Caveat: 혁신도시

Korea’s “New Cities” have always fascinated me, given my own proclivities as an unfulfilled urban planner as well as my current long-standing residence in one of Korea’s largest and most successful New Cities, Ilsan. There are many aspects of the the New City concept and process that are interesting to me, but perhaps what I’m most curious about is why some can be so successful, while others fail. What are the factors which cause this? What decisions are made that influence the success or failure, and what sociological factors beyond the control of planners influences the success or failure?
Ilsan is quite successful. If you came to this city of half a million residents, you might be surprised to learn it was less than 30 years old, and that nothing existed but a small village when when I first visited the area in 1991, while in the US Army stationed in Korea.
On the other hand, there are large New Cities which feel like ghost towns. They are not empty, but they have not managed to coalesce into a city-type place. They have atmospherics which resemble those of some US suburbs (or exurbs), contrasting only in being much higher density.
I was thinking about this recently, having watched on the TV a fairly in-depth report on a New City being built down near Gwangju, the other Korean metropolitan area that I have called home. The report first caught my attention because the name of the city is 빛가람 [bitgaram], which struck me as a weird name for a New City – it means “Bright Monastery” or “Bright Cathedral” and so what struck me as odd was the apparent religious aspect of the name. I suppose it could be seen as a “Cathedral of Capitalism.”
It is being called “혁신도시” [hyeoksindosi = “Innovation New City”] – the term “innovation” in the name seems to be… an innovation. What are they trying to build? Gwangju has a history of trying to reinvent itself as a high tech city, from its old character as agricultural center and “car town” (it is the original home to KIA motors in that company’s pre-Hyundai merger days, as well as home to the Kumho chaebol, maker of car parts and tires and buses). I have described it as Korea’s Detroit. I’m not sure how accurate that is, but I think there is a reputational aspect that matches up, too.
Bitgaram Innovation New City is being built in the city of Naju, which is Gwangju’s older but much smaller neighbor to the south, but which is now absorbed into the Gwangju metropolis. Naju was one of two capitals of the pre-modern Jeolla province, and dates back to the Baekje kingdom era, I think.
Toponymically (and to digress), the name of the other capital, Jeonju, along with the name Naju, are the origins of the name of Jeolla province, since Naju was originally La-ju (a natural sound change from medieval to modern Korean), and thus Jeon+La = Jeonla->Jeolla. Originally, there were two provinces, Jeonju and Laju (“ju” just means place or province, after all).  I have always wondered why, when the modern Korean government decided to split Jeolla, they named them North Jeolla and South Jeolla. Why not just return to Jeon and La (Na)? It would be as if, say, Iowa and Minnesota merged, to form Minnesotiowa, and then split again to form North Minnesotiowa and South Minnesotiowa.
This blog post is rambling a bit.
My real question is, will this New City if Bitgaram be successful, like Ilsan, or less successful, like e.g. Ilsan’s western neighbor, Unjeong? I have been to Unjeong many times, and even have had coworkers and students who live there. But despite the ambitions attached to it, it has so far never evolved into anything more than a bedroom suburb, unlike Ilsan. It’s a bit younger than Ilsan, but that doesn’t explain its failure to develop its own city character – Ilsan had its own city character well-established even 15 years ago, which is Unjeong’s age now. Unjeongians always commute to Ilsan for their city-type activities. I wonder why.
The one trend that I find disturbing is that the newer New Cities seem to lack the commitment to diverse public transit that the older New Cities seemed pretty good at. Thus Unjeong is not built along a subway line (as is the case with Ilsan, really along two lines) but rather off to the side of one. Gwangju’s subway (which is, anyway, a joke) will not connect to Bitgaram, as far as I can tell.
Here is an image of Bitgaram, fished off the internet. It is a “rendering” – not an actual view – the city is still under construction.
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[daily log: walking, ]

Caveat: Head Tax

I got a very strange tax bill the other day.
Not strange in the sense that it was wrong. But after living in Korea for 8 years, I didn’t really expect to discover a new tax obligation out of the blue. Did they just recently realize I existed, and finally get their stuff together enough to send me a tax bill? Did the law change? My coworkers seemed familiar enough with it.
It was strange in a kind of annoying way, too, because it was for such an insubstantial amount: 5000 won for a year. Wouldn’t the cost of collecting this tax be more than any possible amount collected at such a rate? Maybe this is why they never bothered to collect it until now.
picture
picture[daily log: walking, 6 km]

Caveat: When North Korea Attacks, Cancel Homework

We are in class, it's about 7 pm. 

A student says, "Teacher. Are we going to cancel class?"

"Why would we cancel class?" I ask. I took it for typical teenage "joking." 

"Because 북한 [bukhan = North Korea] just shoot missile at Yeoncheon." 

Yeoncheon is the county just north of Paju, whose border, in turn, is just a few blocks from our current location. I may even have had students who commute from Yeoncheon, a few times. 

"Really?" I ask. I think the students must be inventing something. But Yeongjin shows me the news on his smartphone. It's true. Later, I will read about the details in English, where they are easier to understand. 

Anyway, it's believable enough, on a Korean news site. "When did this happen?" I asked.

"About 4 o'clock," one student said.

"Wow," I said. "What should we do?" I guess I meant this collectively, and not necessarily with respect to the current class setting. The students took it more immediately.

"Cancel homework," several said in unison, as if it were the perfectly logical and obvious response to a North Korean attack.

I made a retort: "I think, if North Koreans are attacking, we should study English even more." 

"Why?" one boy asked.

"Because you will need English when you have to leave the country." This was excessively grim, and largely facetious. The students didn't really get what I was meaning. I decided it was too dark to explain.

Keep calm and study English.

[daily log: walking, 6.5 km]

 

Caveat: Vigilant Disregard

On my work blog's admin page, hosted on the naver.com website, which is Korean, they will put up these little "prompts" to suggest blog topics, in Korean.

Yesterday, on June 25th, appropriately, they had the question:

6.25전쟁과 같은 전쟁이 다시 일어나지 않으려면, 어떻게 해야 할까요?

Roughly, it asks, "How can we avoid another war like the 6-25 war?" ("6-25 war" is what South Koreans call the Korean war, since it started with the  North's surprise attack on June 25th, 1950). 

The answer that popped into my mind immediately was: "Just keep doing the same thing that's been done."

Why such a flippant answer? Well, it's worked for 60 years, right? 

I would characterize the South's approach to the North with the oxymoronic phrase "vigilant disregard." Vigilant because the Korean military is large, well-trained (relatively speaking), and well-supported (e.g. financially, by the U.S. alliance, etc.). Disregard, because, despite this vigilance, there is little coherence or intentionality to be found in the broader policy portfolio. It is mostly reactive, but tempered by a strong conservative tendency to hove to the status quo and avoid provocation. I've always said that South Korea seems to mostly see the North the way a Korean family would regard a mentally ill elderly relative. Something to be embarassed by, to try to ignore, but also to be controlled as best possible. 

Anyway, I answered that naver blog question here on this here blog thingy. 

[daily log: walking, 6 km]

Caveat: MERSland

Am I worried about MERS? Not particularly. On the one hand, I suppose if it gets bad, that would be, well, bad. And my own weak immune system would not be helpful, either, if it started spreading around Ilsan.
It is true the Korean health authorities have somewhat mismanaged the outbreak, too.
If I was in America, it’s worth noting that authorities there were mismanaging Ebola, not that long ago. So far, so much the same anywhere you choose to be.
In any event, I think 90% of the current MERS situation in South Korea is hypochondria and media-driven public panic. The fact is that if you stay away from hospitals, you’re fine.
Authorities are trying to correct their earlier mis-steps. I got a MERS-oriented public health flier the other day at my apartment.
picture
I guess I view it as one of those incipient, unpredictable but inevitable calamities, like earthquakes or typhoons or North Korean aggression. They happen if they happen, and meanwhile, the smartest course is to not worry and try to live life as normal.
picture[daily log: walking, 6 km]

Caveat: The $200 Argument

Well, I have bad news and good news.

The bad news is I had to pay a fine of $300 (₩300,000) to the immigration authorities, because I violated a rule that said I had to report a change-of-address within 14 days. In fact, it was 1 year and 14 days since my move. Heh. I sort of knew about this rule, in the abstract, but in the mess of having cancer last year, and the move (while Andrew and Hollye were here, who helped me move), and everything else… I just forgot about it, and Curt never thought about it… and so we never reported the address change.

The good news is that I did, in fact manage to renew my contract and visa for another year. It seems as if time has flown by very fast, this past year.

They originally wanted to charge a fine of $500 (and in fact they had legal discretion to fine me up to $1000 and/or deport me, according to some websites on Korean immigration rules). Curt, however, was with me, and he decided to argue with the immigration officer for 40 minutes (continuously, in his best school-teacher, Korean-Confucian-pedantic style), and this (maybe) got us the reduction of $200. Curt was very pleased with the result, and I have to admit that if I had been alone, I'd have simply paid the $500 without even trying to negotiate. This is a Korean vs US character thing, in part. In Korea, officers giving fines and fees seem to have a lot of discretion (this is a carry-over from the days when it was outright corruption – I don't actually think there is that much corruption now, but this capacity to negotiate the terms of minor legal infractions still seems universal in the culture).

