For the certain Im Jae-Bum fan who frequents this blog, the Korean presents this video. =)

By the way, Im was going through 104 degree (40 degree Celsius) fever as he sang this song and was immediately hospitalized after this performance.

Why You Should Never Listen to Asian American "Writers" of Angst

[Note: This post is a reaction to Wesley Yang's article on New York Magazine, titled "Paper Tigers".]

First, I have to clarify and apologize for my use of the term "Writer" in this post. I myself am a writer of sorts. Obviously, I like writing. I would not have spent years writing a blog for a hobby otherwise. I also admire other good writers. I voraciously consume their works and attempt to improve my own writing by emulating them.

But, in my mind, there are writers, and there are "Writers" -- and I hope that the capitalization in the term "Writers" makes clear that the term, as I define it, does not refer to people who write for living or people who enjoy writing. My definition of Writers points to a peculiar breed of writers, frequently encountered in places like New York. The defining characteristic of Writers is their undeserved sense of self-importance. "Writers," for one reason or another, have achieved little or nothing in their lives. But that does not stop them from assuming their air of smug arrogance. In fact, in their little universe, the nothingness of their being is a perverted evidence of their genius, so far ahead of their time that the lowly world does not understand. So they often hate the world, and hate their parents who set the world order. They hack away toward building a masterpiece that, in their minds, even the stupidest of the people with whom they are forced to share the oxygen will not be able to deny. A handful of them do succeed, but most fail. Even those who succeed often leave a trail of misery for themselves and their family and friends in the wake.

I know Writers well because I have a lot of Writer within myself. I read a ton of books as a child, and I have always written well. I received a lot of praise and compliments from my teachers and parents of my friends for my reading and writing habit. As an elementary and middle school student, I was one of those insufferable 12 year olds who thought he got everything in life figured out because the grownups could not answer his clever little questions. Left unchecked, I would have been a Writer too -- the kind that bloviates on the unfair world that fails to recognize my genius, the kind that wonders why the stream of praises and compliments stopped coming just because I am no longer a 12-year-old smart aleck but a 30-year-old college graduate without a job.

Instead, I received enough good education from my parents and my schools to know that the world is full of people who are smarter than I -- and they spend less time bragging about it. I learned that B-students routinely beat the snot out of A-students in life with unrelenting diligence and effort, that nothing in life will be handed to me just because I can put together a set of some pretty sentences. I might yet change my job and make my living by writing things, but I will never become a Writer. In fact, my pen name for this blog -- The Korean -- is a self-mockery of my Writerly tendency that still rears its head from time to time. On this blog, I constantly engage in a third-person speak to remind myself how ridiculous I sound if I started taking myself too seriously.

(More after the jump)

Got a question or a comment for the Korean? Email away at askakorean@gmail.com.




Reading Wesley Yang's "Paper Tigers" makes clear that Yang is a classic example of a Writer. Yang's description of his own "career" speaks for itself:

I wanted what James Baldwin sought as a writer—“a power which outlasts kingdoms.” Anything short of that seemed a humiliating compromise. I would become an aristocrat of the spirit, who prides himself on his incompetence in the middling tasks that are the world’s business. Who does not seek after material gain. Who is his own law.

...

Throughout my twenties, I proudly turned away from one institution of American life after another (for instance, a steady job), though they had already long since turned away from me. Academe seemed another kind of death—but then again, I had a transcript marred by as many F’s as A’s. I had come from a culture that was the middle path incarnate. And yet for some people, there can be no middle path, only transcendence or descent into the abyss.

I was descending into the abyss.

All this was well deserved. No one had any reason to think I was anything or anyone. And yet I felt entitled to demand this recognition. I knew this was wrong and impermissible; therefore I had to double down on it.

(Emphases mine.)

