30 minutes,” says restaurant owner Jo.

Above all, though, is the vexed issue of communication.

Two years ago, at a meeting of the Kingston Racial Equality Council (New Malden is located in the borough of Kingston), the incumbent member of parliament Ed Davey said that because much of the Korean population is transitory, “they feel less of a need to integrate and are not as open. That is a challenge for us.” His Conservative Party challenger, Helen Whateley, added: “People on the doorstep express quite a lot of resentment about some of (the Koreans) because they have not learned English.”

While acknowledging their difficulties mastering English — Jo, despite her many years in the U.K., still speaks of her “horror” at speaking English — Koreans living in the area have their own take on the obstacles to integration.

“It’s not easy to get along with British because they don’t open themselves up,” says Misun Jang, who teaches art history classes at the Korean Community Center in Raynes Park, near New Malden. “I think English women can be quite moody and British men don’t show themselves.”

“Koreans in New Malden would like to integrate, but they don’t know the laws well,” adds Jo. “And because we’re immigrants, our jobs aren’t great and life is busy, so it can be tough integrating.”

Located in southwest London, New Malden is increasingly known as the epicenter of Korean life in the U.K.

Located in southwest London, New Malden is increasingly known as the epicenter of Korean life in the U.K.

“Some other nationalities get heavy government support, but Koreans don’t like to ask for support: we are too proud,” suggests Yoon from the KRS. “We are now trying to break down these barriers with local groups, so we’ll see.”

Despite the misconceptions, U.K.-based Koreans such as Yoon seem to believe that British people are — thanks to football stars such as Ji-sung Park and the growing profile of Korean food and products — growing somewhat more aware of their culture. And for a small but growing cohort of immigrant Koreans, Britain, and especially New Malden, is moving beyond being a career step, a place of study or a tourist destination, and becoming, simply, home.

“New Malden’s homey and comfortable for me, and my house is there, too,” says Jo. “It can be a little limited for youngsters — everyone knows everyone else, so they have to watch what they do. But for oldies like me, it’s just right.”

nielsfootman@gmail.com
(END)

South Korean host bars – for women

http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/magazine-19570750

Red Model Bar

South Korea’s rapid economic development has meant some startling changes within its conservative social structure, including the rise of so-called host bars, where wealthy women pay the equivalent of thousands of dollars for male company.

In the dim light of an underground room, a dozen perfectly groomed young men kneel in rows, calling out their names.

Muscular, with shiny boy-band hairstyles, they cram side by side into the narrow space, waiting for us to make our choice. Outside in the corridor, more of their colleagues are arriving for another night at work. It is 2am, and we are their first customers.

Hidden beneath the pavements of Seoul’s ritziest postcode, Gangnam, the men at Bar 123 are part of a growing industry, which grew out of the long traditions of Japanese geisha and Korea’s kisaeng houses but with one crucial difference – the customers here are all women.

Known as “host bars”, these all-night drinking rooms offer female customers the chance to select and pay for male companions, sometimes at a cost of thousands of pounds a night.

One of the women I meet at Bar 123 is Minkyoung, a waitressing manager for a five-star hotel. She says she comes to host bars once or twice a month.

Minkyoung is very pretty and her clothes are immaculate. She does not look like someone who would need to pay for male company. But the allure of host bars can be subtle. Here, she says, she has more attention from her male companions, more choice and, crucially, more control.

“In regular bars the guys who drink with me have only one goal – to have a one-night stand. But I don’t want that, so that’s why I come here, I want to have fun,” she says.

Hosts are hired by bars like this one to provide companionship and entertainment. Officially that means pouring drinks for their customers, talking and dancing with them, and singing karaoke.

Sex is not officially on offer in most host bars. That would be illegal but even Minkyoung seems happy to touch and flirt with her host, and the men here estimate that around half the customers want to pay for sex, either on or off the premises.

James has been working at Bar 123 for a couple of years. In Korean culture, he says, there is a lot of pride and negotiating a price for sex is never done explicitly. Instead, he tells me, it is all down to the host’s own assessment.

“The guys here are pros – we know what we’re doing,” he says.

“After talking to a girl for an hour we basically know how much money she makes and what she does for a living. We’ve already analysed her personality and what she’s willing to give.”

James and other hosts say their customers include some of South Korea’s elite, and that the money and perks on offer are unbelievable. One client James met, during his first week in the job, asked him to sign himself over to her for two years.

“She said ‘let’s make a contract. I’ve got this piece of paper and I’ve numbered it 1-5. Whatever you write down next to those numbers, I’ll get you.'”

James says at the time he took it as a joke but since found out the same woman spent £60,000 ($97,000) on another host.

“If it happened now, I’d do it – I’d be thinking straight.”

Ironically perhaps, host bars grew out of one of Korea’s most entrenched and, some say, misogynist business traditions – the room salon. These are private drinking rooms where groups of men select, and are served by, attractive female hostesses.

It was the hostesses’ need to let off steam after work, says veteran host Kim Dong-hee, that created the initial demand for host bars, with all-male staff.

“What these hostesses want is to [make us] do the same thing they had to do in their own workplace. These girls are forced to do things they don’t want to do for money.

“I think a lot of them are in pain, and a lot feel lonely. Simply put, they want to buy our time and our bodies.”

Hostesses still make up a large percentage of the customers at host bars here, but at Bar 123, for example, up to 40% of the customers on a given night are now from other walks of life.