Curt said, "Wow, 200,000 won for only 40 minutes work. It sure was tiring, though." Indeed, he'd worked up a sweat in the air-conditioned office with his passionate debating. One thing he conveyed to me, later, that I hadn't captured in overhearing the Korean, was that the immigration officer had said at one point, to Curt, "Why are you arguing this? – it's the foreigner who has to pay the fine." Curt subsequently harangued the officer about the idea that that was the kind of "pass-the-buck" attitude that caused so many social problems in Korea, and further, it was a little bit "anti-foreigner" (i.e. racist).

Well, thus it is. I will view the $300 as part of the cost of my cancer last year, since ultimately the fact that I never reported my change-of-address is best explained by the distraction of that illness.

SeollongtangjointPrior to the immigration office adventure, Curt and I had had lunch together, at a 설농탕 joint down the road from KarmaPlus a few blocks. Curt had said, "this is an old restaurant," drawing out the "old" to show emphasis.

I said, "Really? When did they build it?"

"Oh, 1998 I think," Curt answered. 

We talked about how I had come to Ilsan in 1991, when I was in Korea in the US Army, and how at that time, it had been mostly rice-fields and a decrepit neighborhood around the train station, rather than a city of half-a-million.

Ah, life in the 신도시 [sindosi = "new city"]. 

[daily log: walking, 6km]

Caveat: 오발탄

I went to see a movie today, entitled 오발탄 [obaltan = aimless bullet]. It is a very old movie, especially by the standards of Korean cinema, having been made in 1960, in the waning days of the autocratic Syngman Rhee (이승만) regime, when the Korean war was still a very fresh memory and when North Korea still had a higher per capita GDP than the South. Thus the atmospherics of the movie are very much about the feeling of pointlessness that prevailed with respect to the war in that period (while later treatments could trend more ideological, given the retrospective "necessity" to fight for a better future – later fulfilled by South Korea's arrival in the "first world").

This existential atmosphere of hopelessness is also clearly influenced by the existential charecter of post-WW2 European cinema, but the movie's director, 유현목 [Yu Hyeon-Mok], has masterfully "nativized" that latter genre's cinematic vocabulary such that the movie feels authentically Korean rather than at all derivative.

Superficially, the movie could be summarized in one sentence as "man with a bad toothache and a badly-behaved family struggles to survive while retaining a clear conscience, but gives up in the end." The badly-behaved family includes a mentally deranged mother (traumatized by the war), a prostitute sister, a bank-robber casanova brother, and a dissolute, very pregnant wife who will die in childbirth. The movie is based on a short story by 이범선 [Yi Beom-Seon], which I will try to find and read in tranaslation.

I told my friend Peter, who had suggested us going to the screening at the Seoul Film Society, that I thought the symbolism of the film was not that hard to decipher: while everyone obsesses over and struggles with the various family problems (aftermaths of the War), the real, unbearable problem is the man's toothache, which represents the endemic corruption of South Korea at that time. Unless this core problem is plucked out and solved, the baroque madness surrounding him continues, yet he resists doing it until the end, "sacrificing" so as to provide for family.

Frankly, the movie is pretty dark and depressing. The cinematography is hard to appreciate because of the poor quality of the surviving print that was digitized. Nevertheless I came away quite impressed by the montage. There are all these visual leitmotifs and echoes and almost humorous pauses and dwellings of the camera. The dialogue, which of course was partly ruined by poor subtitles, seemed full of these sort of "speaking in aphorisms" that seem to abound in Korean, and thr movie was in all ways equal to "art cinema" I have seen that was made in the west in the same period.

I liked the movie. I have not been doing much movie-watching lately.

Incidentally, after the movie there was a "discussion group," which was in English and not bad as far as such things go until the conversation got taken over by a mulling of Korea's persistent cultural resentment of Japan. Apropos of this, after we left the locale, Peter said a very quotable thing: "people's opinions about Japan are rarely rational or interesting to listen to."

[daily log: walking 4 km]

Caveat: 10 minutes on car-free streets

Walking to work is very easy and convenient when the Koreans are holding their monthly civil defense drills. At 2pm on certain Wednesdays (I haven't quite figured out the pattern, I confess – I used to think it was first Wednesdays but clearly today wasn't one of those), the sirens go off and all these volunteers and police go out and pretend we're being attacked by North Korea. Mostly this involves making everyone stop driving their cars. Everyone has to sit in their cars at intersections for 10 minutes or so, while the drill happens, emergency vehicles pretend to ciruculate, etc. 

It makes walking to work very pleasant, because all the wide avenues in Ilsan are carless (well, moving-car-less – they're all pulled over or stopped at intersections). If you jaywalk at mid-block, you can stroll casually from block to block, avoiding the intersections, and never worry about a car.

For 10 minutes. Then it's back to psycho-driving-taxis… the usual. 

[daily log: walking, 5 km]

Caveat: 5th season

The weather yesterday and today has been what I would describe as "post-monsoonal" – dry, and clear, that first taste of fall maybe.

The monsoon was pretty lame this year, frankly. Maybe more will come later, but it feels "over."

It always seems to come around this time. I really think Korea should perhaps be thought of as having 5 seasons rather than 4: fall, winter, spring, summer (monsoon), summer (post-monsoon).

It makes walking to work more pleasant, anyway. 

[daily log: walking, 6.5 km]

Caveat: The Social Construction of Discomfort

Pain is real, and exists at a fundamental level.

However, I think the principle of "discomfort" is quite different. I have come to believe that most of what we think of as discomfort is socially constructed – even what we think of as physical discomfort. It's important to understand that I'm not speaking of pain, here, not even mild pain, but rather that sense of being uncomfortable in some way. Certainly it is true that some types of physical discomfort can shade into real pain in inperceptibly small steps, but when we cringe at someone's awkward behavior, or complain that a room is too warm, or insist that our chairs are uncomfortable, mostly we are dealing with psychological constructs, which in turn are often the result of social (cultural) interactions and conditioning that we received as children.

What I'm thinking of is my recent observation that Koreans seem to find the idea of wearing a long-sleeve shirt in summer unbearable. They visibly stare and wince when they see me wearing my now habitual long-sleeved shirts. I don't really care, one way or another, as far as my own personal comfort is concerned – I don't think it really impacts my experience of feelings of relative "heat" or "cool," since frankly, in the summer I'm always just plain hot, and there aren't many shades of difference in my experience of feeling that it's too hot.

Korean-uv-sunlight-protective-elastic-arm-sleevesKoreans however – and at a very young age, apparently – are taught that wearing a short-sleeved shirt offers immense – even indispensible – relief from the discomfort of summer heat. Koreans do odd things, because of this belief that they must wear short-sleeved shirts – many older people wear short-sleeved shirts, and then they wear these weird-looking "arm socks" (see advertising picture at right) because they don't trust the sunlight's effect on their skin, either. My feeling is that this looks much less comfortable than simply wearing a long-sleeved shirt.

My students and coworkers regularly ask me, while wincing in sympathy and gesturing at my arms, if I'm too hot. I shrug but it's starting to feel awkward. I admit that there's a certain vanity involved, on my part – I have a really scary, icky looking scar on my right wrist, now, from the cancer surgery, and my arms are skeletally skinny. I'd just prefer not to have it out there. When my scar shows, people stare at that instead, so I can't win either way.

This social construction of discomfort goes both ways. We in the West are taught almost universally to "chew with a closed mouth" and not to slurp food. Koreans don't care at all, and to a person they will slurp noodles and cram vast quantities of food into their mouths and share with all their progress in masticating it. I still cringe when I am around Koreans eating because it's quite hard to ignore my own early social conditioning in the matter.

 [daily log: walking: 5 km]

 

 

Caveat: Three Stars of Complexity

“Samsung” means “three stars” in Korean. It is, I reckon, now the most widely known Korean word in the world – although few realize the word means anything more than fancy electronics, and a lot of Americans, for example, have the parochially mistaken belief that the name is Japanese.

I ran across an interesting diagram the other day, that has been circulating online. It shows the complex cross-ownership patterns of the many different “Samsung” companies.

picture

In fact, this wacky diagram (you can click to embiggen) doesn’t even show them all, since there are some Samsung companies that are no longer “related” to the vast Samsung empire held by the Lee family (e.g. Samsung Motors, and automotive company, Korea’s third-largest, that is an owned subsidiary of the Renault-Nissan Group, but which retains the Samsung name for historical and brand-loyalty reasons). Not including these unrelated Samsungs, the Samsung Group allegedly comprises about 20% of the South Korean economy – a fact I first remarked on this here blog 4 years ago.

CaveatDumpTruck Logo[daily log: walking, 5 km]

Caveat: Merry Buddhamas

Today was Buddha’s birthday, sometime around 4xxBC, according to the traditional Chinese lunar calendar used in Mahayana Buddhism.
Tnh308To celebrate, I broke my computer yesterday by accident and thusly dedicated myself to reading and meditation. I read a major portion of a book by the Buddhist monk Thich Nhat Hanh, The Heart of the Buddha’s Teaching. It’s more didactic than inspirational, but it’s a well-written summary of Buddhist dogmas, such as they are.
Perhaps I should break my computer more often.
 


What I’m listening to right now.

David Bowie, “South Horizon.” This is from the album called Buddha of Suburbia which is quite appropriate given the day and my location in that acme of Kburbia: Ilsan.
[daily log: walking, 3 km]
[Note: this post was written on the date and time shown on the post, but due to technical difficulties I was unable to publish it until 2014-05-07 14:40.]