But Yang is not simply a Writer -- he is an Asian American Writer, which means his Writerly narrative takes on a distinctive ethnic twist. And the favorite hobby horse of AAWA -- Asian American "Writers" of Angst -- is to shit on the remarkable success of Asian Americans. Instead of marveling at the magnitude and the improbability of Asian Americans' success, AAWAs sneer at it with a series of "yeah-but"s. "Yeah, Asians are more likely to be college graduates than anyone, but they are test taking machines"; "Yeah, Asians get better grades than everyone, but they lack critical thinking, creativity and social skills"; "Yeah, Asians have the highest median family income among all ethnicities in America, but they are no more than middle management fodder."

In this particular iteration of the sneering, Yang drags out for display all the familiar parade of horribles about Asian Americans: how a bright student named Jefferson Mao (which has to be one of the greatest American names, by the way) is pushed into being a doctorlawyer instead of -- gasp -- a writer; how all the high-achieving Asian American students at Stuyvesant High School are math-solving robots; how Asian Americans have good grades but are bad at job interviews; how Asian Americans are not leaders in business; how Asian American men are neutered sheep, requiring them to take a class on how to speak to girls.

Never mind that these stereotypes are wrong, wrong and wrong some more. Just a glance at this list quickly disproves the stupid idea that Asian Americans are creativity- and charisma-lacking automatons. Yang attempts to get around this by positing that Asian Americans who are successful -- or, to be precise, more successful than America expects them to be -- are so because they struck out their own path and "obviate[d] the need for Asians to meet someone else’s behavioral standard." And that may be true for the individuals listed in Yang's article. But what about all the Asian Americans who succeeded within the system, by not only meeting someone else's behavioral standard but also reshaping it? We are living in an era in which two of the top four characters of the television's number one show are Asian Americans. Our Asian face that Yang so loathes ("I’ve contrived to think of [my] face as the equal in beauty to any other") is in fact a new, highly sought-after addition to the ever-expanding standard of American beauty. And yes, that includes Asian American men too. Just within my blog, the far-and-away most popular question is: "How do I meet Korean guys? Do they like white/black/Latina girls?"

But make no mistake about it -- regardless of what the headline written by the editors of New York Magazine states, Yang's article is ultimately not about how traditional Asian American education is doing a disservice to Asian American children. (It does not, by the way.) Wesley Yang's article is about Wesley Yang -- all else is just mirrors with which to show Wesley Yang's multifaceted glory. The article, quite literally, begins with Wesley Yang and ends with Wesley Yang. So here, it is pointless to give a detailed analysis of why the commonly held stereotypes about Asian Americans are all wrong, because that does not matter to Wesley Yang. What matters to Wesley Yang is: Wesley Yang is better than everyone; people who are like Wesley Yang, like Jefferson Mao, are also better than everyone; and the world, and specifically Asian Americana, is stupid for not recognizing the greatness of Wesley Yang. This message cannot be clearer in this passage:

I see the appeal of getting with the program. But this is not my choice. Striving to meet others’ expectations may be a necessary cost of assimilation, but I am not going to do it.

Often I think my defiance is just delusional, self-glorifying bullshit that artists have always told themselves to compensate for their poverty and powerlessness. But sometimes I think it’s the only thing that has preserved me intact, and that what has been preserved is not just haughty caprice but in fact the meaning of my life. So this is what I told Mao: In lieu of loving the world twice as hard, I care, in the end, about expressing my obdurate singularity at any cost. I love this hard and unyielding part of myself more than any other reward the world has to offer a newly brightened and ingratiating demeanor, and I will bear any costs associated with it.

The first step toward self-reform is to admit your deficiencies. Though my early adulthood has been a protracted education in them, I do not admit mine. I’m fine. It’s the rest of you who have a problem. Fuck all y’all.

(Emphases mine.)