The reasons for that growing appeal are tied up in South Korea’s rapid economic rise. Within 50 years, the country shifted from post-war devastation to OECD member.

But, according to Jasper Kim, head of the Asia-Pacific Global Research Group in Seoul, something important was lost along the way.

“I think that with all this fast growth comes fast change, and Koreans just don’t know how to cope with it. Increasingly, capitalism is overtaking basic societal norms that you would expect a couple of decades ago.”

Jasper Kim says South Korea’s notoriously long working hours have left many Korean women feeling lonely, while the country’s technical advance has left many people feeling detached.

“The human element of Korean society that existed before simply doesn’t exist today. People are focused on technology, people are focused on their jobs, they aren’t focused on human relations anymore.

“In many ways, Korean society today kind of reminds me of 1960s society in the US, where it’s on the verge of some type of cultural revolution.”

The grandfather of Seoul’s host bar scene, Kim Dong-hee, agrees that many of the women who come to host bars are not paying for sex but for companionship, which is why he opened a new chain of freshly-marketed outlets aimed at the mainstream market – called Red Model Bars.

“Men want to have visual pleasure and want to feel things, they’re tactile. Women like to talk and to listen. And that’s why I thought of opening a bar like this – a kind of dialogue bar.”

Red Model Bars are different to traditional host bars in one key respect – there is a no-touching rule. Hosts sit on one side of the table, customers on the other, and no physical contact is allowed, and certainly no sex.

Perhaps as a result there is a lack of furtiveness among the people who work or drink here – the lights are low, the decor mainly dark red and the space is divided into discreet booths, but it is an open-plan room and hosts and customers are divided in each booth by a large table.

This new business model depends entirely on women paying the equivalent of hundreds or even thousands of dollars to talk to good-looking young men over a drink. Still, it seems to be working – three new branches are due to open this year.

Sitting at a table at one end of the bar was one of their regular customers, a florist called Kim Nayu. She tells me she comes here every day to meet her favourite host and discuss issues she is having at work.

The price for this slice of male attention is $487-650 (£300-400) a day.

“Talking to friends would be cheaper” she admits, “but they don’t listen as much. They’re busy, and in a hurry to talk about themselves. Here, people will pay attention to me and they’ll listen to me.”

“I spend a lot of money but it’s worth it for what I get emotionally. People pay to go to see a psychologist or psychiatrist, so it’s similar but less stressful.”

Nayu’s favourite host Sung-il says it can be hard to keep his personal and professional life separate.

“Honestly I’d be lying if I say I haven’t been tempted to take things further with some customers, because we’re human, we’re men, but there are rules.”

One of his customers talked a lot to her husband about him and when the three of them met, Sung-il and the husband became close friends.

“No one hides – the workers don’t hide that they work here, and customers can be open too.”

This openness is posing a new kind of challenge to South Korean society, different from the sometimes seedy underworld of traditional host bars and their hinterland of male prostitution.

By offering women a “respectable” way to challenge traditional gender roles and flex their economic power, these new bars ask questions of Korean society that are becoming harder to ignore.

A Writer Evokes Loss on South Korea’s Path to Success

http://www.nytimes.com/2012/09/08/world/asia/shin-kyung-sook-mines-south-koreas-sense-of-loss.html

LIKE so many South Korean parents at the time, Shin Kyung-sook’s mother saw education as her daughter’s best chance of escaping poverty and backbreaking work in the rice fields. So in 1978 she took her 15-year-old daughter to Seoul, where Ms. Shin would lie about her age to get a factory job while attending high school at night to pursue her dream of becoming a novelist.

Seoul-bound trains at the time, like the one mother and daughter boarded that night, picked up many young rural South Koreans along the way — part of the migration that fueled South Korea’s industrialization but forever changed its traditional family life.

It is that social upheaval that Ms. Shin evoked in her most famous novel to date, “Please Look After Mom,” which earned her the 2011 Man Asian Literary Prize and a commercial success attained by few other Korean writers. (Sales in South Korea passed two million this spring, and the book has been published in 19 other countries, including the United States.)

That book and a more recent one, “I Will Be Right There,” about friendship and love set in the country’s political turmoil of the 1980s, are part of a body of work over three decades that has set Ms. Shin apart as one of the most accomplished chroniclers of modern South Korea.

“In her novels, readers have the chance to pause and reflect upon the other side of their society’s breakneck race for economic growth, what they have lost in that pursuit and upon people who were left behind in the mad rush,” said Shin Soo-jeong, a professor of Korean literature at Myongji University in Seoul.

In “Please Look After Mom,” an elderly woman from the countryside travels to Seoul to visit her adult children and gets lost in what is quite literally a mad rush: the scramble to get on a Seoul subway. Reviewers have called her disappearance a metaphor for the profound sense of loss in a society that hurtled from an agrarian dictatorship to an industrialized democracy within a single and often tumultuous generation.

That feeling has not overwhelmed South Koreans’ pride in their country’s accomplishments, notably its rise from abject poverty to the world’s 13th-largest economy. But the sense of loss taps into a growing unease over some of the costs of that success, especially a widening gap between rich and poor and a generation of elderly people left largely to fend for themselves as their adult children work in cities.

The filial guilt that suffuses the novel is universal, but also has a particularly Korean spin.

Until a generation ago in South Korea, at least one adult child — usually the eldest son and his family — lived with aging parents until their deaths. Now, a growing number of older people live alone in their rural villages or in the nursing homes that are springing up across the country. Often, they have little money left, having invested their savings in their children’s educations with the expectation that the children would prosper and eventually care for them.

