In Praise of Korean Apologies
Title
In Praise of Korean Apologies
Description
In Praise of Korean Apologies
By Yitzchok Adlerstein
Despite initial apprehensions, Korean-Americans were not victimized in reaction to the Virginia Tech massacre. But this tragedy seems to have brought out the best in most Americans. Koreans initially took the news hard. Lee Tae-sik, South Korea's ambassador to the United States, suggested that Koreans in the U.S. fast for 32 days, one day for each victim. President Roh Moo-hyun devoted a press conference to the story; the Ministry of Foreign Affairs felt compelled to issue a statement. Cardinal Nicolas Cheong Jin-suk said, ``As a South Korean, I can't help feeling apologetic about how a Korean man caused such a shocking incident.'' Many in the United States followed with apologies of their own.
Not everyone found this outpouring of apologies so admirable. One Los Angeles talk show host accused Korean-Americans of using the tragedy to stimulate sympathy for their community through a display of exaggerated contrition. He accused them of ``playing the race card.'' Now look who's stereotyping? An online Korean news source offered its own retort. ``It's an overreaction. It's doubtful whether the South Korean reaction will really help anyone.''
Perhaps it's now time to reflect on what it was that disconcerted Korean-Americans in the first place? If it was only fear of reprisals by other Americans, they were remarkably off-base. Their fellow Americans saw no more reason to target Korean-Americans than to go after gun shop operators or college administrators and hold them responsible for the shootings. Equally unfounded were any fears that the horrific crime would somehow impact the special status Korea enjoys in the United States, with more foreign students hailing from Korea than any other country, including China and India. Our country isn't that kind of place.
Even more inappropriate were any pangs of guilt, a feeling that often defies understanding. Several times a year I get cold-calls from Germany, with someone on the other end seeking catharsis for guilt feelings about the Holocaust. Inevitably, the caller was born after the war, and was in no manner or form involved in the extermination of Jews. I do my best to assure the other party that one cannot be guilty for something that one did not do.
Premature fear and unfounded guilt do not account for the extent of the Korean reaction. Apologies come with a price - a large price of losing face - in Asian cultures. (Witness the continuing outrage generated over ``comfort women'' appropriated for the pleasure of Japanese soldiers in World War II, and the tentative and strained form of the very delayed apology.)
So there must be something of greater substance to elicit such profuse announcements of regret in the Korean community. Guilt has a first cousin, less anxiety-laden, and often a tool for positive action. A few weeks ago, six German teens visited a Jewish high school in Los Angeles. The Germans had all been involved in the translation of a book about a Jewish family during the Holocaust. They entertained questions.
``Do you feel guilty?'' one YULA student asked the guests.
``No. But I do feel greatly ashamed,'' the German teen responded.
We feel shame for the actions of others only when we identify with those others so much that we have made room for them in our own identities. We do this often enough, in ways that are neutral (rooting for our favorite sports team) or negative (shunning outsiders, when we are tribal or jingoistic.) It is not surprising at all for people to feel so much for the larger group that all of its emotional charge the defeats and embarrassments as well as the victories redounds to each member.
But strongly identifying with a larger group can be a wonderful tool for social responsibility and change. Good intentions often become nothing more than slogans when they are not transformed into action. Deciding where to act was much more intuitive before the world became a global village, where the efforts of any individual are dwarfed by the enormity of each problem. Groups that can take responsibility for whatever they perceive as ``their own'' have an advantage over people for whom all beneficiaries are equally attractive. Having too many places to park one's compassion and largesse is often the equivalent of having no place at all.
Koreans sometimes see themselves as of a ``single blood'' or ethnicity, with a long memory of oppression at the hands of two much stronger peoples (the Chinese and Japanese) that took turns at invading them. Koreans may have had good reason to develop a strong sense of the collective. (More of that sense ought to be made available to a feckless Korean government in its non-activity on behalf of tens of thousands of relatives trapped for decades north of the 38thh Parallel.
Cho Seung-Hui was the quintessential loner. He felt for no one, and connected with no one. The Korean reaction of bonding and responsibility was the polar opposite of the life-style that Cho practiced. It was an appropriate and humane reaction, not to be scorned but applauded and maybe at the right time, emulated.
Rabbi Yitzchok Adlerstein is the director of Inter-faith Affairs for the Simon Wiesenthal Center and holds the Sydney M. Irmas Adjunct Chair in Jewish Law and Ethics at Loyola Law School.