Caveat: A 12 year old explains jeong unintentionally

He just wanted to tell a funny made-up story about his friends. But he wrote – using the most atrocious grammar conceivable – a fine description of how jeong emerges in Korean male-male relationships. The experience of "shared adversity" and emergent sentimental companionship.

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[daily log (11 pm): walking, 5 km]

Caveat: 선날떡국

Yesterday, I spent the Lunar New Year’s day alone. I wasn’t invited anywhere and wasn’t in the mood to go out exploring on my own – I think I’ve got a relapse of that cold I had through much of the first half of January.

But I didn’t feel depressed or left out. I was happy to spend some quality time with my own soul.

2014-01-31 09.12.37The Korean tradition is that you should eat a bowl of 떡국 [tteok-guk = rice cake soup]. I decided to fulfill this tradition even though I was alone. I had on hand some 사골곰탕 [sa-gol-gom-tang = bone marrow broth] which several of my Korean acquaintances are always insisting I should be consuming for my “health” (in the broadly interpreted, pre-medical conception common in Korean discourse) and of course I always have the plain white 떡 [tteok = rice cakes] on hand because their soft and can add calories and bulk to a broth or soup. So I put the two together with some custom seasoning of my own and some chopped onion and parsley, and voila, rice cake soup al gringazo.

Eating this on New Year’s morning is supposed to give good luck for the year.


What I’m listening to right now.

Erasure, “Gaudete.” This is technically a kind of Christmas Carol, or sacred song from the Advent calendar which fell on December 15 last month for 2013. So posting it now is a bit late. I suppose Asian Lunar New Year is a kind of secular Advent, meant to celebrate the same Winter principles of renewal and beginnings.

Lyrics.

Gaudete, gaudete! Christus est natus
Ex Maria virgine, gaudete!

Tempus adest gratiæ
Hoc quod optabamus,
Carmina lætitiæ
Devote reddamus.

Deus homo factus est
Natura mirante,
Mundus renovatus est
A Christo regnante.

Ezechielis porta
Clausa pertransitur,
Unde lux est orta
Salus invenitur.

Ergo nostra contio
Psallat iam in lustro;
Benedicat Domino:
Salus Regi nostro.

[daily log (11 pm): like a log]

Caveat: ius linguae

There are two main systems for deriving citizenship, which, being essentially legal concepts, go under their Latin names: ius sanguinis and ius solis. The idea of ius sanguinis, or “right of blood,” is that citizenship derives primarily from the bloodline. This is the traditional way of determining citizenship in countries that are primarily monocultural, as the nations of Europe were in the early modern era. Modern Asian countries also mostly use this model. The alternative is ius solis, or “right of soil,” where citizenship is derived from where one is born. I’m not sure that any modern country has a strictly ius solis model, but most modern “Western” countries – especially immigration-driven countries like the US, Canada or Argentina for example – use a combination of ius solis and ius sanguinis to decide citizenship.

I have thought about the issues around these definitions a lot, first of all as someone who was something of an immigration reform activist in the US prior to my own somewhat unintended emmigration (I say unintended in that I never meant for my emmigration to be permanent or even so long-term, but it has definitely evolved that way), but also as someone who is intrigued by the slow, difficult path Korean society and government is navigating toward a more open attitude toward immigration.

I have been observing with some degree of fascination my recent coworker Razel, who is Philippine-Korean. She acquired her status via marriage, but the extent to which she is integrated into Korean culture and society is breathtaking, and although I have no doubt that she occasionally experiences racism and prejudice, she says it’s in no way the defining feature of her experience. I feel jealousy for her level of Korean Language speaking ability – listening to her on the phone talking to her friends, code-switching between English, Korean, Tagalog and Visayan (the latter being her “native” Philippine languages) leaves me in quiet admiration.

Korean culture is uncomfortable with the idea of immigration. They welcome ethnic Korean “returnees,” called 교포 [gyopo], because they can be more confident of their ability to integrate into Korean society, and they more-or-less accept the idea of mixed marriages as an inevitability, too – as in the example of my coworker. But Koreans resist the idea of foreign individuals or families arriving and simply becoming Korean. It doesn’t sit well with their traditional Confucian concept of the predominance of ancestry and their ius sanguinis model of citizenship.

The other day, however, I had a weird brainstorm as I was thinking about my coworker’s mostly successful integration into Korean society. What if we could define a new, third model of citizenship? Specifically, for a more culturally and linguistically homogeneous society such as Korea, we could grant citizenship rights based, essentially, on the ability to participate in the culture – which is to say, the capacity for the language. It wouldn’t be that hard to say something to the effect of “citizenship for those who pass the language test” – though this would require an ethical and corruption-free administration of a well-designed test, which I’m not sure is the current status of Korea’s de facto standard Korean Language test, the TOPIK. But it would be a workable goal. So that would be ius linguae, “right of language.”

One thought that springs to mind is that this is a model that many in the US would be pleased to adopt – force all those “damn immigrants” to learn English before they get a green card or citizenship! Yet even as I’m happy to propose ius linguae for Korea, I recoil at the idea of applying it in the US. What is the difference? Mostly, history. Korea is historically essentially a single language / culture / state – for hundreds at least if not thousands of years. The US, on the other hand, was almost from the beginning a state defined by some concept of essentially “right of arrival” – to recall one of my favorite quotes on immigration, from Herman Melville, “If they can get here, they have God’s right to come.”

There are tensions within this, but that is the essence. Further, the US project is complicated by the preexistence of linguistic minorities – both Native American and French, Spanish, etc. – groups of people who were in place when the US essentially appeared “over” them through war or annexation. The US is an empire, not a unitary state. It hardly seems fair to impose as a requirement for citizenship the imperial language, since to do so guarantees the possibility of stateless permanent residents within your country, similar to the horrific legal status of Koreans living in Japan even today, 70 years after the end of the War. That Japanese example is a perfect one: the inevitable consquence of applying a ius sanguinis citizenship model in the context of empire is inequality and injustice.

I think Korea, however, is sufficiently compact and homogeneous that applying this type of ius linguae model of citizenship might represent an excellent compromise path between the traditional and inevitably racist ius sanguinis and the more modern ius solis / sanguinis hybrids, the latter of which would lead to an increasintly multi-cultural society and the emergence of linguistic / cultural ghettos – Korea already is beginning to have these in places where there are large numbers of foreigners, such as the area I call “Russiatown” that I like to visit sometimes. Granting citizenship only to immigrants who have already shown a commitment to integrating into Korean culture via the acquisition of the language would be a great solution, maybe.

This is just a brainstorm – a first draft – that occured to me mostly while walking back and forth to work over several days. I’m sure it’s subject to plenty of criticisms and refinements, but I wanted to record my thoughts and put them down.


In other news: yesterday, I turned off the internet and my phone and did almost nothing. It was a lazy day but I think I needed it. I am in danger of social burnout given the teaching load I have taken on (willingly), so I’m going to nurse my off-time for maximum isolation, as my alone time is recuperative for me.

[daily log (1100 pm): walking, 5 km]

Caveat: 노년의 내모습도 처음으로 궁금해졌네

My mother’s visit to me here in Korea ended about a month ago. Yesterday in one of my rare visits to facebookland, I stumbled across a post by one of my co-workers, who wrote about my mother’s visit and her having met my mother when we went to Ganghwa Island. Reading (err, trying to read) a language via a dictionary can be fraught with a sort of poesic impressionism that is probably absent in the actual language, but her facebook post seemed vaguely poetic to me.
Since many people in my life don’t use facebook (including my mother), I decided to share her post here in blogland.  She had written the post to accompany a pair of photos. I then make an effort on my part to translate. If there are errors or awkwardnesses of meaning, they are mine, not the author’s, so please forgive…

호주에서 오셨던 노부인이 보내주신 캘린더와 손글씨가 정겨웠던 카드..
짧은 만남이었지만, 오래된 사찰을 바라보시던 눈빛이 아직도 가끔 기억난다.
주름 가득했지만, 인자한 미소와 자기성찰의 시간이 가득한 평안한 눈빛에 나도 편안해지고…
노년의 내모습도 처음으로 궁금해졌네.

The old woman who came from Australia, the calendar she sent with a handwritten note..
A brief encounter, but I still sometimes recall the sparkle of her eyes gazing upon the old temples.
Full of wrinkles, but in her kind smile and relaxed eyes full of the time of self-reflection made me feel relaxed, too…
As if wondering at the form of my own old age for the first time.

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Caveat: ideology:anxiety::malice:stupidity

There is a famous aphorism in English that goes:

Never attribute to malice that which is more easily explained by stupidity.

The phrase applies a sort of Occam's Razor to the problem of bad behavior in people.

Recently, having run across several accounts of "racism" in Korea, I wondered if there might be a sort of corollary to this aphorism that applies specifically to those sorts of bad behavior. Of course, as foreigners in Korea, we often suffer strange or disturbing slights and mistreatments. One frequent thing that I have experienced myself is to be ignored by taxi drivers.

My thought, though, is that rather than assume that's racism at work, why not assume it's not that different from the reason store clerks say nothing to you, or why my students sit and stare at me when I say hello: it's fear or anxiety over fraught language interaction.

Obviously, there is still generalization and stereotyping going on – after all, it might be one of those foreigners who speaks Korean well that the taxi driver drove past.