But problem with AAWAs is that no matter how personal of a story they weave, it is invariably taken as some kind of a larger cultural comment. Such is the fate of anything written by an ethnic minority in America. (The maelstrom that followed Amy Chua's autobiography is a good recent example.) Worse, sometimes AAWAs actually believe that they are, in fact, making a larger cultural comment, although all they can do is to offer the story of their own failure (which is always the fault of their parents or their culture) and play the "anecdotes game," dredging up the old stereotypes and find someone who fits the stereotype in order to validate the many excuses of their own failure, knowing full well that their position cannot be defeated because no one can truly win the anecdotes game.

And AAWAs can get away with this self-indulgent bullshit because we Asian Americans who made something out of ourselves, instead of being a Writer, do not feel the need to speak of our victory. We, for the most part, have no angst that compels us to complain about the world. We are content to enjoy the spoils of our triumph. If someone challenges the validity of our success (as many before Yang have done and many after Yang will surely do,) we can politely, but firmly, point to the scoreboard.

*                   *                   *

And here, I will present my own scorecard in the spirit of fairness, since I made this criticism quite personal to Wesley Yang. (I had to do it because his article was about himself, but still.) All the "Asian values" -- filial piety, grade-grubbing, Ivy League mania, deference to authority, humility, hard work, harmonious relations and sacrificing for the future -- that Yang so denounced, I embrace completely. I was not always like that, however. Anyone who knew me through early high school would describe me as a seriously rebellious child, talking smack to the teachers' face and getting beaten up as a result. Then my family moved to America when I was 16, and my immigrant drive kicked in. My acknowledgment of the supreme sacrifice that my parents made in order to bring my brother and me to America (filial piety) finally killed the lazy Writerly habit in me. Relying only on repetition and rote memorization, I learned to speak college-level English in two years.

I studied hard in school (grade-grubbing), because I knew that good grades were the only chance I had. I did not have enough time or resources to engage in any significant extracurricular activity. (I did manage to muscle my way into my school's award-winning newspaper program, however.) I did well enough to give a high school graduation speech that no one listened to. I killed the SATs. I went to UC Berkeley, and had all kinds of fun. I joined the student government, dated girls and got my hearts broken by them, participated in protests, established a service fraternity and worked as a school tour guide. I attended football games and took down some goalposts. And oh, I also got good grades and killed the LSAT again. I went to an Ivy League law school, where a position at a big law firm with six-figure income is all but guaranteed upon graduation. I started at one of the best international law firms in the world. Then the financial crisis hit everyone hard, and I was not an exception -- but I managed to weather the storm by working incredibly hard and being completely loyal to the brilliant but demanding partner that I worked for.

See, not one of the Asian values served me poorly. In fact, the biggest regret that I have right now is that I moved away from what served me well in law school. Caught up in the irrational jubilation of the pre-financial crisis, I slacked off in the second and third years of my law school because I was already sitting on a job offer. I should have studied harder and gotten good grades, which would have served me really well right now.

Having said all this, here is my score. I married a beautiful and talented Korean American violinist. We moved to Washington D.C./Northern Virginia where my wife is from, and I find the region to be quite pleasant. It suits my Californian temperament better than New York, where I had to suffer through the stench of urine in the subways. We live in a nice apartment that has enough space for a practice room for my wife and a home office for myself. (I decorated it with framed pictures of Malcolm X and Seo Taiji.) I kept my beat-up car, but my wife got herself a nice new convertible. (Don't tell her I bought it for her. She gets upset.) I changed the firm as I moved, and I love my new firm. The people are friendly and the hours, while still significant, are much better than New York's. The work is still challenging and intellectually stimulating. But I have concerns that I am not cut out for the business of being a big law firm partner, so I am trying to envision an exit plan that I will execute in four to five years. Maybe working for the government, maybe going into academia. Either way, as long as I keep working hard, I know there are options open for me in every part of the country -- the kinds of options that are not available to the people that do not have my resume. Barring a disaster, my finances will likely be secure for the rest of my life.

