"Do you know? Dokdo belongs to Korea" (Does it?!)

A few months ago my brother and I were having a discussion about Asian politics, particularly Korean and Japanese issues, since I live in Seoul and he's lived in Japan for nearly ten years. I made reference to Dokdo (독 도), a group of rocky islets inhabited by just a handful of people in the waters between Korea and Japan. Ownership over the outcroppings has been heavily disputed for centuries. Josh had no idea what I was talking about when I said, "Dokdo." He said, "You mean 'Takeshima'?" Had another person been involved in the conversation, it could have become even more convoluted. Dokdo is also known as Takshima, the Liancourt Rocks, and the Hornet Islands, depending on who you're talking to. As the conversation progressed I realized we were each speaking about the controversial islets from the perspective of our resident countries. I used "Dokdo" and "East Sea", while Josh used "Takeshima" and "Sea of Japan". Furthermore, even as a foreigner with no stake in the issue, I found myself getting defensive of the Korean perspective, railing against Japanese imperialism and historic colonization.

This dispute between two rural Illinois siblings is ironically indicative of the larger picture. Korea claims absolute sovereignty over Dokdo, while Japan has repeatedly claimed over the years that Takeshima is Japanese territory. The controversy spikes every so often and most recently when Japan suggested it would claim territorial rights over the islets in upcoming school textbooks. Meanwhile, the United States didn't make things easier for Korea when its Board on Geographic Names categorized the islets as having "undesignated sovereignty". The BGN's designations are used as the U.S. federal government's standard. Although I found myself arguing like a Korean would with my brother, my outsider perspective actually tells me the BGN's classification makes perfect sense. Although it makes a thorny issue even more complex, the U.S. has been calling the islets the Liancourt Rocks since 1977 so as to stay out of the Korea-Japan dispute. Yet it officially recognized the islets as South Korean territory prior to the "undesignated sovereignty" debacle. So with Japan making refreshed claims to Dokdo at the same time the U.S. naming agency delivered a diplomatic slap in the face, it's no wonder Koreans were a little perturbed. Although the BGN name change was based on a decision made some time ago, the untimely release felt to Koreans like a U.S. vote in favor of Japan. Perhaps because this incident came on the heels of very spirited demonstrations against U.S. beef imports and amidst the Korea-U.S. Free Trade Agreement impasse, the Bush administration quickly instructed the BGN to re-designate the Liancourt Rocks as Korean territory on its website.

"DO YOU KNOW? DOKDO BELONGS TO KOREA"

Arguing back and forth with Japan, even through the highest diplomatic channels, seems to rarely bear substantial results for Korea. Several admonishments of Japan's claims by South Korean President Lee Myung-bak have done little to temper the issue. So when Korea's favorite phrase stating that Dokdo is "clearly Korean land historically, geographically, and by international law" (I can't count the number of times I've broadcast those exact words to an international audience) fell on deaf ears in Japan, Korea's strategy turned to convincing the rest of the world that Dokdo is, in fact, Korean territory. Nevermind that most people outside Korea have never even heard of Dokdo or care who owns it. Regardless of what the islets are called on a map, they're barely even visible without a magnifying glass.

"Dokdo Love"

Of course the waters around Dokdo, and the sea life in them, are what's really at stake. Koreans seem unanimous in their belief that sovereignty over Dokdo is theirs, and the t-shirts with awkward claims in English point to the country's hope that the rest of the world can be convinced of the same.

Heart attacks for sale, but Mad Cow-safe

America's most internationally familiar food chain is exercising damage control in light of Koreans' apprehension of U.S. beef. As though McDonald's customers were pillars of healthy consumption, the company is assuring everyone that its burgers are made strictly with Australian beef. (Personally, I've never dared to guess from where the "mystery meat" used in McDonald's products comes, regardless of where its sold.)


After months of intense public backlash against the government's decision to reopen the Korean market to U.S. beef, many restaurants have been pushing the non-American beef-ness of their products, but I find myself irritated by these signs posted at an American fast food icon. McDonald's should be using its power to advertise the quality of American products and help repair the tattered image of U.S. beef, rather than playing into unfounded rumors and irrational fears. Perhaps coming from farm country U.S.A., I'm too slow to scrutinize American farm products, but I've certainly never worried about the safety of beef purchased in the States. I have, on the other hand, winced when considering the amount of fat and cholesterol in an order of McDonald's french fries. That's what Koreans oughtta be worried about.

