Situations Vol. 1(Fall 2010) © 2010 by Yonsei University Yang Jung Lee1 [email protected] Finding Chongno The Search for the Past in the Present In the 1920s Chongno was full of “brick houses, tiled roofs, tin roofs, thatched cottages… men in suits, kimonos, hanbok in black or white … men walking forwards, sideways, stooping, shoving, perched on something, crawling, yawning, smoking, spitting, and even urinating… people speak in Japanese, Western languages, Chinese, and different dialects of Korean… Of course since it is in a metropolitan area, there are foreigners, Seoul people, country people, people who are dressed to a tee, some dressed like beggars" (Chang 71-72, my translation). During the Chosǒn Dynasty, Chongno functioned as the center of commerce; if you could not find something in Chongno, it was a good bet that you would not find it anywhere. During the Japanese occupation, it functioned as a gathering place for revolutionaries, modern boys and modern girls, literary greats, newspaper printers, vendors, and peddlers. It was during this time that Chongno became the heart of the Chosǒn people. Ch’ǒnggyech’ǒn divided the city into the Japanese section in the south and the Korean section in the north. The center of the Korean section was Chongno. Today Chongno is still a conglomeration of different people and buildings although it has undergone great changes. Chongno sparkles with the light reflected on the windows of tall cement office buildings; tiled roofs of traditional wooden buildings are interspersed between concrete blocks. Men and women in suits run to work, while students walk to class yawning; ajummas shove their way to their destinations, while some stooped or loitering men spit or smoke. Korean is the language that is most audible, but Japanese, Chinese, Mongolian and 1 Yonsei graduate student 128 of course English are not hard to come by. Modern Chongno is a curious place where the past and the present interact. Gwanghwamun Plaza Chongno starts with Gwanghwamun (Kwangwhamun) Plaza. As part of the project to restore Gwanghwamun to its former glory, the plaza has been modified and re-constructed by the current mayor of Seoul2. Gwanghwamun Plaza is today a slab of concrete 34 meters wide and 740 meters long, with prominent statues of Yi Sun-sin and King Sejong commanding attention. Currently, however, Yi, the great military leader, is hidden behind the façade of a fitting room awaiting further grooming. The spray from fountains that cool the hot rays of the sun during the summer are now hidden under plastic grass. The somewhat cheap but benevolent-looking statue of King Sejong sits on more concrete; underneath him is a “ubiquitous zone” (whatever that is supposed to mean) presenting Hangǔl and Haechi, the yellow mascot of Seoul. The ginko trees that once served as roadside trees have been uprooted and disposed of because they were planted by the Japanese. Now the plaza lies bare. There is no greenery except that of the artificial grass. How much this ultra-modern space restores the glory of Gwanghwamun is up to the beholder but the randomly placed Korean artifacts strewn across the plaza seem less suited for the citizens of Seoul than for the tourists who ooh and ahh over the quaint-looking artifacts. Seoulites rarely glance at the historical artifacts or the exhibitions but rather enjoy the fountain in the summer and the skating rink in the winter; most of the time they are too busy crossing the intersections to give the plaza a second glance. Whose interests are served by this supposedly modern but in truth rather kitsch-looking restoration? Certainly not those of the people rushing to cross the intersection or the cars and buses that threaten to squash them flat. Kyobo Book Center During the Japanese occupation of Korea, most of the newly-established, westernized schools 2 To be accurate, Gwangwhamun Plaza is actually on Sejongno. The history of this place is rather turbulent and complicated. 129 were located around Chongno. The modern middle and high schools, as well as the forerunners of the universities and the first women’s schools, were clustered on or around this street. The bookstores selling textbooks and modern libraries like Chongno Library were located here as well. Today, most of the schools, apart from Ewha Girls’ High School, have moved to different locations; and the small independent bookstores that used to litter Chongno have all gone out of business. However, the spirit of learning and education can still be found at Kyobo Book Center. The building itself is a tall red brick eyesore, but the underground bookstore embraces the spirit of knowledge that Chongno was known for: it represents a world apart from the rush rush rush of the pedestrians