But social language anxiety is very powerful. Consider my own bizarre telephone anxiety as a case-in-point. I am not that indrawn of a person, yet I am terrified to answer my phone in this country. Unless it's a number of someone I've already added to my contact list (and therefore their name shows when they call) I simply don't answer my phone, for fear of having to interact in Korean. This is true, despite the fact that I have in the past successfully interacted on the phone in Korean, when it was absolutely necessary.

Might it not be the case that many of these taxi drivers and store clerks who slight foreigners are simply engaging in similar language-anxiety driven behavior? I think so. Koreans are typically very self-conscious about their poor English skills, because their society has spent several generations, now, pounding into their heads that they should have such skills.

Well, anyway, I guess I could develop this further and more precisely, but mostly, I wanted to invent a new corollary to the aphorism at the start of this blog-post. It goes:

Never attribute to ideology (e.g. "racism") that which is more easily explained by social anxiety.

It really can be easily represented by one of those SAT-style vocabulary analogies:

ideology:anxiety::malice:stupidity

[daily log: walking, 4.5 km]

Caveat: KFV

Today my friend Helen (a current coworker) invited Wendy and me to go to a "Korean Folk Village," located in Yongin, which is on the southeast perimeter of the megalopolis (whereas I live in the northwestern part). Another friend, Kelly (a former coworker) with her son who is 8, came along too. So the five of us drove down there and spent about 6 hours being tourists. It was fun.

Here is a whole bunch of pictures. I won't caption all of them, but provide comment on a few.

Wendy and I posing in front of some jangseung near the entrance.

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Some little ceramic statues of peasant people.

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Two Chinese tourist kids held rapt by a Korean potter demonstrating his art.

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Some dancing / samulnori performers, marching out.

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A giant pile o' people, spinning around impressively, to excellent rhythms – the medieval Korean breakdancing tradition.

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Kelly with her son jumping rope.

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A very pleasant looking reading room in a "mansion."

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A kitchen with a lot of garlic.

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We all ate lunch. Pictured are Kelly's son, Kelly, Helen and Wendy.

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A really calm, beautiful courtyard in a structure.

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Some ducks in the lake.

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A run-down looking pavilion highlighted by the afternoon sun.

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The lake, held back by a small damn across the stream along which the KFV is built.

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A group portrait.

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It was a good day.

[daily log: walking, 4 km]

Caveat: IIRTHW Intermission – A Change of Approach

Back before I got my cancer diagnosis, I had been working – on alternate Fridays or something like that – on a little project I was calling IIRTHW (If I Ran the Hagwon). I published [broken link! FIXME] two [broken link! FIXME] parts, but my work on the promised third part was interrupted by the cancer.

In recent weeks, as I've been returning to making some effort at polishing up what was to be the third part of this essay series, I have also decided that I have another, very big problem with continuing the exploration of the chosen theme, in its current style: I keep changing my mind. This is a very grave problem, indeed, but a I suppose it is a common enough bugbear for writers who want to retain their integrity and convey their ideas with sincerity.

My third part was supposed to be either a complete or partial listing of those elements that, in my humble opinion, would constitute "My Ideal Hagwon." Yet each time I would stop working on the list of items and then return to that list later (after some break of a month, or two weeks, or whatever) I keep finding that I don't agree with one or more of the items in my list, or that I want to make some change to the details of one or more items.

This, therefore, calls for a change of strategy in terms of style of presentation. I will not post my Part III here as a blog post, but make it what my blog-host calls a "page." It's exactly like a blog post, except that it's undated – which means that I can unself-consciously return and update it and alter it to my heart's content.

There will therefore be a major caveat attached to the essay: it is and will remain, indefinitely, a "work-in-progress." One major advantage of a blog is that it allows for a sort of "snapshot-in-time" effect with respect to my state-of-mind at any given moment. But with respect to this "Ideal Hagwon" concept, I precisely don't want that effect: I want it to show my current thinking, even as that thinking is evolving (often quite radically) over time.

I'm going to post it this morning, in its current clearly rough-draft state, and then let it refine and evolve over time. Thus, without further fanfare, here is the link to that page-in-progress: [broken link! FIXME] IIRTH Part III.


In the process of returning to working on this above-mentioned project, I ran across a rather remarkable blog the other day.

It's called wangjangnim.com – essentially, it is a post-a-week about what it's like to run a hagwon, from the perspective of a foreigner (ie. non-Korean) who has a background in business (not education – and that's very noticeable and fascinating).

I'm sure there are, in fact, a large number of blogs and other online materials about what it's like to run an English hagwon, online, but, in my limited efforts to find them, they are 100% in Korean, which makes it pretty rough going for me and my limited Korean competency to wade through. What abound, instead, are blogs by foreigners and gyopos (foreign-educated Koreans) working at hagwon as NETs (native English-speaking teachers). Without exception, these blogs (no doubt including my own! – I'm not elevating myself above the pack, here) are not only rather myopic (not to say downright ignorant) about education theory and language-acquisition research, but also they are in utter denial about the business side realities of the capitalist-based free-for-all that is the Korean private education system, with all its successes and failures.

My IIRTHW posts, above, are an effort to address these shortcomings, at least with respect to my own blogular reality.

I have some minor complaints about wangjangnim.com, but the only one I will comment on at all, here, is the bizarre romanazation of the Korean Language that is implicit in the blog's title: in what phonological universe does 원장님 [wonjangnim = hagwon director] become wangjangnim? But really that's just the trained linguist in me, quibbling unnecessarily. I have a no-doubt annoying punctilliousness with respect to issues of Korean romanization which is probably incomprehensible to most people. [Update 2013-10-04 3:30 pm: the author of wangjangnim.com left a comment (below) letting me know why he chose the name wangjangnim. He said "Wangjangnim = Wongjangnim + Wangja (prince) FYI 🙂 It's a play on words." This makes perfect sense and I feel stupid for not having considered this possibility. So consider my quibble retracted!]

Setting such minor (not to say irrelevant) complaints aside, I will say that from my personal perspective, this is the best blog I have ever seen by a foreigner working in the EFL environment in Korea. It's realisitc, it has a certain subtle, self-deprecating humor, it's informed and careful, and the author clearly has a nuanced perspective both on Korean EFL and on Korean culture. I'm deeply impressed. It may be the first time I've read every single entry of a blog back to its beginning.

Even if I disagree with some of his ideas about what makes a great hagwon, I cannot recommend that blog highly enough. It's deeply thought provoking and has induced a great deal of thought on my part vis-a-vis my own IIRTHW project.