The children, meanwhile, living in a hypercompetitive society where people work some of the longest hours in the world, often lament that they are too harried to visit their elderly parents. Many also fear using too much vacation time, afraid of being seen as disloyal to their companies.

IN what Ms. Shin says is probably the most important sentence in her novel, the missing mother expresses what many guilt-ridden readers imagine as their own mothers’ sense of helplessness at having been effectively abandoned by their children. In a scene in which the old woman imagines meeting her own dead mother, she wonders: “Did Mom know? That I, too, needed her my entire life?”

Ms. Shin’s life, which tracked the trajectory of her country’s rise, prepared her well for her role as an interpreter of her generation. Born in the countryside like so many characters in her novels, Ms. Shin, 49, now lives in an expensive residential district in Seoul. Her husband is a college professor as well as a poet and literary critic. They have no children.

From an early age, she was a voracious reader, hiding herself away with books her elder brothers brought home. (She was the fourth of six children.) By the time she was 15, she was increasingly certain she wanted to write for a living.

After their arrival in Seoul on that night train in 1978, her mother left her in the care of an older brother in a crammed room in a slum. While he worked in a government office by day and attended college at night, Ms. Shin worked in an audio and television parts factory and attended high school in the evenings.

She was one of the youngest employees in the factory, where she witnessed the labor discontent that sometimes rocked South Korea as its economy galloped ahead but many workers toiled in sweatshop conditions.

“The girl sitting next to me at the night school had no fingerprints; she worked all day wrapping candies in a confectionery,” Ms. Shin said in an interview. “Most of my classmates sent part of their meager wages back home to support their little brothers’ and sisters’ education. When they came to class, they were so tired most of them dozed.”

At her own factory, a clash involving one of the country’s growing number of labor unions turned violent as managers deployed their own security guards, who joined with the police in cracking down on workers organizing for higher pay and better conditions.

Ms. Shin stayed inside, amid the idled conveyor belts, taking her mind off the mayhem by copying a new novel about the urban poor in longhand.

In the end, Ms. Shin was the only one in her high school class to win admission to college, as a creative writing major. She eventually wrote about life at the factory in “A Lone Room,” one of her most acclaimed novels. Its French translation won the Prix de l’Inaperçu in 2009.

“I wonder what would have become of me in those days if I hadn’t had the goal of becoming a writer to hang on to,” she said. “I was determined that one day I would write about what I saw and felt.”

FOR several years after college, she supported her writing with odd jobs: writing scripts for a classical music radio station and reading books to blind people. But by 1993, she was successful enough to be able to write novels and short stories full time.

She also was able to fulfill a personal promise: to repay her own mother’s sacrifices for her children. The day they went to Seoul, she remembers, her mother’s face was etched with weariness.

“I promised myself then that one day I would write a beautiful book for Mom,” she said.

That book, “Please Look After Mom,” solidified her standing as one of South Korea’s finest living novelists and won her accolades.

Her mother’s reaction was decidedly more muted, typical of a generation of women who pushed their children hard to succeed but were accustomed to restraining their own emotions, even when those children met or exceeded their family’s high expectations.

As Ms. Shin recounted, “She only said, ‘My dear, you have done well.’ ”

A North Korean Corleone

http://www.nytimes.com/2012/03/04/opinion/sunday/a-north-korean-corleone.html

WHAT kind of deal do you make with a 20-something who just inherited not only a country, but also the mantle of one of the world’s most sophisticated crime families? When Kim Jong-un, who is thought to be 28 or 29, became North Korea’s leader in December after the death of his father, Kim Jong-il, he became the de facto head of a mafia state.

How the new leader combines the roles of head of state and mafia don will influence the regime’s future behavior. Crime bosses have different incentives, and dealing with them requires different policies. And any deal — including last week’s agreement by North Korea to suspend its nuclear program in exchange for American food aid — will eventually falter if that reality is ignored.

Kim Jong-un confronts the same problem faced by every dictator: how to generate enough money to pay off the small group of elite supporters — army generals, party and family — who keep him in power. Other autocrats use oil wealth or parcel out whole industries to cronies.

But whoever rules North Korea has less to work with than most. The country defaulted in the 1970s, losing access to international credit, and Soviet subsidies ended with the cold war. In the 1990s, the founder and “eternal president,” Kim Il-sung, died just as a series of natural disasters devastated food production. The country has been an economic and humanitarian basket case ever since.

Kim Jong-il, who began training to run the country in the 1970s and inherited it after his father’s death, came up with an unconventional solution: state-sponsored organized crime. Counterfeit cigarettes and medicine, drugs, insurance fraud, fake money, trafficking people and endangered species — for decades, the Kim regime has done it all. Its operations became so extensive and well coordinated that American officials nicknamed it the “Soprano state,” after the hit HBO television series.

In the 1970s, after the default, North Korea used diplomats as drug mules to keep embassies running. When that got them kicked out of multiple countries and the economy tanked in the 1990s, Kim Jong-il began producing drugs at home, thereby avoiding a major cost plaguing drug lords elsewhere: law enforcement.

He managed these operations through Bureau 39, a mysterious office under the Central Committee of the Korean Workers’ Party. But to create plausible deniability, he outsourced distribution to Russian mafia, Japanese yakuza and Chinese triad gangs, who met North Korean military forces for drug drops at sea. The regime also manufactured the world’s best counterfeit dollars — so good that they reportedly forced the Treasury to redesign the $100 bill — and used a crime ring connected to the Official Irish Republican Army, a Marxist offshoot of the I.R.A., to launder them in Europe. They even made fake Viagra.