My hobbies protect me from the inevitable stress that comes with working for a big law firm. I am away from my New York poker buddies (one of the few things about New York that I miss,) but we still can meet up at Atlantic City or fly out to Las Vegas to catch up. I finally learned to golf properly, and it is much more fun than I ever remembered. And of course, this blog keeps me entertained to no end. I had no idea that anyone, much less the thousands of people a day that this blog attracts now, would be interested in my little scribbles. Yet people keep coming, and I learn so much from the discussion with my readers.

My family is my greatest source of happiness. My wife and I always have a great time together, whether it be my attending her concerts, our trying out together a recipe from a newly acquired cookbook, or reading together in bed while talking about the most emailed articles in the New York Times. For Mother's Day, we took my in-laws on a brunch river cruise on the Potomac River. True to form, despite having lived in the area for more than a decade, my in-laws had never been on a boat on the Potomac. They were very happy, as the weather was perfect. In the summer, my wife and I will be in Korea to finally have my wife formally meet the rest of my family in Korea. As my wife and I bow down to my 95-year-old grandmother, I know I will feel an inordinate amount of joy -- the supreme satisfaction that I made my parents and ancestors proud, that I did not waste any of my God-given talents, that I earned myself the freedom to do whatever I want with my life and career.

*                   *                    *

Forgive me if I was a little too onerous with my life story. As people say, no one wants to sit through your life story. But, you know, Writers do it all the time, as if it is the most important thing in the world. Wesley Yang proudly airs out his own dirty laundry: "I haven’t had health insurance in ten years. I didn’t earn more than $12,000 for eight consecutive years. I went three years in the prime of my adulthood without touching a woman. I did not produce a masterpiece." And he attempts to justify it by positing that Asian American values failed him.

This kind of narrative by the Asian American Writers of Angst does a particular damage to my life. I have never failed to have health insurance at any point in my adult life. I always earned six figures as long as I had a job. My adulthood had more years with girlfriends than without, and I don't particularly regret the years I spent without a girlfriend. I produced a blog visited by thousands of people every day solely on the strength of my ability to analyze and write about what is available to me. All of these are thanks to my Asian American values, and all of these are legitimate points of pride for my life. But not so for AAWAs. They harp and screech about how my life is "middle class servility," as Yang put it; how I will amount to no more than middle management; how all my achievements are attained by robot-like test-taking ability; how I will never be able to attract pretty girls (not that I have a need for one at this point.)

I am sick of hearing it. I am sick of hearing that the life that I worked so hard to achieve is a fraud. I am sick of the AAWAs, the Wesley Yangs of the world who tell America that my Asian American values made me into some kind of dickless slave who has no critical mind of my own, all because they do not have the kind of secure and stable happiness that I have -- the kind of happiness that Yang's parents surely must have wanted their son to enjoy.

And I know I am not alone in this kind of happiness. Overwhelming majority of Asian Americans I have met through my life are quite happy with their lives, precisely because they listened to their parents. The doctors, lawyers, engineers, bankers, and even musicians, artists and writers -- they are all pretty happy. If they are unhappy, their unhappiness is not any different from the kind of unhappiness felt by members of other ethnic groups in similar positions. If they are unhappy with their career, they change it. They do quite well at their new ones because after all, the secret of success is not that different no matter what job you have. Ken Jeong was a doctor before he was a comedian. Joe Wong was an engineer before he was a comedian. Vera Wang was an Olympic level figure skater before she was a fashion designer. Eddie Huang was a lawyer before he was a chef. (And here is one thing to know about these changes -- they do not happen in the reverse direction.) But according to AAWAs, this is all lies, all frauds, and we are supposed to feel empty inside because our parents made us that way.

Enough of this. I present my own story here not because I want to say I am better than anyone; I am not. You don't need six-figure income and an Ivy League diploma to be happy. But you do need a stable income and a college degree to be happy in America today. And that is the point I want to make by talking about my life: we Asian Americans are doing great in America because of the values we inherited from our parents, and there is absolutely no reason why we should apologize for our success or for our parents. There is no reason why we should capitulate to the stupid, self-pitying narrative of the Asian American Writers of Angst. Instead of regurgitating the tripe about how Asian Americans are ill-prepared for the real world, our focus should firmly rest on real Asian American success in the real world. The stories of Eric Shinseki, of Norman Mineta, of Yo-Yo Ma, of I.M. Pei, of Dr. Jim Yong Kim. The stories of success and happiness. The stories of American Dream.

