Courtesy of Park Eunjin

Jessie looks like a K-Pop star. Tall, thin. All sharp angles, softened only by the impossible length of her eyelashes. She wears crop tops, mini skirts, and fills her social media with photos of her in bikinis, lounging on far flung beaches. Heads turn as she enters a room. "They come up to me," she says, eyes lowered. "In bars, in restaurants. Always in Korean." A pause. "But when I answer in Chinese, when they realize where I'm from, they just walk away. No words. Just absence." I feel sad for how this must make her feel. To be so openly ignored. Her solution? "Sometimes I tell people I'm from Singapore or Taiwan, just so they might be a bit nicer to me."

I see anti-Chinese sentiment everywhere in Korea, but never in the way Jessie and the thousands of other international students do. They arrive in droves — 70,000 last year, according to official statistics — drawn by K-pop, the gleam of modernity, the unfiltered access to Instagram, the promise of a world beyond the watchful eye of Chairman Xi. For the most part, they speak of Korea with admiration, captivated by its energy and freedoms. The only complaints? The food, sometimes. The way they're treated, more often.

And then you open the newspapers. Chinese people accused of rigging elections, buying up Seoul, turning the air to dust, stealing culture — an endless litany of grievances, some real, many exaggerated, others imagined. Once you recognize the pattern, you see it everywhere, woven into the discourse. It is normalized to a worrying degree. Entire organizations exist to scour the internet for perceived slights, and when they find them — bam — the machine lurches into action. Dramas are canceled. Events boycotted. Public sentiment whipped into a storm and sent northward.

It unsettles me. Coming from Europe, I am no stranger to national rivalries, to stereotypes reinforced by media and comedy. But there, a line exists. Certain things remain unsaid, at least in polite company. Here, I don't see that line. People speak of China — and of Japan — with a bluntness that would turn heads elsewhere. The accusations come easily, unchallenged, unexamined, as if they are merely stating facts.

Of course, every nation prefers to externalize its struggles. It is far easier to direct blame outward, to drape oneself in superiority and condescension, than to confront the uncomfortable truths within. Korea is no exception. Anti-Chinese and anti-Japanese sentiment are not merely social undercurrents but ideological pillars, wielded by the two major political parties as both shield and sword.

One could also explore how pro and anti-American and North Korean attitudes play into this as well. Over the decades, the Korean Democrats have rarely, if at all, denounced any of the heinous acts committed by North Korea nor the continuing human rights violations that take place there. They also flirt with anti-American sentiment where possible. The Conservatives, on the other hand, sing American Pie in the White House, play golf, and decry North Korea at every available opportunity. Shamans around Incheon even include the American flag and General Douglas MacArthur in their rituals.

Blame and understanding

Too many external observers liken the Korean Conservative party to Trump and his Republican ilk and the Korean Democrats to progressive virtue signalers like Harris and Pelosi. However, Korean politics and the parties' legitimacy has nothing to do with western culture and the fault lines we find elsewhere. Mirror imaging is a cognitive bias that occurs when individuals project their own beliefs, perspectives, and motivations onto others. Politics here is generally about which neighboring country do you hate more: China (and North Korea) or Japan.

For now, anti-Chinese sentiment dominates, making daily life awkward for people like Jessie, who find themselves subtly — or sometimes blatantly — excluded. But this, too, will shift. Once the Democratic Party secures its likely victory in the next election, the tide will turn. Anti-Chinese sentiment will recede (though never fully disappear), and anti-Japanese rhetoric will take its place. Newspapers will resurface century-old trauma, revisiting crimes, collaborators, and the long shadow of colonial rule. The national conversation will pivot to truth and reconciliation, to the deep-rooted evils still plaguing the peninsula. If you want a preview, watch Exhuma, last year's domestic blockbuster. What begins as an engaging supernatural thriller gradually transforms into a cinematic exercise in historical grievance, tapping into collective memory and redirecting public ire toward Korea's eastern neighbor.

Remember Japan?

Those who were here during the last Democratic presidency will remember the "No Japan" signs that filled shopping centers and convenience stores. Popular beer brands like Asahi and Sapporo were widely shunned. Protests erupted outside embassies as diplomatic and cultural ties between the two countries frayed, while Washington watched anxiously.