The Agreed Framework that froze North Korea’s nuclear program in October 1994 didn’t stop these activities; they actually increased. Despite its other benefits, the framework didn’t address the fundamental hard currency needs of the North Korean leadership.

This criminal legacy means that Kim Jong-un has even more on his plate than one might think. In addition to running a country that is an economic and humanitarian disaster and a geopolitical hot spot, he also has to manage a global criminal racket. That’s a lot for any 20-something to handle. (As “Sopranos” fans know, A. J.’s taking over for Tony might not have been good for business.)

Despite the seemingly stable transition so far, Kim Jong-un is under pressure. Elite party members who supported his father will be skeptical of his untested ability to fulfill his side of their cash-for-support bargain. And North Korea needs more money than usual this year to celebrate the anniversaries of Kim Il-sung and Kim Jong-il. (In the ’70s, one of the first things Kim Jong-il used foreign currency for was a campaign to glorify his father.) Any sign that Kim Jong-un can’t satisfy supporters could crack the facade of elite solidarity.

What’s an aspiring kingpin to do?

First, find the money. Kim Jong-un seems to have done that. One of the last photos released of Kim Jong-il shows him riding a supermarket escalator. Behind him are Kim Jong-un and Jon Il-chun, manager of the infamous Bureau 39.

Second, control the people who earn the money. Illicit activity brings the risk of freelancing, especially when you’re forced to let others do the distribution. As North Korea outsourced the drug trade, its profit margins dropped — and more and more insiders skimmed off the system to line their pockets. Today, reports indicate that methamphetamine is widely used in North Korea (partly because it dulls hunger pains), and the state is cracking down on the trade it once monopolized. Even Kim Jong-il couldn’t maintain perfect control and had to send operatives abroad to retrieve misbehaving agents. These are delicate tasks easily botched by a novice.

Finally, keep the money coming. Criminal activity was never North Korea’s ultimate objective; the aim was always hard currency. Kim Jong-un needs cash without political conditions to stay in power. But there aren’t many good options for getting it these days, which is why North Korea is likely to pursue new and expanded forms of illicit activity.

Criminal activities are attractive because other sources of money have strings attached. Remittances from defectors, which have risen recently, don’t go to leaders, and they let in information. North Korea could bank on economic reform or Chinese aid, but reform won’t necessarily provide money for the elite, and aid makes Pyongyang uneasily dependent on Chinese patronage.

The cardinal fear of national security experts — which partly motivated last week’s agreement — is that Pyongyang will make money through nuclear proliferation. After all, North Korea is alleged to have helped build the Syrian nuclear reactor that Israel destroyed in 2007. But it may be hard for North Korea to find a buyer; tests of its plutonium warheads have been a questionable technical success, and their uranium-enrichment program may not be advanced enough to make them an attractive seller.

That leaves crime. Last week’s deal does not change the probability that North Korea will engage in it. And new lines of business probably won’t look like the old ones; North Korea’s schemes are creative and highly adaptable.

When drugs and counterfeit dollars got too much exposure, the regime shifted toward cigarettes and insurance fraud. Last summer, South Korean authorities discovered North Korea’s involvement in a hacking ring that exploited online gaming sites to win points and exchange them for cash, making $6 million in two years. Given that cybercriminals across the world gross over $100 billion annually, a country with decent cyberwarfare capabilities could probably do well for itself.

Or could North Korea go legit? Publicly at least, there haven’t been major seizures of its drugs or counterfeit currency in several years, leading analysts to speculate that targeting the country’s illicit finances successfully crippled those particular earning schemes. And Kim Jong-il’s death does give North Korea an opportunity to get out of the game.

BUT legitimacy won’t solve Kim Jong-un’s problem. Right now his survival is guaranteed by hard currency, and the best source of it is illicit activity. That’s why previous American efforts sought to shut off these activities: to convince the regime it had to reform itself to survive.

That didn’t go quite far enough. Shutting down those activities works only so long as North Korea can’t find new ones. The key to survival was not any one illicit activity but the ability to adapt from one to another — an ability that, with Kim Jong-il gone, likely rests with just a few trusted people. Those people, their loyalties and their relationships are now Kim Jong-un’s biggest vulnerability. If North Korea loses its capacity to adapt, it will lose the ability to make money illicitly — and will have to choose reform.

For America to make successful deals with North Korea, we must first grasp that its leader faces not just a dictator’s problems, but those of a mafia boss. And if you make a deal with the Godfather, you must not overlook the interests of the consigliere standing behind him.

Sheena Chestnut Greitens is a doctoral candidate in government at Harvard and a fellow at the United States Institute of Peace and at the Miller Center, University of Virginia.

Thug for Life

http://www.koreatimes.co.kr/www/news/biz/2012/02/123_104180.html
Hanwha avoids delisting, but unruly boss could be its ruin

By Kim Tong-hyung

The widening fraud and embezzlement scandal surrounding Hanwha Chairman Kim Seung-youn further disgraces the legacy of one of Korea’s richest men and touches off questions on whether his waywardness is beginning to take a toll on the company. / Korea Times file

The widening fraud and embezzlement scandal surrounding Hanwha Chairman Kim Seung-youn further disgraces the legacy of one of Korea’s richest men and touches off questions on whether his waywardness is beginning to take a toll on the company. / Korea Times file

The massive corruption scandal surrounding Hanwha Chairman Kim Seung-youn cements his status as Korea’s most loathsome business figure and underlines the fragility of the company’s future under its wayward owner.