Got a question or a comment for the Korean? Email away at askakorean@gmail.com.

Ask a Korean! Wiki: What do You Think About This Article?

Dear Korean,

I'm sure you already read about this, but wondered all your readers' thoughts on the course.

Linda

Well, there's the question. Here is a quick preview of the article:

Like many of the men in the room, Rhim never wanted to come to Father School. (Seven dropped out after the first day.) “I’m not a bad father,” he told me a week earlier. But realizing how difficult it was for him to relate to his wife and two teenage kids — and realizing, finally, how empty that left him — he paid the $120 course fee and agreed to show up.

Father School has been helping Korean men like Rhim become more emotionally aware since 1995, when it started at the Duranno Bible College in Seoul. The mission, drawn up at the height of the Asian financial crisis, was to end what the Father School guidebook calls “the growing national epidemic of abusive, ineffective and absentee fathers.”

“Traditionally, in the Korean family, the father is very authoritarian,” Joon Cho, a program volunteer, told me a few weeks before this session of Father School began. “They’re not emotionally linked with their children or their wife. They’re either workaholics, or they’re busy enjoying their own hobbies or social activities. Family always comes last.”

...

In the midst of another participant’s group testimony, in which he talked about how he neglected his 16-year-old son when his son was battling drug and gambling addictions, he crumpled to the floor in tears. When he stepped down from the podium, a few members of the group gathered around him in a consolatory huddle while the rest applauded.

The Korean Dads’ 12-Step Program [New York Times]

Readers, what are your thoughts?

-EDIT 5/9/2011-

After some reflection, here is the Korean's thought:

The Korean Father is probably a prime candidate for the Father School. In his life, he has never said "I love you" to his sons. He has never called the Korean unless there is an actual issue to discuss; the phone call is over after that issue is discussed. Hugs are awkward for him -- he puts his hand out, as if to fend off an attacker.

But the Korean has never wavered in his belief that his father loves him. TKFather already gave up his incredibly great career in Korea to bring his sons to America, for no other reason than giving them better education. The Korean knows, with absolute certainly, that his father will give his life for his son. So the Korean does not need his father to attend any Father School, because he does not need any communication to be assured that his father loves him. The actions by his father have been plenty of proof.

The fact that these fathers attend the Father School, to the Korean, indicates the supreme sacrifice that these men are willing to make to fulfill their fatherly duty -- their children want them to do it, so they put themselves through the humiliation. The Korean would have never, ever asked his father to do that.

Got a question or a comment for the Korean? Email away at askakorean@gmail.com.

What Became of Korea's Royal Family?

Dear Korean,

I am British and although this hasn't been on the news much you may have heard we are about to celebrate a Royal Wedding. Although I suppose that you will probably find the whole thing ridiculous (It isn't, the kitsch provides excellent presents for American Friends and Relatives) I was wondering whether you could explain the current status of the Korean Monarchy (ie, what has happened to them since they were overthrown after Korea's independence from Japan) and the general attitude towards them.

Her Majesty's Subject.

It has been more than a week since the royal wedding, but the Korean still has not stopped crying...

NOT! Are you kidding? As a proud American, American media's dotage upon the royal wedding appalled the Korean. The Korean means no offense to Her Majesty's Subject, and he wishes the newly married couple well as he wishes for every newlyweds. But regardless, didn't Americans fight a war or something to get away from the British royal family and its shindigs? George Washington must have been spinning in his grave last weekend.

You are committing treason, OK! Magazine.