Shopping for traditional Korean clothing (hanbok)

Koreans and Japanese spend plenty of time pointing out their differences, but when it comes to traditional clothing, or at least what they call traditional clothing, both cultures keep it very simple. The Japanese have the kimono, which literally means "thing to wear". In Korea, the typically bright, flowing traditional attire is called hanbok, or "Korean clothing". Several weeks ahead of Chuseok, Korea's annual harvest festival, big box retailers and department stores started stocking racks and racks of low-priced hanbok. These days, it's mostly kids who wear hanbok for holidays, but newlyweds also wear the attire during the first major holiday after their wedding. I also noticed several elderly folks donning the traditional garb last weekend. I recently accompanied Sophia on a mission to purchase a hanbok for a four year-old American boy. For a variety of options and high quality, we headed to a group of hanbok stores in Yeongdeungpo.

One of the shop owners told us a high quality hanbok for adults averages $700. Most Korean couples wear hanbok for the traditional portion of their wedding ceremony.

I made the mistake of telling Sophia I didn't think an American boy would be too enthusiastic about pink pants, although Korean men are more than comfortable wearing hanbok in bright pastels. She clearly wasn't thrilled about my suggestion of this option due to its more masculine colors.

Sophia at the height of frustration. We eventually agreed on some bright blue pants.

Traditional food among traditional textiles

Chuseok: Korean Thanksgiving

One of Korea's biggest two holidays created an eerily quiet, yet pleasant atmosphere around Seoul last weekend. Chuseok (추 석) is Korea's Thanksgiving, a harvest festival celebrated every year on the fifteenth day of the eighth month of the lunar calendar, or September 14th this year according to the Gregorian calendar. Nearly everyone in the country gets vacation on Chuseok, as well as one day off before and after the holiday. Like American Thanksgiving, Chuseok is a time for food and family, but Korea's holiday includes rituals honoring ancestors. Most Koreans head to their hometowns (wives usually go to their husband's) where they visit the family burial site and make edible offerings to deceased loved ones. Festivities begin early in the morning with a massive feast, followed by ancestral rites and then quality time with family. One Chuseok hostess told me her family spent over $1,000 (1,000,000 Korean 원) on beef, pork, and all the trimmings to feed her family of nine.

Songpyeon. Like candy canes to Christmas, these crescent-shaped rice cakes stuffed with bean or sesame seed paste are a staple Chuseok treat. The security guard at my apartment building surprised me Saturday with this offering.

For a foreigner like me, Chuseok offers a great opportunity to wander the city without the typical hustle and bustle and pushing and shoving. No craning your neck to spot the one open seat on the subway. No armpits in your face on the bus. The Korea Expressway Corporation estimated nearly 400,000 vehicles full of holiday travelers would be returning to Seoul Monday alone, which means the city's population must have slimmed by millions over the weekend. Many businesses were closed Friday through Monday. Most of Korea's ubiquitous 김 밥 천 국 restaurants, typically open around the clock, closed their doors for three days straight. I hate to admit that Mickey D's saved me from starvation on Friday night.

It's amazing how much I crave kimbap when I can't have it! Most Kimbap Cheonguks were closed for three days straight.

I anticipate there will be plenty of exhausted ladies around the office tomorrow. Korean women frequently bemoan the holidays, since the brunt of cooking and cleaning falls upon female shoulders. Women who happen to be married to a family's eldest son have it the worst, since they usually end up hosting the rest of the family. Several media reports leading up to the holiday offered women tips on how to weather the stress of the festivities. The good news this year is that since the holiday fell on Sunday, there were just three days of official holiday recognition. When Chuseok is on a Tuesday or Thursday, it means nothing but cooking and cleaning for many women for five days straight.

Great photos of Gwangmyeong City (and beyond)

I recently stumbled upon a blog site with some great photos of Gwangmyeong City, the small bedroom community where KBS World houses its foreign staff members. Most of these shots are in the central part of the city, but everything seen is within a five minute taxi ride of my apartment on the Seoul border.

http://www.daehanmindecline.com/digital/20080802b.html

I got in contact with Jon Dunbar, the photographer, and secured permission to link to his site. I spent quite a bit of time looking through is photos from around Seoul and am feeling very inspired to get out and capture more thought-provoking scenes myself.