Hanwha, one of the country’s top-10 business groups, breathed a sigh of relief Sunday after the Korea Exchange opted not to delist the group’s holding company in a much-anticipated decision, despite Kim potentially facing a lengthy prison term over widening fraud and embezzlement charges. However, the damage to the confidence in the conglomerate’s future could be irreversible.

Kim, who recently turned 60, was indicted last year for unlawfully breaching Hanwha’s corporate coffers to plug losses from a number of ill-advised business projects he had been running personally on the side. The Seoul Western District Prosecutors’ Office last week said it would demand a nine-year jail term for Kim atop of a 150 billion won (about $134 million) fine.

The murky allegations surrounding Kim come at a time when the families behind the country’s chaebol, or family-owned conglomerates, are facing increasing scrutiny for abusing corporate wealth as politicians move faster to massage voters’ egos as poll days near.

Kim has been denying the charges against him, but not many seem willing to grant him the benefit of the doubt when he has more baggage than an airport terminal. And as rich as he is, he won’t be able to pay enough goons to find and assault every critic.

“Until now, prosecutors have been politically prevented from properly punishing wrongdoings of chaebol chairmen. As in tough times, they would say we are making it worse, and in good times, they would say we are spoiling the mood,’’ a senior prosecution official told reporters.

“If we continue to make excuses to let chaebol leaders find an easy way out, this country has no future.’’

Korea certainly has developed a reputation for employing lax justice on chaebol leaders. Samsung Electronics Chairman Lee Kun-hee, Hyundai Automotive Chairman Chung Mong-koo and SK Chairman Chey Tae-won are among the corporate bigwigs pardoned in recent years for a broad range of crimes that include illegal wealth transfers, tax evasion, bribing and embezzlement.

However, the leash apparently isn’t long enough for some tycoons like Hanwha’s Kim and SK’s Chey, back on the grill for allegedly abusing corporate wealth to soften personal losses from futures investment, a duo leading a list of CEOs who appear to have blown their second chances or even their third.

Interestingly, Hanwha and SK both have a lot in common in terms of where they are as a business group. They both benefited from their strength in the domestic market, with Hanwha excelling in chemicals, explosives and financial services and SK dominating the telecommunications and energy sector.

Despite this, the companies have been struggling mightily to rebuild themselves on the global scale and the dual reputation of their leaders as successful businessmen and troublemakers certainly doesn’t help.

Since succeeding his late father, Kim Chong-hee, at the helm of Hanwha in 1981, Kim has developed a character that is more frequently compared to Don Corelone than Jack Welch.

In 1993, Kim became the first leader of a top-10 business group ever to be arrested after prosecutors charged him for smuggling dollars to help purchase a lavish mansion in Los Angeles.

Kim was also questioned by prosecutors during an investigation of Hanwha between 2004 and 2005 over suspicions that he created a slush fund of about 9 billion won and used the money to bribe politicians ahead of the group’s acquisition of Korea Life Insurance in 2002.

Kim’s most famous dust off with the law came in 2007 when he had his bodyguards kidnap and beat up some bar workers who had attacked his son, and at the heat of the moment, assaulting one of the victims himself with a metal pipe. He was convicted for the incident but was pardoned by President Lee Myung-bak the following year.

The current investigation on Kim is based on allegations that he spent hundreds of billions of won in company funds from 2004 to 2006 to repay hidden private business debts. Prosecutors since last year have been tracing the money flowing in and out of some borrowed-name bank accounts Kim has been controlling.

The investigation is a public relations disaster for Hanwha and could end up hurting the firm. The conglomerate has been scrambling to secure revenue sources aside from its bread-and-butter businesses in chemicals and explosives. Its attempt to acquire a controlling stake in Daewoo Shipbuilding & Marine Engineering fell through in 2009.

When opposites attract (a preview of Ahn Eun-me’s Princess Bari at the 2011 Edinburgh Festival)

Tradition and the avant-garde clash in Korean choreographer Ahn Eun-me’s gender-busting new show, hears Mark Brown

The Herald

IT’S REIGNING MEN: Androgyny and gender play are to the fore in Princess Bari, with male and female dancers wearing the same costumes and a male lead, Hee-Moon Lee. ‘He has a voice like a female,’ says Eun-Me Ahn.

ARRIVING at a beautiful traditional Korean restaurant in the centre of Seoul to meet the renowned choreographer Eun-Me Ahn is a deeply confusing experience. On the one hand, the restaurant — which is called Pulhyanggi (meaning “the scent of grass”), and decorated with delicate images of flying cranes and other pastoral scenes — is a haven of tranquillity in the midst of one of the world’s most buzzing cities. On the other, Ahn — her head shaved, resplendent in bright green and red, her fingers adorned with huge floral rings — is the living embodiment of that cliche, a force of nature.

The choreographer is a woman of extraordinary personality, colour, humour and energy; elements very pany presents at this year’s Edinburgh International Festival.

The Princess Bari story is a central narrative in Korean culture, with shades of the Greek tales of Oedipus and Orpheus, and even of Alice In Wonderland and Pinocchio. Thrown to the sea by her father, the King, because she is the seventh daughter of a queen who bore no son, Bari (the word means “discarded” in Korean) is saved and raised by a fisherman. In her teens, the intrepid girl learns of her regal origins and undertakes an epic journey to the royal palace. And that is as far as Ahn’s Edinburgh production (the first of two pieces telling the entire story) takes us.