(Source)

But this is an interesting point, so let's dive in. As most people know, Imperial Japan annexed Korean Empire in 1910. In 1945, Korea re-emerged as two sovereign states, neither of which had a king. Then what happened with Korea's royal family? The fate that befell on his family was perhaps not as severe as those Koreans died in forced labor or were mobilized into forced prostitution, but it is a tremendously sad and tragic reflection of the decline and fall of Korea in the early 20th century. Let's travel back four generations.

First Generation: Emperor Gwangmu

We go back four generations because the demise of Korea's royal family arguably starts in 1907. While Korea officially disappeared in 1910, in practicality Korea lost is sovereignty in 1905, when the Japan-Korea Treaty of 1905 was entered into. Under the treaty, Korea became Japan's "protectorate," and lost the ability to conduct its own foreign affairs. A governor from Japan was sent to Korea to conduct Korea's foreign affairs instead. It goes without saying that the treaty was not entered into in a fair manner -- dozens of armed Japanese soldiers were staring down the emperor and the officials when the treaty was signed.

Emperor Gwangmu

(Source)

Emperor Gwangmu (also known as Gojong) of Korea could plainly see where this was going. Although the 1905 Treaty stripped his ability to conduct foreign affairs, the emperor sent secret envoys to 17 major powers, including United Kingdom, France and Germany, to protest the forcible signing of the 1905 Treaty. The highlight of this effort was in 1907, when three Korean envoys were sent to the Second International Peace Convention at the Hague. Although Japan froze out the envoys from attending the convention, Yi Wi-Jong, one of the three envoys, managed to give a speech imploring for help in a separate conference. (The speech fell on deaf ears.)

The three secret envoys to the Hague: 

Yi Sang-Seol, Yi Joon, Yi Wi-Jong

(Source)

Although the emperor's efforts did not create any result, Imperial Japan did not take kindly to Emperor Gwangmu's extracurricular activity, and demanded that he abdicate his throne. The emperor acquiesced, giving way to his son, Emperor Yunghui (also known as Soonjong) -- who would become the last emperor of Korean Empire.  Former Emperor Gwangmu died in 1919. Although this is not certain, there are ample indications that he was poisoned.

More after the jump.

Got a question or a comment for the Korean? Email away at askakorean@gmail.com.



Second Generation:  Emperor Yunghui, King Euichin, King Yeongchin, Princess Deokhye

Emperor Gwangmu had 13 children, but only four survived into adulthood -- three sons and a daughter. And they were survivors in the truest sense. Even as the empire was in precipitous decline, the palace intrigue did not stop. Emperor Gwangmu's oldest son, born from his third wife, is rumored to have been poisoned by Empress Myeongseong, the emperor's main wife. The second son, born from Empress Myeongseong, died young. The Emperor's father may have poisoned him. The crown prince -- the third son who would become Emperor Yunghui-- was also poisoned in his youth, but barely survived. It was rumored that because of the lingering effects of the poisoning, the crown prince did not have full mental capacity.

The last royal family. From the left: King Euichin, Emperor Yunghui, 

King Yeongchin, Emperor Gwangmu, with Princess Deokhye in front

(Source)

In 1910, Emperor Yunghui signed over his empire to Imperial Japan, ending the 600-year dynasty headed by his family. Emperor Yunghui was demoted to a king, subordinate to the Japanese emperor. Korea's royal family as a whole became Japanese nobility. The policy of Imperial Japan toward Korea's royal family was clear: the royal family will be either assimilated or killed. The first to go was the Emperor Gwangmu, as described above. Emperor Yunghui did not last much longer -- he died in 1926, at age 53.

Perhaps the most interesting figure in this drama is Yi Gang (also known as King Euichin,) second surviving son of Gwangmu. Yi Gang studied in Roanoke College in Virginia and was an officer of Korean imperial military when his older brother signed over the empire. Yi Gang silently assisted Korea's independence movement, signing petitions and sending funds to support Korean independence fighters and schools. He attempted to flee Korea and join the provisional government in Shanghai, but was arrested in the process and lost his nobility status. Since then, he evaded Imperial Japan's surveillance by engaging in profuse boozing and whoring while continuing to support the independence movement. During the course of his independence movement, he expressed that he would abdicate his royal status and submit to the rule of the democratic government. He led a quiet life after the independence, and died in 1955 at age 79.