--
Original Source: Korea Times
<a href="http://www.koreatimes.co.kr/www/news/opinon/opi_view.asp?newsIdx=2446&categoryCode=162
">http://www.koreatimes.co.kr/www/news/opinon/opi_view.asp?newsIdx=2446&categoryCode=162</a>
By Yitzchok Adlerstein
Despite initial apprehensions, Korean-Americans were not victimized in reaction to the Virginia Tech massacre. But this tragedy seems to have brought out the best in most Americans. Koreans initially took the news hard. Lee Tae-sik, South Korea's ambassador to the United States, suggested that Koreans in the U.S. fast for 32 days, one day for each victim. President Roh Moo-hyun devoted a press conference to the story; the Ministry of Foreign Affairs felt compelled to issue a statement. Cardinal Nicolas Cheong Jin-suk said, ``As a South Korean, I can't help feeling apologetic about how a Korean man caused such a shocking incident.'' Many in the United States followed with apologies of their own.
Not everyone found this outpouring of apologies so admirable. One Los Angeles talk show host accused Korean-Americans of using the tragedy to stimulate sympathy for their community through a display of exaggerated contrition. He accused them of ``playing the race card.'' Now look who's stereotyping? An online Korean news source offered its own retort. ``It's an overreaction. It's doubtful whether the South Korean reaction will really help anyone.''
Perhaps it's now time to reflect on what it was that disconcerted Korean-Americans in the first place? If it was only fear of reprisals by other Americans, they were remarkably off-base. Their fellow Americans saw no more reason to target Korean-Americans than to go after gun shop operators or college administrators and hold them responsible for the shootings. Equally unfounded were any fears that the horrific crime would somehow impact the special status Korea enjoys in the United States, with more foreign students hailing from Korea than any other country, including China and India. Our country isn't that kind of place.
Even more inappropriate were any pangs of guilt, a feeling that often defies understanding. Several times a year I get cold-calls from Germany, with someone on the other end seeking catharsis for guilt feelings about the Holocaust. Inevitably, the caller was born after the war, and was in no manner or form involved in the extermination of Jews. I do my best to assure the other party that one cannot be guilty for something that one did not do.
Premature fear and unfounded guilt do not account for the extent of the Korean reaction. Apologies come with a price - a large price of losing face - in Asian cultures. (Witness the continuing outrage generated over ``comfort women'' appropriated for the pleasure of Japanese soldiers in World War II, and the tentative and strained form of the very delayed apology.)
So there must be something of greater substance to elicit such profuse announcements of regret in the Korean community. Guilt has a first cousin, less anxiety-laden, and often a tool for positive action. A few weeks ago, six German teens visited a Jewish high school in Los Angeles. The Germans had all been involved in the translation of a book about a Jewish family during the Holocaust. They entertained questions.
``Do you feel guilty?'' one YULA student asked the guests.
``No. But I do feel greatly ashamed,'' the German teen responded.
We feel shame for the actions of others only when we identify with those others so much that we have made room for them in our own identities. We do this often enough, in ways that are neutral (rooting for our favorite sports team) or negative (shunning outsiders, when we are tribal or jingoistic.) It is not surprising at all for people to feel so much for the larger group that all of its emotional charge the defeats and embarrassments as well as the victories redounds to each member.
But strongly identifying with a larger group can be a wonderful tool for social responsibility and change. Good intentions often become nothing more than slogans when they are not transformed into action. Deciding where to act was much more intuitive before the world became a global village, where the efforts of any individual are dwarfed by the enormity of each problem. Groups that can take responsibility for whatever they perceive as ``their own'' have an advantage over people for whom all beneficiaries are equally attractive. Having too many places to park one's compassion and largesse is often the equivalent of having no place at all.
Koreans sometimes see themselves as of a ``single blood'' or ethnicity, with a long memory of oppression at the hands of two much stronger peoples (the Chinese and Japanese) that took turns at invading them. Koreans may have had good reason to develop a strong sense of the collective. (More of that sense ought to be made available to a feckless Korean government in its non-activity on behalf of tens of thousands of relatives trapped for decades north of the 38thh Parallel.
Cho Seung-Hui was the quintessential loner. He felt for no one, and connected with no one. The Korean reaction of bonding and responsibility was the polar opposite of the life-style that Cho practiced. It was an appropriate and humane reaction, not to be scorned but applauded and maybe at the right time, emulated.
Rabbi Yitzchok Adlerstein is the director of Inter-faith Affairs for the Simon Wiesenthal Center and holds the Sydney M. Irmas Adjunct Chair in Jewish Law and Ethics at Loyola Law School.
--
Original Source: Korea Times
<a href="http://www.koreatimes.co.kr/www/news/opinon/opi_view.asp?newsIdx=2446&categoryCode=162
">http://www.koreatimes.co.kr/www/news/opinon/opi_view.asp?newsIdx=2446&categoryCode=162</a>
Creator
Rabbi Yitzchok Adlerstein
Date
2007-10-11
Contributor
Haeyong Chung
Language
eng
Citation
Rabbi Yitzchok Adlerstein, “In Praise of Korean Apologies,” The April 16 Archive, accessed November 24, 2024, https://april16archive.org/items/show/1443.