However, as Ahn is keen to emphasise as she holds court in the restaurant (seeming very much like a precocious, somewhat mischievous princess herself), the key to the show is not the tale, but the highly imaginative way in which she has recreated it for the 21st century.

The piece is an irresistible combination of the traditional (including the song of Korean pansori and the movement of Japanese butoh) and the avantgarde, the minimal and the exuberant, the anguished and the comic.

It is typical of Ahn’s sense of artistic freedom that Ban is played not by a woman, but by the multitalented and remarkably androgynous young male singer Hee-Moon Lee. “He looks like a girl,” the choreographer agrees. “He’s a small man, and he has a voice like a female. Sometimes he looks like a baby, sometimes he looks like a girl, and sometimes he looks like a man. It’s amazing. He’s a good actor.”

Androgyny and gender play have long been of interest to Ahn, in her life (she started shaving her head to make her own gender more ambiguous) and her work. It’s an attitude which infuses Princess Bari, in which male and female dancers perform in the same brightly coloured dresses and spotty underpants.

“I don’t want to divide costume between women’s and men’s,” she explains. “The dress is very convenient to dance in, and allows for very quick changes.” Her choice of costumes is also a delight for the male members of the company. “Men love dresses. It’s something they never experienced before.”

If playing with gender is part of her aesthetic, Ahn also sees a thematic justification for casting Lee in the title role. “I figured out why Princess Bari was thrown out,” she declares. “It’s because she had both female and male sex organs.”

It will, no doubt, come as something of a shock to generations of Koreans to discover that Bad — a much-loved figure from their childhood —is, in fact, a hermaphrodite. Which is not to say that Ahn’s reinterpretation is an act of disrespectful iconoclasm. Rather, like her wonderfully rich and diverse show as a whole, it speaks to the choreographer’s intelligent and fascinating combination of the traditional and the modern.

This is exemplified in her approach to traditional Korean music and song, which is used in truly astonishing ways in the show. Although Ahn’s background is in dance, she is not afraid — any more than was her late friend, the great German dance director Pina Bausch — to roll up her sleeves and mould other forms to the requirements of her choreography.

“We love this [traditional Korean] song,” Ahn says, “but we have been listening to this one song for ever. So, we are also getting sick and tired. I’m trying to achieve a different sound from the traditional vocal techniques.”

There is something fabulously Bauschian in Ahn’s combination of dancing singers and singing dancers (including, at points in the show, herself). Her means of auditioning singers, such as Lee, for the company is typically unorthodox. “We don’t do only dance and movement,” she says. “I don’t care about that. We go drinking and we go to karaoke. I want to see their natural power, which is their personality.”

Although Ahn, who began her formal training in traditional Korean dance at the age of 12, creates work which is strongly connected to the culture of her homeland, the comparison with Bausch’s choreography is one that she embraces. Ahn recalls her time at Bausch’s Tanztheater Wuppertal (where she presented three solo works in 2001) with great affection. “Pina Bausch and I just loved each other,” she re-members. “We had the same female energy. As a person, she was quite slow, and I’m very fast, but the energy of our work is of a similar level. That’s why I think we could talk. She loved watching my kind of energy in talking. She loved drinking until 3am. We’d sit and talk about everything.”

Talking with Ahn, who is an extremely engaging, animated conversationalist, it isn’t difficult to see why Bausch would have found her such good and interesting company. The Korean choreographer is a constant performer, although the amazing control and geometry of her own dancing — even now, in her late forties — contrasts markedly with the marvellous gesticulations and ribald commentary of her off-stage persona.

One can’t help but wonder what shaped her strident self-confidence and endearing, high-energy personality. “As a child, we had no TV and no telephone,” Ahn remembers. “All my parents could afford was the house and food, that’s all. So, in the evening, we had to be performers for our parents and grandparents. If you did well, you got one cookie. That was my first job. I don’t remember it, but my mum told me,

`You were a really good dancer.’ She said I did whatever they asked me, and I would be given cookies.”

Which, as an account of creativity born of poverty, is as good an explanation of Eun-Me Ahn’s remarkable choreography, and equally remark-able character, as one could wish for. Not that she cares to dwell too much on the hardships of her up-bringing. No sooner has our inter-view ended than I’m packed off in a cab to her favourite Japanese pub (she travels ahead on her scooter). I, like a tourist, drink Korean beer. She, like any cool Korean, downs a couple of bottles of Tokyo’s finest. Then, after much talk of the Edinburgh Festival, Pina Bausch and the burgeoning culture of South Korea, Ahn is back on her scooter and zipping off into the flashing lights of downtown Seoul.

Princess Bari is at the Edinburgh Playhouse, August 19-21.