Emperor Yunghui died without a son, and King Euichin was not favored by the Japanese because of his involvement in Korea's independence movement. Therefore, Gwangmu's youngest surviving son, King Yeongchin, succeeded the throne. Yi Eun, also known as King Yeongchin, was born in 1897. At age ten, he was taken to Japan to "study" under the patronage of the Japanese governor of Korea -- essentially being held as a hostage. As the contemporary Japanese nobility did, Yi Eun was forced to attend the military academy. He became an officer of the Japanese military, and was forced to married Nashimotonomiya Masako, a member of the Japanese royal family. He became the king of Korea after his father died in 1926, but only visited Korea briefly to accept the crown. He became a general of the Japanese army in 1938. He would see the end of World War II in Japan.

Young Yi Eun with his Japanese "patron,"

Governor-General Ito Hirobumi

(Source)

After the war, Yi Eun lost his nobility status, which pushed his family into dire poverty. He would scrape by with the financial help from the very few remaining Korean royalists. His wife also had to work, notwithstanding her royal family status. He attempted to return to Korea, but was rebuffed -- that he served in the Japanese military and married a Japanese royal family did not play well with the newly established Korean government. He suffered a stroke in 1961 in Hawaii while visiting his son; he was allowed to return to Korea in 1963, and lived in the Changdeok Palace with his aunt. He passed away in 1970.

It is a cruel irony of history that the only person who came out of this drama with a shred of dignity was Yi Eun's wife, Masako. After returning to Korea in 1963, she changed her name to a Korean-style name Yi Bang-Ja and focused her energy on charity work, establishing schools for children with disabilities despite living off the meager government pension. She received numerous medals and awards for her volunteer work. She passed away in 1989.

Princess Deokhye, Gwangmu's youngest daughter who was born in 1912, is probably the most tragic figure. She was forcibly moved to Japan and attended a university, where she developed schizophrenia. In 1931, she married a Japanese nobleman in an arranged marriage, and had a daughter. She survived the war, but lost her only daughter in the process. She was abandoned by her husband in 1953 as her schizophrenia worsened. For the next nine years, she would go from mental hospital to mental hospital in Japan. Korean government heard about her in 1962. and President Park Chung-Hee passed the law providing for pension for the former royal family in response. Princess Deokhye returned to Korea, and lived in Changdeok Palace until 1989 when she passed away.

Third and Fourth Generations: Yi Gu and King Euichin's 21 Children

Yi Eun and Masako had two sons, but the older son died at less than one year old. The last official crown prince of Korean royal family is Yi Gu, born in 1931. He had spent his entire life in Japan, and he worked as a clerk for a company in Tokyo after World War II. In 1953, he moved abroad to study in MIT, and met his future wife -- a white American woman named Julia Murlock. Yi Gu married Murlock in 1959 in New York, and he worked for the architectural company of I.M. Pei.

He was also allowed to return to Korea in 1963, and lectured architecture in universities. But he could not adjust to the life in Korea. Although Korea was no longer a monarchy, the Jeonju Yi (Lee) lineage society took (and still takes) its royal family line very, very seriously. Yi Gu received pressure as a crown prince within his family, and that he married a white woman who could not get pregnant only intensified the pressure. Yi Gu separated from Murlock in 1977, and returned to Japan in 1979. He would visit Korea from time to time, but refused to settle down in Korea. He died alone in 2005 in a hotel in Tokyo; apparently Yi Gu favored the hotel because it overlooked his old birthplace. He was buried in a royal garb; his funeral was attended by the prime minister of Korea (equivalent to American vice president) and 1,000 people.