Caveat: IIRTHW Part III – My Ideal Hagwon

In the form of various unstructured entries with fairly random thoughts, I’ve been working on this project for several years, and it’s come to have the name “If I Ran The Hagwon” (abbreviated as IIRTHW). This topic seems to be evolving into my first effort at something resembling long-form journalism on my blog. Here is Part III. I posted Parts I and II several months ago. Unlike Parts I and II, this Part III is intended to be an evolving document, because, as I observed in a blog-post dated October 4th, 2013, I keep changing my mind. So… this article is permanently UNFINISHED – please bear that in mind as you read it.
UPDATE: On October 11th, 2013, a hagwon owner who blogs under the name wangjangnim wrote an extended “response” to this list of ideas (appearing simultaneously on his blog and at koreabridge.net). I think overall his response is fair, and I understand his counterpoints and criticisms. Please note, however, that if you are linking to this page from that article, that this is intended to be an evolving document (as pointed out above). Therefore I may introduce edits which alter or revise the points below in such a way as to make wangjangnim’s criticisms incoherent – indeed, I have already begun to revise some of the points to better clarify them in light of his thoughts.
[Part I]
[Part II]
Part III – My Ideal Hagwon
Now that I have established, in the previous two parts, the business context for running an English hagwon in South Korea in this day and age, I want to try to answer the question, what would make a great hagwon?
I have frequently had these “If I Ran The Hagwon” fantasies. I’ll admit, too, that I have been more than a little bit disappointed in the putative “curriculum development” aspect of my current job description – both due to my own failings and and due to the lack of genuine opportunities offered to do so. The constraints on what I can do about the curriculum in my current position at KarmaPlus Academy are even more constrained than under pre-merger Karma Academy, too.
Everything following is strictly based on my own opinions – they’re the things I would do in my hagwon. It is not my intention to exclude other, even contradictory approaches to running a hagwon. I believe very strongly that in a fragmented market, there is room for multiple products.
What comes below, then, is a list of strategies or “ways of business” that I’d like to try. This list began with the previous list I was making on my blog (entries here and here) – the individual ideas have morphed and developed but I have made an effort to retain the numbering of those earlier ideas (1-12), with new ideas added as higher numbers (13+).
Idea 1. (HR.) Weekly English Class for Korean Teachers.
The English language hagwon business has a core mission: teaching English to Korean students. Therefore language competency is at the core of the business. Because of this, I suggest that there should be a program encouraging a constant improvement of language skills on the part of all staff. The non-native-speaking English teachers (Koreans) should improve their English. Korean teachers should have some amount of time set aside each week to study their English, and this should be a compensated additional duty of the English native-speaking teachers to provide instruction.
As a point of observation: this was an actual duty of mine at my public school teaching job. Every week, I had to teach an English lesson to my fellow teachers. Frankly, I believe it’s even more important in a hagwon environment, where quality-of-instruction is paramount. It could be argued that it takes away from time teachers could be teaching or prepping for class, and thus represents an “overhead cost” that has no impact on the bottom line. I think it’s important to differentiate short-term thinking from longer-term thinking, here: are we trying to build an institution with loyal and well-qualified employees, or just trying to pay next month’s bills? I know the fiscal position of a typical Korean hagwon is perilous – but please note the use of the word “Ideal” in the title to this article.
Idea 2. (HR.) Weekly Korean Class for English Teachers.
For the same reason as Idea 1, above, vice versa, non-Korean-speaking teachers (i.e. foreign teachers) should have some amount of time set aside each week to learn Korean, and this should be a compensated additional duty of the Korean-speaking teachers. This functions as a perk for the foreign teachers and a way to get the Korean and foreign teachers interacting, too.  It can also provide some awareness of cultural-differences to both sides.
Koreans’ lack of trust and failure to include foreign teachers in team building and decision making ends up being a self-fulfilling prophecy, over time the foreign teachers cease trying to be team members and become unreliable.
Idea 3. (HR.) Full Social Engagement Between Management and Co-Workers.
Management should provide opportunities for colleagues to interact socially and provide incentives for them to do so – foremost, that means being willing to subsidize social events of various kinds. This might seem extravagant, but the “pay off” in team cohesion is significant. Managers should feel obligated to attend certain types of social events of their employees, and should encourage other employees to attend too. Things like weddings, children’s first birthdays, etc., are very important in Korean culture, and by attending these sorts of functions, they’re showing interest in their employees lives. I suspect managers and coworkers avoid these sorts of things (when they do) because of the cost (since small financial contributions are essentially obligatory).  For this reason, there should be a discreet gift fund set up to make this possible for managers and employees who want to attend but can’t afford to.
Although one could protest that this kind of thing is “excess” and unnecessary to the core business of a hagwon, in fact half of the hagwon that I have worked at have operated this way. It definitely improves staff morale. Some employees resent contributing to a gift fund, but I have never felt that way, as it all “comes around” anyway.
Idea 4. (HR.) Regular Business Lunches and Dinners and/or Catered Meetings.
For the same reason as Idea 3 (above), group meals should be a regular event, and should be an integral part of the schedule. I really enjoyed eating meals with my bosses and coworkers, when I was working at the first hagwon I worked at in Korea, where we did that several times a week. Although it’s true that business conditions for hagwon were much better in 2007 than more recently, nevertheless I think that the owner’s generosity with staff at that first hagwon I worked at contribed greatly to the fact that it was also, arguably, the most successful hagwon I’ve worked at. I also remember learning a lot about my coworkers and my job when I would eat lunch in the cafeteria at Moorestown (NJ), when I was teaching (high school Spanish) there.
In both cases, above, it comes down to building your staff into a community.
For large hagwon, this could operate on a once-a-week “team lunch” type concept, rotating between different teams of teachers.  It can be on-site or off-site (although I prefer on-site, and I think it’s cheaper, too).  You will get strong participation if you make the “free meal” part of the perk package, and pay for it out of the hagwon’s operating expenses. This doesn’t need to be expensive food, either.
Idea 5. (Administration / Curriculum.) Month-to-Month Curriculum and Enrollment.
The Korean hagwon market is almost entirely “month-to-month.” Parents are billed month-to-month, and make decisions about enrollment / re-enrollment / cancellation on monthly boundaries. So why do hagwon create complicated multiple-month academic calendars, only to have kids dropping out and in at the most inopportune times (vis-a-vis that same complicated schedule)?  There should be monthly progress evaluations. Grades and enrollments should be closed out monthly.
There can be “continuing” curricula, but there should be logical breaking points built on the calendar-month boundaries so that “drop-ins” don’t struggle. Preferentially, however, I’d like to move toward a curriculum system that “closes” each month – that is, no books or materials cross month boundaries. This is because parental investment in curricular materials inevitably makes them reluctant when one wants to accelerate (or more rarely “demote”) students. This is because they want to get their “money’s worth” out materials. Alternately, though, moving toward a strictly in-house production model for curricular materials solves this problem, as materials are then essentially provide gratis.
Idea 6. (Curriculum.) Adopt an Individualized Learning Model
The Negotiated Classroom Environment
Contracts and Empowerment
I still have vivid memories of the novel and unique “contract-based” learning that was used at the Moore Avenue school I attended as a child (grades 1-3). I think that the concept of written contracts with children is exceptional as a means of motivating and making expectations clear, and I’d love to try to develop and apply something like that in a hagwon environment, where it seems even more appropriate (given it’s both a private business and a specialty “after-school” educational institution).  It would allow for the hagwon to market itself as highly individualized while not over-taxing teachers with extensive “counselling” duties.  Contracts could be based on quantity-of-work metrics (projects completed, workbooks filled out, etc.) and on relative score increases on standardized or specialized level tests (such as the widely used TOSEL tests in Korea, and special interview tests – see below). The whole could be managed with an interactive website.
Clear Expectations (Detailed Syllabus)
Learning as Edifice
Make “project folders” or “portfolios” for students that are kept at hagwon. This is useful with younger ages that have a hard time keeping track of their materials. They should have a “homework kit” and an “at school kit” and the “at school kit” can stay at school, checked out to students as required. This meshes well with Idea 12 (below) on the topic of teachers keeping fixed classrooms.
Do counselling about choosing “best work” for once-a-month selections. There can be derived amazing value from having negotiated class content: setting goals about a) test scores, b) material completion or progress or projects
Idea 7. (HR.) Monthly Teacher and Course Evaluations.
There should be regular objective and subjective teacher and course evaluations, which should not be subsequently ignored by the management.  Teachers and courses can also be evaluated on the basis of progress in student scores on standardized and placement tests, which should be administered monthly. Korean parents love objective measures, and hagwon should work hard to generate genuinely meaningful objective measures of both student progress and teacher and course effectiveness (see also curriculum and testing, below). Using free online survey tools is one way to do this cheaply and effectively without eating into classroom time, too.
Idea 8. (Administration.) Simplified Daily/Weekly Schedule, and Consolidated Homeroom and Study Hall for Each Cohort.
Why are hagwon schedules so complicated? I feel as if the typical 200-student hagwon in Korea has a more complex schedule that the average American university. Is this necessary? There seems to be a mindset in Korea that schedules should be complicated, constantly varying and constantly adaptable. This is not entirely alien to US schools either, but the contrast seems to be one of just how important the integrity and constancy of the schedule is. In the US, schedules are changed because of “major events.” In Korea, schedules – even public school schedules – seem to change as a matter of routine. I don’t think it is necessary, nor do I feel it creates an atmosphere conducive to learning.
If I ran a hagwon, I would create a “master schedule” and perhaps one or two “special event schedules” (for parties, informational sessions, special tests, etc.). Then those would be considered inviolable vis-a-vis the other priorities at the hagwon.
There should be a Korean-speaking, consolidated homeroom/”study hall” at the beginning or end of each day’s schedule for each cohort of student.  This would be a place to check homework, attendance, pass out memos and other administrative stuff… It would help to keep it separate from classroom face-time for instructors, and provide a chance to check each student’s individual progress in a way that minimizes time wasted in the teaching classroom. Also, it would not necessarily have to employ teachers with a high level of English competency. This would mean that teachers could be hired with other strengths (administrative skills and compassion for students would be notable requirements), probably at a cost savings to the hagwon management.
 