Pak Kyung-ni’s epic novel of Korean history

June 22, 2011
http://entertainment.timesonline.co.uk/tol/arts_and_entertainment/the_tls/article7176556.ece
Land is a remarkable and important work in which Eastern and Western traditions fruitfully meet
Margaret Drabble

Pak Kyung-ni’s novel, Land, opens colourfully in 1897 at the traditional feast of the harvest moon, still one of the most important dates in the Korean calendar, where we are introduced to some of the hundreds of characters who people the vast canvas of this five-part national epic. Pak (1926–2008), one of the most celebrated twentieth-century Korean authors, centres her best-known work in a rural community which, through the generations, suffers the natural disasters of famine and cholera – both described in painful detail. The characters also feel the reverberations of distant armed conflicts in a rapidly changing world order, as centuries of rule by the Chosun dynasty stagger to a violent end. Agrarian uprisings, aggressive nationalism, modernization, modern weaponry and the invading Japanese threaten a stoic way of life that had endured, if not always prosperously, for hundreds of years. This is a work of immense ambition, covering nearly fifty years of history, and closing with the Japanese surrender in 1945. It appeared in serial instalments between 1969 and 1993, and the total text consists of more than 7,000 pages.

Land’s translation into English by Agnita Tennant is a landmark, and her undertaking is heroic. Hers is the first publication in English, although I am told that sections have appeared in authorized and unauthorized versions in French, German, and Japanese, and that a translation by a team of Chinese scholars is in progress. Tennant’s three-volume edition represents only Part One of the entire oeuvre, but, although seeded with intriguing premonitions of future events, it reads as a self-contained narrative. Over these volumes, we come to know the tenant farmers, the embattled landowners, their servants, and the children of the rising generation, all poised at a watershed in history. We enter their world, we follow its seasons, we learn its topography, and we see through them the tragic history of twentieth-century Korea unfold. The realities of the political backdrop are obscured from the villagers by ignorance and isolation, and news of revolution, assassination and capitulation filters towards them slowly, indirectly and not always in sequence, from Seoul and beyond; there are some strange loops of chronology that remind one of Joseph Conrad’s narrative techniques. But change is slowly if uncertainly approaching and an immemorial way of country life, rooted in Confucianism and Buddhism and ancestor-worship, is about to disappear forever.

Pak was brought up under Japanese rule, but she studied Western literature in Japanese translation (she never learned English) and was familiar with the works of Tolstoy, Chekhov, Gogol, Balzac, Maupassant, Dickens, Hardy, and William Faulkner. For an English reader, Hardy is the most obvious point of reference, and his poem “In Time of ‘The Breaking of Nations’” comes frequently to mind – a poem that defiantly celebrates the continuity and timeless rhythms of rural life even as they violently disintegrate. We find in Pak a similar deep-grained dark cosmic pessimism and stoicism, a sense of a natural world more often hostile than benign, and an awareness of casual human brutality (the beating of servants, the caning of children, mob hangings) embodied in many a grim country proverb. The harshness is alleviated by moments of tenderness (even towards insects) and by the beauty of the landscape; by passages of lyric delicacy evoking the fields of grain, the flowing river, the flowering trees, the sunlight in the forest, the vines of wild grapes, the lily pond. But Pak’s realism exceeds Hardy’s: her characters blow their noses a lot; they suffer from diarrhoea and other physical ailments that he might have shrunk from describing; and their many visits to the privy are not veiled in literary decency. I am not sure that Hardy ever mentions a privy.

Pak has a powerful gift for strong but subtle characterization. Her people are not the types of earlier Korean fiction, nor are they the simple heroes and villains of folklore (although there are some villains), but vividly imagined individuals, each playing a linking part in what could easily be imagined as a television series. (There have been several adaptations.) Korean readers have their favourites: the doomed love affair of the handsome, unhappily married young farmer Yongi with the shaman’s daughter Wólsón is a popular storyline. She is a social outcast (there is a strong class system at work in village society), but she is an independent, intelligent, resourceful woman, and we watch her passionate relationship with Yongi wax and wane over the years until the affair settles into a sort of marriage by default. The descriptions of Yongi’s barren and angry wife Kangch’óng-taek, whom he has never loved, are also moving: for years consumed by violent jealousy, she has been forced to live in a cold and sterile home at the mercy of her husband’s public rejection and alienated affections. He has never felt anything for her but “pity and guilt”, yet after her death (more shades of Hardy) he remembers her when she was a child bride, standing before him in the fields “with a handful of pasque flowers, her skirt billowing”.

The gossip and malice and mutual support of the village women, at work among the crops, at home, round the well, stealing one another’s vegetables over the garden fence, sharing often sparse but sometimes festive meals, are beautifully portrayed, and their relationships, like those of Yongi and Wólsón and Kangch’óng-taek, shift over time as new alliances are forged, old friendships betrayed, new spites engendered. The workings of a whole neighbourhood and its many households are brought to life.

Pak, living in what was still a patriarchal society, writes well and easily of the male world, of the tediously opinionated schoolteacher with his strongly anti-Japanese but naive political views, of the kindly sweet-dispensing old doctor, of the scholarly, vengeful, sexually ambiguous and impotent heir to the estate. Pak is good (as were the Brontës) on the boredom and repetitions of a small community where so few have even a basic education. But she is also good with the artisans and eccentrics – the skilled and enterprising pock-marked carpenter, the dissident freethinking fisherman, the solitary hunter. The hunter is a fine portrait of a loner who prides himself on his skill in the mountains, tracking deer and bear and the elusive legendary tiger, earning his living by selling animal skins. He is tamed and brought down by sexual frustration and an obsessive passion for a self-serving and ambitious servant in the landlord’s household, who seduces him and leads him into murder and treachery. He, despising her, cannot free himself from her thrall.