Seedy Seoul

The commute between my apartment and KBS takes me through an area that epitomizes the term "gritty", a common adjective used to describe areas throughout Seoul. It looks like a contractor's mecca, with long rows of merchants selling all the pieces that make up Seoul's infrastructure. It's dirty. It's underwhelming. The only thing that's impressive is the sheer number of businesses that look to be peddling the exact same things. But during one post-sunset trip through the district, I noticed something different about Yeongdeungpo. With the rusted steel garage doors pulled down like sleep shades over the facades of all these blue collar businesses, a different kind of industry was starting its work day.


Standing in front of every third or fourth garage door was a nicely (in that trampy kind of nice way) dressed woman, casually watching traffic go by and in no particular hurry to get anywhere. Some women sat on short, plastic stools tucked in doorways or alleys. Now, if this area were the kind of place where you might enjoy a nice evening outdoors, loitering with a beverage and checking out the scenery, I wouldn't have been suspect. But it was immediately clear that these women were somehow involved in South Korea's illegal, yet highly lucrative (to the tune of $20+ billion/year), prostitution industry. Some civic organizations say the number of women working in the sex industry in South Korea outnumbers the amount of school teachers. The government recognizes the prevalence, but its estimates of the number involved are much less startling.

After a Saturday evening shift at KBS a few weeks ago I finally made good on a promise I made to myself to get over to Yeongdeungpo to play paparazzi among the prostitutes. With no other plans at 11:00 on a Saturday night, it was like a stroke of luck that I happened to be traversing through the area on a pleasant, late summer evening. I got off the bus at a busy public transportation hub about a block north of the "working class district" and began working my way toward my subjects. The music faded and the lights dimmed as the surroundings became less gentrified and more, well, gritty. Saturday night traffic continued to roar by and I tried to disguise my actual mission by taking pictures of cars zooming by, strategically snagging street girls in the corner of the frame.


I worked my way to a group of establishments whose purpose is unmistakable to locals or anyone who has spent any significant amount of time in Korea. They usually come one after another along an entire city block or two and have glass fronts lined in pink neon lights. Typically, a scantily clad, uncharacteristically busty Asian woman will be sitting on a tall stool behind the glass brushing her hair or otherwise primping. Sometimes the women will hang out in the doorways, leaning forward and glancing up and down the street, or chatting with the next door tenant. The largest group of these houses of ill repute I've seen is near the American military base in Seoul, and I was a little surprised to find them in Yeongdeungpo. Surprised, yet very intrigued!


Emboldened by my luck on the main drag, I rounded a corner in pursuit of the pink light district and turned off my camera's flash. I quickly scanned the area and noticed just a few people around--an old woman selling beverages from a drink cart on the corner, a few middle-aged men and women lounging nearby. It didn't seem like anyone was really paying attention to me, which was actually quite surprising, so I casually approached the pink lights and snapped a photo. Still no reaction. Great! But just as my lens opened for the second shot, a man let out a ferocious yell and the women tending two side-by-side businesses quickly killed the pink lights and drew curtains across the glass.


What had moments earlier seemed like a lazy, quiet group of bystanders up on the corner, probably uninvolved in the pink light industry, now clearly revealed itself as protectors of the trade. The middle-aged crowd came to its feet and started approaching me with menacing expressions and quick, angry Korean grumbles. Even the old woman running the drink cart started a high-pitched tirade and shooed me away with sweeping motions. I quickly shoved my camera in my purse and played dumb. With two or three angry men quickly approaching, I turned and headed back toward the main street. A motor scooter roared up behind me and followed me all the way to the nearest bus stop. My heart was racing, and all I could think was, "I'm about to die. I'm about to end up dead, shoved in the trunk of a car." Yet I couldn't wait to check out my shots. Did any of them turn out? Will I have evidence of my thrilling adventure?


I've resigned to the fact that curiosity will likely kill the Abby someday. The next Saturday evening found me right back in gritty Yeongdeungpo, determined to get a lengthier and more revealing observation of the pink light district. This time I wanted to get a closer look at the women. Did they look Korean, or were they possibly victims of human trafficking? South Korea has made substantial efforts in the last several years to combat the illegal sex industry, particularly human trafficking, but its obvious it remains a problem. Many women are brought from Southeast Asia, Russia, or former Soviet states to work in the industry. (Incidentally, I've been asked about four times in the last month if I'm Russian.) I discovered Yeongdeungpo's prostitution enclave is much larger than I had realized, but unfortunately, my second self-assigned mission was just as lacking in factual content (and compelling photography) as the first. It seemed like prostitute photography was becoming my favorite Saturday evening pastime, but my curiosities are fickle. This week I started researching travel opportunities in North Korea. More on that later.