hankyoreh

Illustration by Kim Dae-jung

By Pak Noja (Vladimir Tikhonov), professor of Korean studies at the University of Oslo 

On April 17 of this year, I set foot back on Korean soil for the first time in a few months. I was there to attend a seminar, and I took advantage of the Easter holiday to visit Seoul.

I was quite happy to be back in Korea, but that very evening, I encountered some truly shocking news. Apparently, some rabid supporters of ousted former President Yoon Suk-yeol had been holding a “Yoon Again” demonstration, and after the rally dispersed, they headed that evening to a street known for its Chinese-style lamb skewer restaurants near Konkuk University.

The street in question is home to many stores and restaurants run by ethnic Koreans from China. These demonstrators ran riot, hurling abusive language at the residents and yelling at them to “go back to China.” After the clash, a Chinese employee at one store was taken to the hospital complaining of chest pains.

I felt like I had truly witnessed once again the shadow of physical violence against Chinese people that had frequently occurred during the occupation for the first time since Korea’s liberation.

This violence was all too reminiscent of the rash actions perpetrated by the far-right Zaitokukai (Association of Citizens against the Special Privileges of the Zainichi) in Japan. What had led to it being perpetrated by the descendants of victims of imperialist violence?

While the Zaitokukai’s violent acts are rooted in colonial racism, the Sinophobia practiced by Koreans has its own historical roots.

When the Joseon dynasty became a target for Japanese imperialist aggressions during the modern era, proponents of modernism on the Korean Peninsula portrayed China, the region’s former dominant power, as a “pre-modern” other that it needed to quickly distance itself from and leave behind. As many know, the “independence” in the name of Seoul’s Independence Gate (Dongnimmun) is a reference to independence from the Qing dynasty of China.

In response to the influx of Chinese people into Korea in the wake of the Imo Mutiny in 1882, enlightenment proponents at the time described the blocking of Chinese workers’ arrival by a new “center of civilization” — in other words, the people who treated them just as harshly as the Americans — as representing the “soldiers’ virtue.”

“If the people of Qing [China] move to an enlightened country yet do not amend their barbaric practices, they become the lowest race within that country, being welcomed without ever mixing with that country’s people. How is any relationship possible? In recent years, Qing people have begun arriving in Joseon, and the people of Joseon have had their work and business taken away. With the way they further befoul already filthy streets and smoke opium before the eyes of the people of Joseon, there is nothing remotely beneficial in the Qing people’s arrival in Joseon. [. . .] Foreigners come and do work that could be done by the people of Joseon, and after saving money, they return to their home country. How are they any different from leeches?”

Were it not for the somewhat old-fashioned diction, this sort of text would not look out of place on the average Sinophobic flyer. In fact, it is an excerpt from a commentary — believed to have been written by Philip Jaisohn (Seo Jae-pil) — that was published in the Tongnip Sinmun (The Independent) on May 21, 1896. 

The reformists sought to be like the Americans, who were the great power at the time, and the contempt they had for China was not much different from the American white nationalist view of the Chinese. 

The Dong-A Ilbo and Chosun Ilbo, which viewed Chinese businessmen in Korea as their competitors during the Japanese occupation, often depicted the Chinese as “dangerous and dirty people” who engaged in the opium trade, human trafficking, and illicit behavior. Such views of Chinese people even showed up in literature. In Kim Tong-in’s short story “Potatoes” (1925), a Chinese character is made out to be an evil person who “sexually exploited and killed my lover.” This perception spread through the press and became commonplace, setting the grounds for the Wanpaoshan Incident of 1931. 

Alongside hatred of China and the Chinese, solidarity between Koreans and Chinese flourished. Daily papers in Korea showed an inordinate interest in the Chinese communist revolution, Kim San (1905-1938), the protagonist of Helen Foster Snow’s “The Song of Ariran,” and so many other Joseon revolutionaries who were immortalized by Zheng Lucheng, the communist revolution’s most prolific composer, flocked to China to join the revolution without a second thought. 

During the revolution, they lived and died alongside Chinese revolutionaries. The Kim Il-sung brigade, which became the crux of North Korea (under the Northeast Counter-Japanese United Army), was also a mixed unit of Korean and Chinese troops. Apart from revolutionary activities, Koreans and overseas Chinese residents cooperated with each other on business ventures. Korea under the Japanese occupation was a multi-ethnic society and significantly internationalized. 

The hattrick of exclusion, alliance and cooperation continued even after Korea’s liberation. Up until the 1990s, exclusion symbolized by anti-communist campaigns targeting China and Park Chung-hee’s restrictive policies toward overseas Chinese businesspeople was predominant. 

After establishing diplomatic relations with China, the massive Chinese market opened up to Korea. Tens of thousands of Korean Chinese and Chinese began flooding into Korea in the 1990s. From then onward, cooperation for mutual benefit was the prevailing mood. 

However, the US-China rivalry intensified, and China’s opposition to the Terminal High-Altitude Area Defense (THAAD) anti-ballistic missile system in 2017 inspired Korean conservatives to harken back to the country’s pre-1945 hatred and exclusion of the Chinese. The bigger problem was that this sentiment became mainstream thanks to the press. 

Exclusion and hatred of China before 1945 did Korea more harm than good. In fact, it was the Japanese Empire that was happiest to see friction arise between the people of Korea and China, who should have joined forces to fight the Japanese. 

Amid the chaos that follows the segmentation of US hegemony, Korea needs to find a way to survive. Under such circumstances, China should be a partner in cooperation, not a target for exclusion. Koreans need to stand in solidarity with the Korean Chinese and Chinese nationals who have become an indispensable part of Korean society. 

To make this cooperation and solidarity possible, the first thing Korean intellectuals need to do is reflect on perceptions they’ve harbored regarding China and the Chinese until now. 

The Korean press, which imitated the US ethnic nationalist narrative on China and played along with Japanese policies that pitted Korea and China against each other while demonizing China, also needs to do some self-reflection. Historical reflections regarding slaughters such as the Wanpaoshan Incident also need to be included in textbooks. To treat the societal disease known as hatred, the best medicine is to directly confront the past. To prevent repeated human rights abuses, we need to do our best and march together toward a future of cooperation and solidarity. 

Please direct questions or comments to [english@hani.co.kr]