2025 Sejong Writing Competition
Winning Entries :: Essays :: Senior third place (tie)
Title: (Untitled)
Korea loves its national martyrs. From Yu Gwan-Sun to Ahn Jung-Geun, the men and women who have died for Korea’s sovereignty remain enshrined in the cultural memory. Children are taught their names, larger-than-life biopics are made about them. But the majority of Koreans were not so heroic. Most woke up not to make banners or chant dogmatic slogans for nationhood; they woke up and went to work.
Looking at Dr. Yi from a democratic, sovereign country, where I can wake up every day with the knowledge I am free to criticize it all I want without fear of repercussions, it’s easy for me to look down on him. He is undoubtedly selfish, cruel, and callous. He benefits from the selfsame regime which tears down his countrymen, he has a gold watch while his country is in rags, he refuses treatment to a protester fighting for not only his own but Dr. Yi’s right to a national identity. What is Dr. Yi but a brownnosing sycophant who’d lick the boot of anyone who throws him a dime? My instinct towards him is revulsion. I want to think of him as ontologically irredeemable, somebody who I could never be like. But in fact, Dr. Yi’s story was much closer to our own lives than we’d like to admit.
On December 3rd, 2024, President Yoon Seok Yeol declared military rule. Instantly, Koreans of all classes and creeds walked outside in unison to stand against tyranny; from the elderly, who knew from experience the danger of authoritarian government, to the youth, taught from a young age the sanctity of a democratic nation, Korea stood strong against fascism. Luckily, the order was annulled the very same night by congressmen who climbed fences and barricaded doors to vote for the continuation of a free Korea.
But what would have happened if President Yoon was successful? If military rule really had instituted itself in Korea? If repressive forces continued to take and take and take without giving up an inch, an authoritarian regime hellbent on securing its own power and steamrolling anyone who gets in the way.
When I imagine myself in that scenario, I’m filled with righteous indignation. Of course I would have taken to the streets, marched until my feet bled, chanted for a free Korea until my throat cracked and tore. But for how long? It’s not as if I don’t have other responsibilities, after all. I have exams to study for, college applications to prepare, work I have to get done. And what if I were to be fined, or worse, arrested? How much of myself am I really willing to give up for a cause? Wouldn’t it be easier, more convenient, more profitable to side with the regime instead?
In fact, that’s exactly what my very own grandfather did as a member of the riot police during Chun Doo-hwan’s dictatorship in the 1980s. He tells me stories from his work to this day: the ache in your arm after beating protestors with a baton, the sting of tear gas, the roaring in your ears when facing against a horde of students marching against those who pay for the food in your belly. His son, my father, grew up to attend Seoul National University and makes enough money now to send him spending money every few months. Today, he’s a meek, wrinkled, octogenarian who dotes on me every chance he gets. Reading this story made me think of him more than I’d like to admit–Dr. Yi’s gold watch appeared, in my mind, as the shine of lacquered furniture in my grandfather’s living room, the signs of a life well lived built on the blood of your countrymen. If I asked him what he thought of Dr. Yi, I’m sure he’d respond with confusion, “What has he done that’s so wrong? He took care of his family, didn’t he?”
It’s hard to reconcile the fact that my comfortable life is only possible because of the violence my own grandfather perpetuated during a violent regime. It’s harder to reconcile the fact that he feels no regret over it, even as a feeble old man who likes nothing more than pinching my cheeks and sneaking me candy. Therein lies the question: if I’m so quick to look down on Dr. Yi, why can’t I do the same for my grandfather? What makes them so different?
Dr. Yi is cruel, certainly, but he is not an exceptionally evil person; he is evil in its most banal form–the same evil which causes us to avert our eyes from the homeless lying in the street, the same that lets us have the nerve to care about looks and popularity luxury and stupid, fickle things while just out of sight, children are bombed in the Middle East and Congolese children die in lithium mines. He is the evil of my grandfather shooting rubber bullets at college protestors and beating them with his baton. He is the evil we are all complicit in when we choose to avert our eyes and think only of ourselves.
The morning after the declaration of military rule was a Tuesday. Millions of Koreans woke up, checked their phones, and learned that their democracy had almost been shattered while they were fast asleep. Then, they brushed their teeth, put on their shoes, and went to work.