Idea 9. (Curriculum.) Integrated / Immersive Curriculum, When Possible.
I think it would be more fun for teachers and students to have integrated curriculum (all “four skills” [reading / writing / listening / speaking] combined) with topic-based courses rather than skill-based courses. For example, history class, literature class, debate / discussion class, science class, etc.  As well as intensive “clinics” in particular skill areas, prep courses for standardized tests. There could be different, varied  and interesting different offerings for each monthly cycle. All offerings could be evaluated for their ability to draw students’ interest and their ability to improve scores on test metrics.
“Kid College” (The “Chinese Menu”)
Idea 10. (Testing.) Testing! Lots of Reliable Testing.
Learn to love the test. I wrote about this quite a while ago, and if anything, over time I’ve become more and more of a believer in this. Rather than follow my US-based, alternative-education background and instincts, which would impel me to reject so much testing, I think instead we should embrace South Koreans’ obsession with testing and leverage it to create a more responsive hagwon system that earns customer loyalty.
Frequent Testing
I have been becoming more and more convinced that the reason English education in Korea focuses so much on teaching grammar and memorizing lists of vocabulary is not, in fact, because they believe that it’s the most effective way but rather that the educators are just simply so desperate for quantifiable results, and they don’t really know how to consistently and reliably quantify other aspects of the language acquisition process. So they stick to those things – prescriptive grammar rules and vocabulary – because that’s what they can easily test and quantify. In light of this, the key to changing method in hagwon instruction is to show that there’s a better way, where you can still get measurable, quantifiable results. That’s why I’m a fan of lots of testing, and not because I believe testing is, in and of itself, a smart thing or the best methodology. But if we are going to improve English education by changing the core subject areas that are taught, we have to prove that there are ways to quantify the other aspects of language knowledge: the pragmatics of speaking, conversation, listening, etc.
Well-Designed Tests and “Teaching to the Test”
Don’t just use standard ABCD multiple choice test formats. There should be something I have been thinking of as a “graded dialogic evaluation” – roleplay-based “situation cards” that students would have to respond to with trained testers, where the situations that needed to be played could be controlled for vocabulary and concept content (e.g. “let’s talk about what you did last year” would be testing things like past tense and vocabulary about activities).  They would be graded in difficulty, and in sufficient number that there was a basically random selection (although in free-form [judged] speaking tests, repeated material is not necessarily problematic, since pre -memorization / cheating is nearly impossible).  Each month students would take these tests, and scores would be based on “highest level of card” completed along with simple judge-scoring (cf. how TOEFL speaking is scored, 4 point scale).  Staff doing the testing would not be the same staff that teaches the students (computers make this kind of administrative task fairly easy).  This IS labor-intensive, but I think the value should be immediately apparent.  I basically envision dedicated testing days, say two each month, with special schedules.
Make a giant test question database for level testing. Keep track of which questions which students have completed. Keep scores, averages, results, correlates (e.g. offline test scores). For issues surrounding the technical implementation of this idea, see Idea 11 (below).
Idea 11. (Infrastructure.) Leverage free and low-cost technology effectively.
Technology to Support Administration
Technology and the internet doesn’t need to be expensive. Technology can be and should be better leveraged than what I’ve so far seen. Internet Cafes (as Koreans call web forums) can be created for classes. Grades and teacher and course evaluations can be interactive. Writing assignments can be mediated using FREE! tools like Google Apps, rather than crappy ActiveX-based Korea-specific fee-based websites.  The web is swarming with fairly effective (and often free or nearly free) software-as-a-service that can keep in-house technology cost and know-how requirements to a minimum.
Technology for Instruction
Technology for Testing
Technology for Marketing
This is, in fact, the only aspect of technology that I view as obligatory as opposed to optional. Technology for instruction, for testing, and even for administration – these are all things that can be leveraged if-and-only-if you can afford to do so. But in Korea’s smartphone-obsessed, internet-driven culture, technology for marketing is a must-have.
Idea 12. (Infrastructure.) Make Your Hagwon A Home.
Overall Environment
“Broken Windows” Policing
Cleanliness and graffiti: there has been a problem with this in every hagwon I have worked at, while at the same time most public schools I have been in have essentially zero problem with this. There are different systems in place. In public schools, students form work details and clean their environment themselves, regularly, with teacher supervision. In hagwon, students are not responsible for cleaning and if they were, parents would complain, since they’re paying “good money” for a privately maintained learning environment. So the hagwon is responsible for their own cleaning maintenance, but there aren’t the same kind of incentives to keep it pristine. I would like to espouse the “broken windows” philosophy, and suggest that learning environments be kept pristine. I’d put the staff to work on periodic cleanup detail, and over time they’d have incentives to better police classroom behavior.
Fixed Classrooms for Teachers
Teachers should have fixed classrooms. In every hagwon I’ve worked at, except the first one under some circumstances, the student cohorts have fixed classrooms and the teachers pass from classroom to classroom. This is perhaps convenient in some ways, administratively, and there’s less confusion and bustle from the problematic of having the students change classes between teaching periods. However, I think it has a lot of disadvantages. One of the foremost is that the teachers don’t have any incentive to personalize their classrooms, and very little impetus or motivation to keep their classrooms clean and well-maintained, etc. The kids write graffiti, things get broken, etc. This doesn’t happen in public schools where teachers “own” their classrooms. Besides, I’d so very much love to have a space I could call my own, to decorate, to personalize. You can put posters, bulletin boards, maps… anything you need or want for teaching.
A question to meditate on: who is the staff room for?  How does this fit into the priorities of a hagwon?
Invest in Classroom Comfort
It would be nice, too, if there was sound proofing / spacing and volume in classrooms
Arrangeable desks are best: arcs, circles, facing rows, groups… (https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Harkness_table)
Idea 13. (HR.) Non-stop Teacher Training.
Pedagogical and Methodological Training
Businesses should not be afraid to dedicate resources and time to staff improvement.  Teachers working at Korean hagwon often have many years of teaching experience, but they rarely if ever have any formal background in pedagogy or teaching methodology. I think this can make for significant mistakes in curriculum design and development, not to mention implementation and classroom management issues. There should be opportunities within the work environment allowing teachers to learn about child psychology, pedagogy, and education theory, methodology and practice.
Language Training specifically is covered under Ideas 1 and 2, above.
Idea 14. (Curriculum.) Curriculum Design.
Put Testing at the Center
Pedagogically, this is controversial, but in the Korean cultural and educational context, inevitable. So rather than fight it, embrace it. The key, if you’re going to be teaching to the tests, is to have impeccably designed and administered tests.
Parallel Tracks (Athens vs Sparta)
A hagwon could be very successful if it had “Parallel tracks” which you might term “traditional/academic” versus “creative/immersive.” I’ve been thinking, especially, about what might be characterized as the “fun vs work” dichotomy in parental expectations.
Some parents send their kids to hagwon with the primary intention that it be mostly “fun” or that it be educational but not, per se, stressful or hard work. I’m speaking, here, mostly about elementary-age students. At middle school and high school levels, the situation is substantially different, at least here in Korea. It’s mostly about raising test scores, at those levels. But at elementary levels, it’s definitely the case that many parents aren’t looking for an academically rigorous experience so much as a kind of enriched after-school day care.
But then there are the parents already looking for the hagwon to inculcate discipline and hard work habits and raise test scores, even at the lower grades. They get angry and feel they’re not getting their money’s worth when their kids don’t have a lot of homework, for example.
This creates a dilemma in managing the hagwon, because you have kids from both groups side-by-side in your classroom, and you have to be aware of that. I have exactly this, every day: Kid A and Kid B didn’t do their homework. Sometimes, when kids haven’t done their homework, we have a custom of making  the kids “stay late” (after the end of their particular schedule of classes) to finish their homework or do some kind of extra work to make up for  the missed homework. And the problem becomes manifest when Kid A’s mom complains that we’re not making her stay often enough, while Kid B’s mom complains that we’re making her stay at all. You can see the conflict, right? It creates inequalities in how we treat different students in the classroom, that eventually the students themselves become aware of. And that leads to complaints of unfairness and classroom management issues, too. Eventually, there comes a moment when  Kid A is asking me why I’m not making Kid B stay. I can’t really come out and say, “well, her mom complains when I make her stay, but your mom complains when I don’t make you stay.”
Here’s how I think it should be solved.
The hagwon should have two parallel “tracks” – a “fun” English and an “un-fun” English. Tentatively, because it’s marketing gold, I would call these “Athens” track and “Sparta” track.
The Sparta track would be about what we have now: lots of grammar, daily vocabulary tests, long, boring listening dictation work, etc.  The Athens track would be my “dream curriculum” with arts, crafts, cultural content, karaoke, etc. There would be some shared or “crossover” classes, like maybe a debate program for the advanced kids or a speech program for the lower-ability ones, to ensure everyone gets some speaking practice.
The advantage of these two parallel tracks is that kids could be placed into either track based on parental preference. Further, parents could move their kids back and forth between them, depending on changing goals or needs. And lastly, the kids themselves would be aware of the dichotomy, and there could be substantial incentives related to the possibility of being able to be “promoted” to the fun track or “demoted” to the un-fun track. It would require careful design, but I think it could be a strong selling point when parents come in to learn about the hagwon. That we have not one system, but two, enabling a more individualized style of English instruction.
On-Going Roleplay Environments.
Have large on-going roleplay environments: “town” / “stock market” / “country”
I did this very successfully during my summer camps at my public school teaching job in 2010. Very rarely, since, have I had students more actively engaged in their own learning process. They were learning English painlessly, because it was interesting and fun.
Idea 15. (Administration.) Customer Relationship Management (CRM).
In business contexts (at least in the US, where I have experience) there is a broad field or discipline – generally embedded in the sales and marketing departments of large corporations – called “Customer Relationship Management” or CRM for short. This is about channeling, controlling and focusing all interactions with customers to maximize customer satisfaction.
To be clear, when I refer here to CRM I am not referring to a technology but to a practice – CRM is a “way of doing business” which is often enabled by technology in large businesses, but is just as doable using index cards or a large spreadsheet in a small business, even doable entirely in the mind of the business-owner in an owner-operated business such as a “mom and pop” hagwon, as was the phenomenal case of the first hagwon I worked at, where the owners knew by name every single parent, and interacted them with on a weekly basis.
As a specific example, I was sharing with my boss an opinion: given that a lot of parents are expressing distrust of the merger between Karma and Woongjin, he should call them all, personally. That’s always been one my “if I ran the hagwon” ideas, anyway – the owner or on-site manage should be intimately involved in building and maintaining relationships with ALL the parents, since they are, after all, the paying customers. The students, for better or worse, are essentially just products. This is not to depreciate them in any way – they are the thing I like about my job, and they are why I do it. But applying the lessons I learned from a decade of working in real-world business settings, you can’t ever forget your customers. My boss has been stressed, lately, though. In response to my suggestion, he just said in a kind of a lighthearted way, “개소리” [gae-so-ri = “bullshit” (literally, it means “dog-noise”)]. It was kind meant as, “yeah, right, like I’m going to find time to do that.” I laughed it off. And my feelings were in no way hurt. But I nevertheless felt (and feel) that he’s making a mistake in this matter, maybe.
Some Customers Aren’t Worth It.
“Fire” the parents that don’t “fit.” Hagwon parents are so hard to please, of course. One parent complains of not enough homework, and another complains of too much. How can one respond? Often what happens is that you give lots of homework, and there will be a kind behind-the-scenes understanding that not all the kids are being held to the same standard, as driven by parental expectations or requirements. The conversation essentially goes like this: “Oh, that kid … his mom doesn’t want him doing so much homework, so don’t worry if he doesn’t pass the quiz, just let it go.” This grates against my egalitarian impulses, on one level, and on another, despite being sympathetic to it, I end up deeply annoyed with how it gets implemented on the day-to-day basis: due to poor communication among staff, no one ever tells me these things until some parent gets mad because I never got told, previously, about the special case that their kid represents.  In the longest run, of course, in the hagwon biz, one must never forget who the paying customers are – it’s the parents.  And for each parent that is pleased that their kid is coming home and saying “hagwon was fun today,” there’s another that takes that exact same report from her or his kid as a strong indicator that someone at the hagwon isn’t doing his or her job.  So it boils down to this:  happy hagwon students don’t necessarily mean happy hagwon customers.  As a teacher, you’re always walking a tightrope: which kids are supposed to be happy, and which are supposed to be miserable? Don’t lose track – it’s critical to the success of the business.
Example of a problem: a student is caught cheating. So the student is challenged by the teacher and corrected, but then the student complains to his or her parents that the hagwon is too stressful and wants to quit, and the parent pulls the student. That’s lost revenue. That really happens. Does that mean a hagwon shouldn’t correct students caught cheating? Or does it mean that there is a certain quality or type of student (and / or parent) that is learning at a level that the hagwon shouldn’t pursue as a customer?
Idea 16. (Administration / Finance / HR.) Experiment with Empowering All Stakeholders (Owners, Staff, Customers, Students.
One thing that I have always wondered about as a possible solution to the way that capitalism distorts the hagwon business in Korea is to introduce a kind of cooperative or mutualist or profit sharing model, like some companies in the U.S. What if customers received some profit-sharing refund at the end of year, pro-rated against what they had paid? I can imagine that would lead to improved loyalty as well, especially if there were vesting. That kind of thing could be even more motivating for staff.
Idea 17. (Administration / Curriculum.) Predictable Costs for Customers (i.e. flat rate supporting materials charges).
The main idea here is that the hagwon pays for whatever specific materials (books, notebooks, CDs / mp3 files, etc., that are needed for the curriculum. If they want to encapsulate that in a fixed-fee materials-support charge of some kind, that might be possible, but overall I think the market might welcome a more reliable flat-rate system where per-hour-of-instruction charges were slightly higher but additional materials were all “included.”
I have heard that it is no longer “legal” for hagwon to charge for books or supplementary materials, but I also know from personal work experience at multiple hagwon that it is still almost universal practice, at least in my area. I think this is one area where government regulation is pushing hagwon in a direction I consider appropriate.
Idea 18. (Administration / Curriculum.) No “Staying Late” Beyond Study Hall or Homeroom (see Idea 8 above).
It’s common in hagwon to make kids stay late, either as punishment or as catch-up on undone homework or failed quizzes. I think this a poor practice for one key reason – it ends up not being fair. Some kids’ parents don’t want them to stay late. Some kids have other obligations. Sometimes, if the students are in the last “shift” of the day, they can’t stay late because schedule of regular classes runs right up against the deadline when hagwon must close by law. It’s better to never make kids stay late.
I have heard that it is “illegal” to do this, now, under current government regulations, but I know too that many hagwon still engage in this practice quite extensively, and it ends up being a burdon not just for students but also for parents and especially teachers, since this out-of-classroom “detention” time ends up being essentially uncompensated teaching.
The end to “stay late” practices could be presented to parents along with an explicit commitment to parents to instead provide additional tutorial or academic support on a per half-hour charge basis of some kind. This could provide an additional income stream to the hagwon but will be met with some resistance by parents, many of whom still seem to insist that the extra tutorial effort be “included” in the tuition price. This resistance could be overcome through measures such as greater transparency or profit-sharing (see Idea 16) as well as the fact that other costs are better controlled (e.g. textbook and class materials, see Idea 17, preceding).