crossing Sejongno and Chongno, amid the even swifter rush of cars. The serene, warm, bright atmosphere of the book store is a welcome oasis after you have waded through the shoving bodies on the bus or subway. As you drift from shelf to shelf, eyeing the many books, some filled with practical knowledge, some philosophical, some empirical, others just amusing, the urge to race as fast as you can to your next destination begins to dissipate. Finding the book that you came for seems a little less important now that you know it is within reach. Every corner you turn, strangers sit next to each other on benches or the carpeted floor, engrossed in reading books that are perhaps worth the time but not the money. Many wear earphones which suggest the need for solitude away from the yap yap yap of family, friends, employers, co-workers and lovers; it is alright to be alone here. In the foreign language section, the voice of Barrack Obama booms out, as the salesperson tries to persuade a middle-aged man to buy an expensive PMP. Ten minutes of persuasion later, the man pulls out his credit card, while the salesperson dashes madly to the storage room. Coming back with the new gadget, he almost trips over the cleaning man’s rickety trash cart. The only people rushing around are the employees. For them, the world underground is as much about survival as the world above ground is for the rest of us. Like the scholars of yesteryear who spent hours poring over modern books in order to forget the pain of the occupation, the customers at Kyobo Book Center can find a book to stick their noses in while forgetting about the vicious, visceral real world outside. 130 T’apgol Park On March 1, 1919 citizens gathered in what was then called Pagoda Park and a Declaration of Independence was read. Men and women, young and old, cheered for the independence of Korea and waved T’aegǔkgis. They then proceeded to march down Chongno. It was the start of the first nationwide independence movement. The Japanese swiftly responded with violence. Where once the spirit of patriotic rebellion burst forth forth, there now are mostly male octogenerians. In front of the Samil Gate, a group of well-dressed old men crowd around a man handing out petitions to repel the abolition of hojujae, a remnant of Korea’s patriarchal Confucian conservatism, outlawed two years ago. Once you cross the threshold of the park’s main gate, busy, bustling Chongno is lost. Where history meets the present, the traffic goes by, unconcerned. The park is a time capsule where old people come to escape a present that dismisses them as outworn relics. In the pavilion in the center of the park, forlorn-looking men sit around talking about their past glories. Others huddle around a stone bench, gazing into oblivion. Two men stand in front of the ten-story stone pagoda at Wǒngaksa Temple which gives the park its name. The pagoda is encased in a plastic house to protect it from the elements. Metal buttresses help it stand in its old age. Time imitates the slow gait of the men who inhabit this place. The only reminder of the fast-paced world outside is the sound of traffic and the skyline of Fraser Suites and the Green Computer Academy looming above. Yellow wilting marigolds add the only color to the park’s drab black and white. Even the greenery is a desultory hue, almost grayish. T’apgol Park has become the secluded sanctum of the defeated and abandoned and those who seek even more solitary solace amongst themselves. YBM Perhaps because Chongno was the site of the onset of modern education, it can still boast of its educational modernity through its foreign language academies. Across the street from T’apgol Park is the main building of YMB Si-sa, one of the largest foreign language hagwons 131 in Korea. The building is not beautiful to look at: a rectangular cement plot with blackened rectangular windows and unimaginative rectangular classrooms. There are four different entrances to the building. One of them has a reception booth staffed by kind-looking young women. Students mill around the lobby and the computers situated along the wall as they wait for classes to begin. A second reception booth entrance has more kind-looking young receptionists, but this one also has a lobby with large tables for study. As you approach, you note a group of six students discussing the pros and cons of the G20 summit in English. Two students practice writing and reading hiragana. Three students review Chinese pronunciation. Interspersed among the groups are more solitary-looking individuals wearing earphones: some are madly writing down English words, others are reading TOEFL passages, others listening to TOEIC listening tapes. Some speakers are repeating a speech by Barrack Obama.