Korean Political Tradition and Law

Since I read "The Korean Political Tradition and Law" very quickly last year while preparing for a final take home examination, I've decided to read the book again more thoroughly recently. Strangely enough, I saw things differently, or noticed things which I hadn't noticed in the past.

For instance, I was a tad amused at the story about the farmer waiting in vain for a second accident-prone rabbit to hit the stump. It is a well-known story that I had read when I was a child. But in the Chinese context, the idiom "shou zhu dai tu" was merely used to describe a person who pointlessly insists on doing something unproductive, with the unrealistic expectation that he would be lucky again. Never in my wildest imagination could I imagine that the idiom can be linked to Korea's political tradition - as in the futility of waiting for virtuous rulers such as Yao and Shun to come along.

I also chuckled at how the word "chon'in" was/is used in in the Korean/Chinese context. In the former, the word means "outcasts". But in contemporary Chinese usage, it is used to describe a woman of ill-repute, and of course, in a derogatory way. Hmm, come to think of it, maybe there isn't such a vast difference in meaning after all.

But mostly, I was surprised at the idea that traditionally, Koreans generally do not welcome the birth of more than one child in a single delivery. I was even more surprised to find out that in the case of fraternal twins, the baby girl would be suffocated to death as under Confucian ethics, incest "was one of the most atavistic crimes". Actually I am more puzzled as to how this practice was linked to Confucianism, and how the idea that "mixed twins often came to have incestuous attachments for one another as they grew up" came about.

The chapters on royal succession in the Yi Dynasty and discriminatory legislations were fascinating, and the palace tales, intriguing! Particularly the debaucheries, and how one of the Kings killed his 8-year old half brother by roasting the latter to death in an over-heated ondol room! There were also double standards galore when it came to the royal family - as in how children of yangbans were discriminated against, but not necessarily royal children whose mothers were concubines/slaves.

To a large extent, I can accept the hypocrisy surrounding yangbans who would rather adopt an heir rather than to recognize their own flesh and blood - as these were vestiges of the (ancient) past that do not have the capacity to violate my sense of righteousness.

But I do find myself getting slightly worked up when I get the sense that what had been described as "power and prestige triumph(ing) over natural affections" in the past is still pretty much alive today ... as in how unwilling Koreans are when it comes to adopting other people's children, or even their own children born out of wedlock.

Certainly, through the book, I now have a better understanding of the question of adoption. The book explained that adoptions had never been a case of pity or sympathy, but were seen as a means to perpetuate the family line. The book also mentioned that in the past, people were actually punished/flogged for adopting children - something I found both revealing and disturbing.

But if it is not just "power and prestige" that mattered these days, perhaps it's something else more in tune with modern day sensibilities ... shame? pride? fear of ridicule? fear of losing face? social stigma? ensuring one's personal happiness? the question of hoju? etc etc, that compel Koreans to export their babies overseas. When export of children took place when Korea was poor and war-ravaged, it was at least understandable. But not when Korea is a member of the OECD. Hmm, am I ranting here?

When I became interested in Korean issues a few years ago, the issue that I've read the most was the issue of adoption. But after all these years, I still can't say I have developed a rational understanding of the issue.

Maybe for me, the issue defies "emotion-less" understanding. Particularly after I got to know a sullen American-Korean guy who looks Korean but could hardly speak a word of Korean. He was in Korea last year to learn the language from scratch, and hopefully, find his real parents. The last I heard, he still hadn't found his parents. Which I suspect may be what his parents want.

As usual, I digress. Anyway, coming back to the book ...

Legalistic beginnings certainly has important significance for a country. Korea has witnessed such dizzying changes that the scenario painted by the late author over three decades ago seemed, when viewed in a contemporaneous light, somewhat anarchronistic, yet amazing, as in how much things had changed since. Examples: the midnight curfews, the "privilege" as opposed to the "right" in getting a passport to travel overseas, people stealing rice in order to feed their children, and how breaking the law was once seen as a "patriotic" act - basically issues from a bygone era.

During his time, the late author was concerned that the disregard for law would become habitual, and how the laws must be indiginized to suit local conditions. While disregard for the law is presumably not an issue these days, perhaps it can be argued that the process of "indiginization" is still ongoing, albeit in different forms and different ways.