caveat: zap-o-holiday number 3

pictureDay 3 of the harvest moon.

“Hey, everyone in Korea! Wake up! Today, you need to get in a car,
bus or train and travel back home to your current residence. No exceptions! Get
moving!”

 

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Caveat: 어느새 가을

Below is the poem that was attached to my Chuseok gift ham that I received from work, which I mentioned the other day. I have no idea if this an original composition from my boss or one of my coworkers, or if it’s a “traditional” poem, or just a widely-circulated “hallmark style” sentiment.

어느새 가을

올해도 추석이 찾아왔습니다
가을햇살처럼 풍요롭고
여유로운 마음으로
감사하는 일들이
많은 날들이었으면 좋겠습니다
I decided to try to translate it. Here is my effort (I used the googletranslate but then spent some time tweaking the results substantially, trying to get away from the absurdist tone that most googletranslate outputs seem to have).

so soon, the fall

the harvest moon has come this year
it nourishes like fall sunlight
and in our restful heart
are things that we are thankful for
we hope they will exist for many days
Merry Chuseok, everyone!

[daily log: walking, 4 km]

caveat: zap-o-holiday number 2

pictureDay 2 of the harvest moon.

“Hey, everyone in Korea! Wake up! Having gathered with relatives in your ancestral hometown, visit their graves and give thanks. Eat lots of food! Play traditional games! Have a great day!”

 

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Caveat: Terrorists Everywhere!

I guess the South Korean government, feeling jealous of all the fabulous anti-terror work being done in the US (see comic, below – it was sarcasm, OK?), decided they could play that game, too.

The South Korean government arrested some left-leaning parliamentarians from the UPP (members of the national legislature, i.e. Korean congresspeople!) on charges of plotting to destroy infrastructure and collaborate with North Korea. This is way too reminiscent of the current president’s father’s dictatorial behaviors in the 1960’s and 70’s. Sigh.

Here is an interesting editorial on the subject.

Thanks to my friend Peter for pointing this out to me. I had a good visit with him yesterday, when he came out.


Here’s a comic I  ran across, unrelatedly, but that seemed oddly relevant in its USA-centric way.

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Caveat: Imperial Invigorate Moxibustion

Andrew, Hollye and I had an outing day in Seoul.

First we took the subway to Insadong, where we wandered the crowded streets and then had lunch at my favorite vegetarian restaurant.

After eating we were walking over to find a subway station, and we passed a restaurant with this sign in the window.

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I thought it was quite funny: it says (or seems to say):

Japanese:   OK
English:     OK
Chinese:    meh. But we love you.

Then we headed over to 동묘 [dongmyo] is the site of a major flea market neighborhood. It just goes on and on. I’ve experienced many Korean fleamarkets, but only in rural areas – never in Seoul and never on this huge scale.

We walked around a lot.

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I saw a box with an incomprehensible name (the English part, I mean).

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But it turns out this is an actual thing – moxibustion [the 뜸 of the Korean name] is a folk remedy where you burn mugwort against accupressure points on a patient’s skin. Perhaps I should have invested in it? Andrew is huge believer in mugwort, and my mom is a believer in accupuncture. This would combine both, and might therefore be doubly effective.

I decided to actively shop for one of my strange manias: I’m seeking a Korean manual typewriter. Not a made-in-Korea English (i.e. Latin) typewriter, but a manual typewriter made for typing Korean. This isn’t as impossible as many people who don’t know Korean might think – Korean is not like Chinese or Japanese, because the number of underlying symbols in the native Korean writing system (hangul) is quite small.

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I love manual typewriters: I have several (Latin ones) in my storage unit in Minnesota. This one guy we visited had many, many typewriters – mostly Latin, but several hangul. He was honest, however: he told me none of them worked. So I didn’t buy one.

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Walking back to the subway, we saw a bicycle that looked Army-style.

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And a peaceful, desolate collection of greenery in an urban wasteland.

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Finally, we took the subway out to Bucheon, where we met my friend Peter. Peter is only a few weeks left from ending his teaching contract, and he intends to do some on-foot travel in Korea and then return to the US.

We ate at a 짬뽕 [jjambbong] joint near his apartment and then Andrew, Hollye and I came back to Ilsan.

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Caveat: Around Camp Edwards, To Palm Springs

About once a year, I make a trip out to Camp Edwards. It’s not far. I figured with Andrew here, it was as good a time as any to go look at it.

I was stationed at Camp Edwards, 296th Forward Support Battalion, Bravo Company, 2nd Infantry Division, in 1991. Camp Edwards no longer exists – the US Army closed it in the late 90’s. A few years back, when I went there, the buildings were still there but abandoned, but the last few times I’ve gone, it’s just a vacant lot with a fence around it.

From a block from my house, we got on the #600 bus and that dropped us right at the “front gate” of Camp Edwards, after a wending half-hour bus ride through Gyoha and Geumchon (neither of which really existed in 1991). This is the front gate, below. The bridge structure is the railroad track, now elevated. In 1991 it was at grade level.

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We walked along the fence and I pointed out where the various features of Camp Edwards were located: the dining hall, the barracks, HQ, the warehouse, and the motor pool. Here is a picture of where the motor pool building was – I remember that spindly tall white-barked tree (birch?) that’s kind of in the right of center of the photo, as being in the motor pool’s “front yard.”