I will never forget my nephew coming back from school with a project assigned by his homeroom teacher. He and his classmates were tasked with walking around the neighborhood, going into all the shops, and then making a list of all the Japanese-made products. These were then written down on a board in their classroom. They were under instruction not to buy any of them. It felt so methodical. Bureaucratic. Fascist, almost. At the same time, it was pathetic. Of course, a group of puberty-fueled teenagers addicted to "One Piece" and some of the weirder Japanese animations I'd rather not get into now not buying a thousand Won pencil, a Hello Kitty notebook, or a white t-shirt is really going to deal a crushing blow to those imperialist murderers across the sea!

And so it will begin again. The cycle, the fever, the ritualistic purge of history. Members of the opposition have just had an ordinance in Gyeonggi Province that will prevent any use of symbols associated with Japanese imperialism in public spaces, as well as the power to conduct inspections. This is where the machinery of government is directed in 2025, where our tax money is spent: policing the past. Elsewhere, the actor Lee Ji-ah has had to publicly apologize for the actions of her grandfather who is seen by many as a collaborator during the Japanese occupation of Korea. And so, she atones. She makes the rounds, visiting institutions, performing gestures of patriotism to appease an audience that demands blood from ghosts.

It should be noted that her grandfather died when she was two years old and she has no memories of him. She is apologizing for the sins of people she has never met, the kind of collective punishment we hear about in North Korea (and San Francisco, lmao). There is even an app which publicly displays all those accused of Japanese collaboration. First released in 2005, there were approximately 3,000 people there initially, including former President Park Chung-hee. The number, unsurprisingly, continues to grow.

There's a policeman in your head

This might seem like I'm taking an apologist position vis-à-vis Japanese war crimes during the first half of the twentieth century. I'm not. If there is any doubt, I urge you to read "Judgment at Tokyo: World War II on Trial and the Making of Modern Asia" by Gary J. Bass — an extraordinary book. Nor am I suggesting that China's online warriors and government-backed organizations behave any better. They do not. The emergence of South Korean soft power around the world and the good feeling it has created towards the people here has frustrated Beijing. For all of China's economic might, its vast landmass, its billion-strong population, its ancient religions, its cuisines, its music, its pandas — none of it has captivated the world quite like K-pop and kimchi.

What I am trying to do is something else. To expose how ban-chung (anti-Chinese sentiment) and ban-il (anti-Japanese sentiment) are not just historical grievances but active forces, shaping modern life. On social media. In news reports. And, more importantly, how they ebb and flow according to domestic politics. How they are used by those with power to maintain their position. Because in Korea, as elsewhere, politicians do not sit upon a throne of love, but of hate.

In South Korea, the two dominant parties — both, at their core, conservative — do not win public favor by offering visions of a better future. They do not produce affordable housing, nor do they extend the hand of dignity to the marginalized. Instead, they rally the people by directing their anger outward, by stoking resentment toward a neighbor. Forging unity through division. Perhaps a reflection of the larger national divide that exists between Seoul and Pyongyang. Each half of the country defined and legitimized by the existence of the other.

So while Jessie might be somewhat safer and China reportedly considers lifting the ban on Hallyu it's had in place for the last eight years, spare a thought for the Jitsukos and Hidetoshis of this world who just want to hang out in Hongdae and go to Twice pop-up stores while studying here in Seoul. Their lives and our social media experiences are about to change once again. Japan will be the new bogeyman holding South Korea back from its rightful position. Thankfully, my nephew is now at university and won't have to deal with that high school teacher anymore. Worryingly, my son and daughter both now attend that very same school.

Perhaps a reason for more distress is that despite an upcoming presidential election, neither political party seem intent on creating a vision of the future that can provide for all South Koreans. Only to further reinforce their own position by continually labelling others, both domestic and foreign, as the enemy we need protecting from. And while they fan the flames of division, they quietly enrich themselves and their families, bending laws, shirking responsibilities, lining their pockets with impunity. They make us hate, to make themselves rich.

And if we can recognize that, then perhaps we are already halfway to understanding the solution.

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.