The Economist (US), May 18, 1991 v319
n7707 p42(1)
Sons against fathers.
(youth protests in South Korea)
Full Text: COPYRIGHT 1991 Economist Newspaper Ltd.
CAN the younger generation of Koreans invent a substitute for the
old rural base of their culture? This is the question that lies
beneath South Korea's regular violent clashes between its government
and protesting youth.
This week's clashes followed the death of a student. Five
policemen have been charged with killing him. In street riots during
the student's funeral on May 14th, 141 policemen were said to have
been hurt. But although the riots are the worst for several years,
they follow an established pattern. Formally, they are
anti-military, even though President Roh Tae Woo, an ex-general, was
popularly elected. One rioter explained, "We want a new civilian
government, a president who is from the citizens or a professor. No
more military."
Many students want the 43,000 American troops to go home, despite
the danger of an invasion from North Korea. "We want independence
from America," some shout. Since none of these sentiments is popular
with most Koreans, the student demonstrators have been left pretty
much on their own this year.
More subtly, the demonstrations express youthful demands for
freedom of individual choice against age-old Confucian traditions of
filial piety and obedience to a paternalistic state. You might say
the sons are taking on the fathers.
Korea is East Asia's most deeply Confucian society.
Confucianism was the state ideology
from 1392 to 1910. As Korea has become industrialised and
westernised, mainly since the 1950s, the last bastions of orthodox
Confucianism have been its villages. In
rural life, even now, Confucian thought governs how an older
generation thinks and acts, with its notions of hierarchy and
harmony, communal obligations and subordination of son to father,
younger brother to elder brother, wife to husband, individual to
group; and subject to state.
Few people have had to change so fast as the Koreans have. A mere
30 years ago 80% of Koreans lived off the land. At this time of year
you would see armies of men and women in straw hats out in the
paddies transplanting rice. Now such pastoral scenes are enacted
only in the paintings to be found in Korean homes. Factory chimneys,
motor cars, power lines and tile-roofed brick houses are everywhere.
Agriculture is mechanised.
Fewer than 15% of Koreans are still rural. Those who remain on
the land have become richer. Between 1985 and 1990 average rural
household incomes rose from $8,000 to $15,000. In 1985, 50% of
villagers had refrigerators and telephones, and 25% of them colour
televisions. Now practically all do, and many have a motorcycle or
car.
Because most Koreans are former peasants, or the children of
peasants, city dwellers keep close ties with the villages. They tend
to return at least twice a year, if only to visit parents' graves.
Korean families, holding on to the Confucian tradition of respect
for scholars, make great sacrifices to educate their children. Some
40% of young Koreans go to university. Many study computer science,
electronics and the other high-tech disciplines that are making
South Korea such an economic powerhouse.
At university, however, the students also find their family-bred
Confucianism challenged by western
ideas of all kinds. In crowded greater Seoul, where 45% of South
Korea's 44m people live, and where there are many university
campuses, tradition seems less relevant. Many students behave
unpredictably, exuberantly hospitable and friendly towards
westerners one minute and xenophobic and rude the next. They appear
to be caught between a burning desire to be part of the world and a
fear of losing their identity as Koreans.
The village, the old cultural anchor, is under strain. Confucian
peasants are baffled by the rioting students they are working hard
to see through college. They worry, too, about American pressure to
open Korea's rice market to imports, a move that would mean the
death of many village farms. Only 6m peasants are still tilling tiny
ancestral plots in a rice culture going back 12 centuries. Because
they are subsidised and protected from foreign competition, the
retail price of a kilo of Korean rice is $1.42. A kilo of Thai rice
costs 85 cents.
The United States would like to end this sort of trade-distorting
subsidy. But South Korea's villagers-and a growing number of city
people, too-see the rice subsidies as more than a way to keep
villages alive. It is also a means of holding together their
country's remaining Confucian traditions.