Courtesy of Clark Gu

One of the most contentious issues to discuss here in Northeast Asia is not feminism, it's not mental health, nor is it politics. It's history. In Korea, it is the kind of thing for which there is an overarching grand narrative to which one is expected to bend the knee and brook no dissent. And while you will find a whole host of articles, webtoons, Netflix dramas and YouTube videos exploring issues of gender and sexuality from a wide range of perspectives and playing a very critical role in brokering important discussions, history is often left under-represented. And there are reasons for this.

Is it possible — even desirable? — for there to be a history written of Northeast Asia on which Korea, Japan and China would all agree on the various facts presented within? Most people, when I ask this question, simply laugh at such a suggestion. Because the answer is, "Of course not." But then, if that's the case, does history really exist? Or is it just a national vibe to which one is expected to subscribe?

What is history?

A few years ago, I gave a talk in Gwangju about the development of democracy in Korea. To my surprise, most of the other people on the panel referenced the movie "A Taxi Driver" (2017) extensively. It's a deeply moving film, and the character arc played out by Song Kang-ho is brilliant, changing from a selfish and unloving father to a conscientious family man and humble citizen of the country. But the movie is not history. It's a dramatic narrative in which the past is played out for the people of the present. It shows us more about modern interpretations of Gwangju than it does the events. And the same might be said for many movies and dramas in Korea. History is played out on the screen, and the country rewrites its narratives according to the needs of contemporary society.

Politics also plays a role, and I've long been curious about the release timing of certain media and how they come to influence public opinion. The recent movie "12.12: The Day" and the documentary "The Birth of Korea" are two such examples. There are, however, countless more over the years. And with so many people going to see them, it is likely that the events played out in the movies will come to dominate the public consciousness more than the events of history themselves. Hyper-reality transcends actual reality, and we become lost in fantasy.

This is helped in 12.12: The Day's case by having Jung Woo-sung playing the hero role. We are far more moved by people with beautiful faces than the wrinkles and scars of reality. Jung's character, Lee Tae-shin, was based on the former Korean Army general Jang Tae-wan. Notably, the receding hairline and stern face of reality were swapped with one capable of making millions.

History and law

But there was something else about the movie that made me stop and consider what was actually going on. Despite it being obvious that the people in the movie were former Presidents Chun Doo-hwan and Roh Tae-woo and various other notable political and military figures, real names were not used. Director Kim Sung-su said this decision was made because he "needed the freedom that came from fictionalizing some of the details." I'm sure the producers would also have been keenly aware of the litigious nature of Korean society as well as the remarkable defamation laws that exist here.

Seoul Law Group describes the law like this: "Defamation in Korea refers to any reputational damage inflicted on a person, even if the statements are true. Defamation laws are not only limited to living people but can also be about dead people. It is vital to know that being sued for defamation in Korea can lead to both civil and criminal liability. People charged with defamation can receive up to seven years in prison or pay a fine. If you are non-Korean, this might lead to deportation. The amount of defamation reports has increased over 40 percent since 2000, and so have the actual lawsuits and imprisonments."

Just take a moment to consider that. Even if you tell the truth about Korean history, about things that happened long ago, about people no longer living or even people living today, you can still be sued, imprisoned or kicked out of the country if people associated with them feel that you have said something that defames them in some way. Korean law and society have chosen to value one's reputation and image more than the truth of any matter. Representation is deemed more important than reality. And it upholds this difference with the full strength of the law.

Not only does this mean one is disincentivized from telling the truth on certain occasions, but it also entrenches power in those with political and financial influence. The elite can shut down conversations about themselves or those with whom they are associated, which they don't want to be made public. Moreover, the public knows this. You can tell the truth here or you can try and discuss history, but in doing so, you run a lot of risks.

History and media

When one correctly understands just how dangerous history can be here, it then makes more sense why so many people focus on things like K-pop, particularly professors and academics. Studying the dance routines and fanbases of idol groups created by entertainment agencies to generate foreign capital is not only going to get you media clout but also means that you won't get in any legal trouble by studying things that actually matter. Of course, there's always the chance you'll get canceled on Twitter for making the wrong observation regarding an idol's hairstyle or denounced as a racist on TikTok for not giving a 5-star review to a largely forgettable track boosted by the use of stream manipulation and bulk purchasing. However, the popularity of hallyu, or the Korean wave, as a field of study is made more understandable in this light.

If you are a historian, you are expected to try and answer what happened during the closing days of the Joseon Dynasty, to what extent Chinese culture has influenced Korea, what the impacts were of Japanese colonization, what Korea's role was in the sexual exploitation of women before and after Japanese colonization, what Korea's was role in the massacres and rapes during the Vietnamese War and so on. I've asked these questions to a few different people whom I respect for their knowledge, and what has been most notable is how their approach and their answers change before and after the microphones are turned on. Sit with a professor or academic over makgeolli and ask them those questions, then put them in a studio with lights and see how the answers change. It's not just law. It's an aspect of Korean society and how one is expected to adhere to the gusts of popular feeling. This has been made ever more inevitable by the rise of social media and our transformation into an emocracy in which emotions and offense become the cornerstones of conversation.

My guilt

History is one of the things that will sometimes ashamedly make me self-censor and be incredibly cognizant of the politics and emotions of national characters and narratives. There are areas of Korean history that I want to explore and discuss publicly, but I know that it's simply sometimes not worth it because I will want to ask uncomfortable questions and, in the process, make a lot of mistakes. I also want to show my love and respect for a country that I feel great patriotism for and that has made me feel welcome over the last two decades. Yet mistakes cannot afford to be made via history, particularly with a young family who need food placed on the table. But, more and more, I'm trying to be honest and avoid the fear that comes from contentious conversations.

When our children are young, we often tell them glorified stories or particular narratives that we believe will help their development. Tales of Santa Claus, origin myths, stories of tigers and dragons and metaphors for the nature of death and reproduction are all present as children grow up. We let them embrace the culture of the people, and then, over time, they start to disentangle truth from fiction and come to understand the world differently. It's part of a natural learning curve we all go through. We can see how other countries around the world have slowly unraveled their own myths and histories and come to a more modern understanding of their past. Korea has not had enough opportunity to do this because it has suffered from foreign colonization, division, civil war and authoritarian military dictatorship. This has resulted in the necessity of nation-building on a physical level as well as a psychological level. The Republic of Korea had to be created in people's minds, and heroes and villains were chosen. To disagree was traitorous, evidence of North Korean or Japanese leanings. Being a Korean — especially South Korean — meant you had to agree with the story you were told.

Today, the nation has been built. Its existence is neither contentious nor fragile. So now that Korea exists in the present, maybe it can finally look at its past. Maybe.

David A. Tizzard has a doctorate in Korean Studies and lectures at Seoul Women's University and Hanyang University. He is a social-cultural commentator and musician who has lived in Korea for nearly two decades. He is also the host of the "Korea Deconstructed" podcast, which can be found online. He can be reached at datizzard@swu.ac.kr.