Sex and violence and political unrest are here in plenty, as the landlord of the estate struggles to ward off impoverished but pretentious “modernizing” relatives from Seoul, with their Western clothes and their hair cut short – fine comic villains – who have a greedy eye on his land. Servants plot against their master and against one another. The beautiful young daughter of the waning house, Sohui, a child abandoned by her runaway mother, is growing into a proud, rebellious spirit who will one day have her revenge, just as her attendant, the seamstress’s daughter, may one day become a singer. This is a man’s world, but the younger women are beginning to see beyond the walls of their confinement.

Pak’s own life was hard; she was widowed young at the outbreak of the Korean war in 1950 and had to write to support herself and her family. Her early work is full of war widows and grieving women. But in Land, which in time brought her international recognition and wealth (and enabled her to endow the T’oji Cultural Centre), she reached beyond this personal material to a larger historical vision. She believed in the land, lived simply, wore homespun clothes, smoked heavily, and encouraged the growth of organic vegetables. Culture and vegetables, it is said, vied for her attention at the T’oji Centre. Throughout her magnum opus the theme of land and seed, of womb and semen, or sowing and growing, is deployed with a challenging intelligence and a questioning of genetic and national destiny – the imagery is used very differently from the way it is used in the Western tradition; it manifests a different cosmic view, but is not incomprehensibly alien. Agnita Tennant, like Constance Garnett before her with the great Russians, has done English readers a service by opening up new territory.

It was not easy. The confusing publishing and editorial history of the many volumes, the transliteration of names (even Pak’s name has accepted variant spellings, as Pak or Park Kyongni), the length of the text, and the difficulty of translating colloquial Korean conversation presented her with obstacles. The proverbs must have proved particularly challenging. Some have an instant resonance: we know what is meant by “sometimes the sun shines in a rat hole”, or “if it’s your fate to die you’ll drown in a saucer of water”. But others retain a suitable mystery. The recurring phrase “it’s less than the blood in a bird’s leg” is strangely suggestive. In spoken Korean it has an epigrammatic concision impossible to convey in written English. And yet it is a phrase that figuratively conjures up a whole physical and mental landscape, another culture. Tennant has made this culture accessible to us, in a remarkable and important work in which Eastern and Western traditions fruitfully meet.

Pak Kyung-ni
LAND
Translated by Agnita Tennant Three volumes 1,171pp. Brill. 145euros.
978 1 906876 04 3

Park Seo-bo: ‘Role of Art Is To Make People Worry’

Park Seo-bo

Park Seo-bo

Korean artist Park Seo-bo takes off his jaunty bowler hat. A ring on his hand with a purple gemstone the size of a small chicken egg catches the light of a late winter afternoon.

At 80 years old, Mr. Park is widely regarded as the father of South Korean contemporary art. Among Asian art followers, he is also known for his distinct sartorial style and his unapologetic, outspoken nature.

“These days Korean society is full of energy and the art market is lively. It is like America after World War II. There is madness. In general, artists in Korea are trying to be different, to stand out. Chinese artists are similar. This could be dangerous because art should be about expression, not just standing out,” he says.

He throws out this criticism of Korean art in the company of two of Seoul’s most prominent dealers. Mr. Park was in Hong Kong to support the Asian Hotel Art Fair, which the two dealers and other Seoul galleries are organizing. The event, which started in Seoul in 2008, sees art galleries take over hotel rooms instead of exhibition centers. Since 2010, the fair has been held twice a year, in Hong Kong in February and in Seoul in August. The 2010 Hong Kong event was at the Grand Hyatt and this year it was at the Mandarin Oriental.

For a retrospective of Mr. Park’s work at the Busan Museum of Art last year, chief curator Lim Chang-sup wrote that the painter is “the most influential artist and a major figure in Korean modern art in terms of his leadership and pioneering spirit.”

Joan Kee, an Asian contemprorary art scholar at the University of Michigan, says Mr. Park’s influence is broader than Korean or Asian art history. “We have to remember that Park was enormously ambitious, not just career-wise, but also in wanting to contribute to a global history of postwar painting. He jumped quickly from style to style, because he wanted to digest quickly what was happening internationally.”

Mr. Park was born in Korea and studied in France. In the 1970s he returned and introduced expressionist art to his homeland. A political activist in his youth, he became known for making large, seemingly angry paintings that used color to communicate emotions. In the ’60s and ’70s, he used his fame and panache to his advantage.

“Warhol had nothing on Park when it came to self-presentation,” says Ms. Kee. “Park, more than almost any other Korean artist in the postwar period, realized that art-making wasn’t just about the physical artwork, but was also about image management.”

She notes that there are photos from those times “in which the pattern on Park’s shirts and sweaters appears to mimic the composition of his paintings.”

Ecriture no 071204

Ecriture no 071204 130 x 195 cm

Mr. Park’s career rose in tandem with South Korea’s economic success. He signs books with one of his limited-edition fountain pens (a solid-gold dragon design) and says: “People are impressed with South Korean society. What the West achieved in a thousand years, Korea did in 40 years. But now Seoul has lots of murders and crimes. Society is moving very fast and not everyone can keep up. The role of art is to make people worry.”

In the past few years, Mr. Park’s work has taken on a meditative quality. In a high-tech world, he says that in his art he is “trying to find the meaning of the hand again.” His newer works appear to connect to his boyhood training in inkbrush painting. Recent pieces are Zen-like in their simplicity and monochromatic palette. In one series, he made lines with a pen on painted mulberry paper.

“Now I am heading towards death. I am more mature, so I seek emptiness,” Mr. Park, who is in good health, says. “Art without spirit is not art. Art has to have soul.”