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I spontaneously decided that I was feeling healthy enough to try to walk around Camp Edwards. I haven’t ever tried this. I’m sure we circumnavigated the camp at various times on PT exercises and activities back when I was stationed there, including things like our periodic off-post runs. But certainly I’d never tried it since.

So we set off northward down a country lane.

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The country lane led to a farm.

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And it led through some woods.

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And we came to another farm.

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And we saw a Korean farmer in his field.

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Then we got a little bit lost in the woods. Although we ran out of road, we didn’t run out of abandoned chairs.

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After tromping through the brush a bit, I decided I wasn’t up to cross-country hiking, so we went back along the road, and around a small hill and came to a gravesite (which abound in rural Korea).

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We came to an area that I recognized, through 22 years of mental haze, as being the “back” of Camp Edwards. There was a small concrete wall with old machine-gun emplacements, and this gateway, where Andrew posed with his umbrella (it was raining at this point, though not hard).

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We walked along the road, back south, now, having gotten at least halfway around Camp Edwards moving counterclockwise.

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We came to giant “tank trap” of impressive engineering and dimensions.

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I saluted Andrew from inside the tank trap.

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Then we walked up the road and came to a new development called PalmSprings (팜스프링). 

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We passed a Korean mini-mall with the parking in front, American-style. This is sufficiently rare in my experience, in Korea, to be notable, so I took a picture. I believe this is all on land that was formerly part of Camp Edwards.

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Then we walked to Geumchon station and took the train back to Ilsan. In Ilsan, I wanted to wait for a package that was being delivered at KarmaPlus – even though KarmaPlus was closed due to the summer break.

So we stopped and had a very, very decadant lunch at “Burger Sharp,” a restaurant right next door the KarmaPlus building, that’s very popular with the students.

I swear, in 5 years of living in Ilsan and working in this Hugok neighborhood, I have only eaten at this place once or twice. But I figured, what the hey? I’m living somewhat free-and-loose with respect to my normal strictures, lately.

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Then, due to a communication error, we waited for more than an hour for a package that was already there waiting for me. Ah well. I need to improve my Korean so I understand when they tell me these things.

Then we came home.

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Caveat: 폭력을 당해서 이 회사를 떠나고 싶습니다


pictureI have been intending to write this blog entry longer than any other unwritten blog entry.

The story behind it is that maybe 4 years ago, I ran across a book in a bookstore entitled Quick and Easy Korean for Migrant Workers. Of course, my interest in immigration policy combined with my interest in the Korean language made the book a guaranteed “win.”

I was prompted to write this entry now, after so many years of having it just beyond my consciousness in the back of my mind, because I’d pulled the book off my shelf to show to my brother Andrew, who is visiting.

After spending some time with the book, I discovered some really revelatory and interesting phrases. Of all of the worst of these phrases, however, this phrase, from page 82 (image below right), takes the cake. I remember very hard and yet bittersweet laughter because of reading this 4 years ago.

폭력을         당해서          
pok-ryeok-eul dang-hae-seo    
violence-OBJ  experience-CAUSE
이    회사를       떠나고     싶습니다

i    hoe-sa-reul tteo-na-go sip-seup-ni-da
this company-OBJ leave-CONN want-FORMAL
I want to leave this company because I have experienced violence.

pictureI rather like the poetic version given by the googletranslate, too (although like most of googletranslate’s oeuvre, it is incoherent): “Five people I’d like to leave the company of violence.”

Or as the book translates it: I want to leave this company because I was beaten.
This is a sorry commentary on the state of migrant labor in Korea. Foreigners working in the hagwon and EFL biz don’t really realize that we are truly elites, no matter how badly we are treated.

 

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Caveat: 홍삼

pictureKoreans love their ginseng (인삼 [in-sam]). It’s a matter of both tradition and national pride (not to mention a profitable national industry, too), and they strongly believe in ginseng’s curative and health-supplementing properties – and then there’s the aphrodesiac cult that surrounds it.

Yesterday when visiting Curt, he bought me a gift of Red Ginseng Extract. The “red” in red ginseng (홍삼 [hong-sam]) refers not to a subspecies of the plant but rather to a result of a specific curing process involving steaming and sun-drying.

The extract comes in little foil envelopes, which you open and then you squeeze the juice out into your mouth. So I got a “one month” set, 30 individual-dose envelopes (see picture below) that I’m supposed to take once-a-day. I opened and took my first extract this morning.

Like most forms of alternative medicine, I harbor my scepticisms. But red ginseng as an anti-cancer agent actually has a double-blind-study paper trail (mostly the work of fanatical Korean scientists trying to justify their traditional medicine – but still) where at least some of the studies have not been rejected on methodological grounds by the established global medical community. And there’s not any evidence of harm from red ginseng. So I figured, what the hey – I’m becoming Korean, right?

Straight up red ginseng extract has a strong earthy taste. I have sometimes described it as “dirt flavored.” Being charitable, I would describe it as similar to the aftertaste of strong maple syrup, but with absolutely zero of the sweetness. It’s not horrible, anyway. I had some red ginseng flavored cooking vinegar that went well in certain savory concoctions that I used up a few months back.

Anyway, because Koreans take their Red Ginseng so seriously, it comes packaged (and priced!) like a luxury good (see picture above). I think Curt spent way too much money on this gift – let’s just say, it’s more expensive than an outpatient visit to the cancer hospital by a factor of about 500 (see yesterday’s post).

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Caveat: The 8 Cent Wait

I promised I would tell this story, so here it is.

My check-out from the hospital, yesterday, was bureaucratic, as such things tend to be. But there was a kafkaesque moment that far exceeded the norms of bureaucracy, even.

After settling our account at the discharge counter, we had to go over to the outpatient pharmacy, to receive the medications that the doctors wanted to send home with me. We collected our medicines after about 25 minutes of waiting, only to note that one of the medicines the doctors had had me using in the ward was missing. Did they mean for it to be missing, or was it an oversight that it wasn’t included in the check-out prescription?

The pharmacist consulted with a doctor and the nursing staff on the 10th floor, and concluded that yes, indeed, I deserved this other medicine, too.

But they couldn’t give it to us, because by adding on that extra medicine, our accounts needed to be adjusted and resettled. So Curt and I trooped over to the discharge / accounts counter, drew a number and waited 20 minutes to talk to a representative there. It seemed like they had become short-staffed – perhaps it was lunchtime. Curt pestered the woman at the counter and finally, she produced the new printout.

That’s that printout that I displayed in my prior post about my bill. I’ll add a pointer to the same picture, below.

So on the new, “adjusted” bill which now included the extra medicine, the new total due was… 90 won (see yellow oval, in picture). That’s 8 cents, at current exchange rates.

Curt exasperatedly slapped down a 100 won coin (a Korean dime, more-or-less) on the counter, and the woman made him wait while she fetched change: 10 won (a penny).

Curt shook his head and handed me the tiny, coppery 10 won coin. “Here is a souvenir of your time at this hospital.”

“Gee, thanks,” I smiled, glibly. I pocketed the coin.

And then… we had to go back to the pharmacist and wait another 10 or so minutes to get the extra medicine. So discharge took an hour longer than it might have.

But if that’s the worst the hospital can do, I still insist, elatedly, that Korean Healthcare is NOT broken.

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caveat: 會者定離. 去者必反.

My roommate and now close friend Mr Cho taught me the following Buddhist proverb, today – despite himself being a catholic deacon or something like that. Thats the sort of openmindedness that warms my heart.
會者定離.                     去者必反.
회자정리.                     거자필반.
hoe·ja·jeong·ri.            geo·ja·pil·ban.
meet-people-intention-part. go-people-again-come.
This pair of sinisms refer to the great wheel: we all are cycling through the rebirths and deaths. “We meet and then we part again. People go and people come again.”
Incidentally, the vow of silence has been relaxed somewhat, with doctors’ permission. 

caveat: caregiving

an observation in an email from my friend bob made me realize there is probably a lot about undergoing medical treatment here in korea that is quite different from what similar treatment in the US would involve, that i have either failed to explain or have elided over.

bob was mentioning when i undergo speech therapy (for the tongue) or occupational therapy (for the right arm). i think it unlikely i will experience anything like these US concepts. the doctor tells me things to do – move your tongue like so or move your fingers like so and asks if ive been doing them later, and thats the extent of it.

patients are expected to be much more autonomous and self-providing, because the patient includes the family caregivers. patients without caregivers end up hiring them – a bit like hiring a home hospice worker to come help you in the hospital. every bed has a cot next it, and those cots are almost always occupied by caregivers – family, friends or paid workers NOT on the hospital staff. the cot by my bed is occupied by andrew, now – and was occupied by peter my first night out of icu.

an example of “caregiving”: the hospital doesnt provide for patient hygiene. caregivers handle bedpans, spongebaths, emptying and maintaining various external subtance receptacles, etc. if the hospital has to step in its begrudgingly and at extra charge.

because of these caregivers, my hospital room has 5 beds but arguably 10 or 11 inhabitants. its crowded and like a campout.

patients are quite autonomous. for example, i am only escorted to “clinics” in the event their location is new to me. otherwise a nurse will say “go see dr ryu” and im expected to go to the elevator, get to the second floor, and find my way across the building to where his work area is.

andrew attached the flowerpot gifted to me by my friend seungbae to the top of my iv stand. i was a bit sceptical – i imagine a nurse oh dont do that. but the head nurses reaction was only 예쁘구나 [oh pretty – not sure i spelled the korean right].
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