Yi Gu's funeral

(Source)

This means that the only surviving royal family in Korea are the descendants of King Euichin, the rebel prince. Remarkably, he had 12 sons and 9 daughters from 13 different women -- as far as we know. Fate was not kind to them either. For example, Yi Geon, the oldest son of King Euichin, became a naturalized Japanese citizen in 1947 and severed his ties with Korea completely. Reportedly, before he naturalized, he brought all of his (step-)brothers and sisters together and asked them all to forget about the fact that they belong to the royal family. He died in 1991. Yi Wu, the second son, died in Hiroshima as the officer of the Japanese military when the city was hit by the nuclear bomb. The rest scattered into Korea and America, and led more or less unremarkable lives. Out of the 21 children of King Euichin, ten (four sons, six daughters) are still alive. They live in Korea, New York, Los Angeles and San Jose. After Yi Gu passed away, the Jeonju Yi lineage society established the son of King Euichin's ninth son to be the crown prince -- a man named Yi Sang-Hyup, 50 years old.

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What do contemporary Koreans think about the royal family? Yi Gu's death in 2005 served as a reminder to Korean people that Korea in fact had a royal family. This acted as a catalyst for the royal family fad in Korea. In a survey conducted in 2006, 54.4% was in favor of "restoring the royal family," although no one in Korea is quite sure what that means. In a survey conducted in 2010, the number dropped significantly to 40.4% in favor, but still outpaced the 23.4% against. But it would be wise not to put too much stock in those numbers, because the restoration of the royal family is a pipe dream as of now. The numbers will likely change dramatically when people start thinking about the concrete details -- for example, will the royal family have any kind of political power? Will they take back any part of their formerly vast property around the nation?

So regardless of the surveys that essentially ask if one prefers the moon to be made of cheddar cheese or Swiss cheese, the Korean is pretty confident that the monarchy is not coming back to Korea any time soon. If that means one less royal wedding that assaults the supermarket newsstands around the world, all for the better.

Got a question or a comment for the Korean? Email away at askakorean@gmail.com.

Ask a Korean! News: Crucified (!) Person Discovered in a Remote Quarry

This probably does not have much to do with Korea other than it happened in Korea -- crazy is crazy no matter what the location. But it is pretty crazy. Translation below.

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The police is investigating a case in which a man, in his 50s, was discovered dead crucified to a cross in a Biblical fashion. According to the Gyeongsangbuk-do Mun'gyeong-si Police Agency, Mr. Kim (58 years old, Gyeongsangnam-do Changwon-si Seongsan-gu), a taxi driver, was found dead in Mt. Doondeok in Gyeongsangbuk-do Mun'gyeong-si. The police said when Mr. Kim was found dead at 970 meters above sea level at Mt. Doondeok, he was reenacting the scene in which Jesus was crucified on the cross. Mr. Kim was found wearing a crown of thorns, and his feet were nailed together. Both of his hands were also nailed to the cross. Mr. Kim was wearing only white underwear; his legs and neck were tied to the cross with a rope. His right side had a wound created by a sharp weapon.

Wooden cross discovered at the site.

Also discovered on cite was the sketch to design and produce the cross, a whip that was apparently used to strike the body and cut pieces of wood. In front of the cross, there was a round mirror that reflected Mr. Kim on the cross. Inside Mr. Kim's car, discovered approximately 100 meters away from the scene, were a tent, a hammer, a drill, a knife and a memo pad that contained notes on how to be crucified. According to the medical examiner who checked the scene, the nail was directly inserted into the feet. However, there were signs that the holes were drilled into the hands first, then slid into the large nails already attached to the cross.

Sketches of cross design, discovered at the site.

The area is a quarry that had not been operational for a long time, and few ever visit the site. It is difficult to approach, as it is surrounded by large rocks. The police is weighing on the possibility that a religious fanatic or a psychopath who held a grudge against Mr. Kim committed the murder, but is not excluding the possibility that Mr. Kim killed himself with help from another. The police is particularly focusing on the fact that Mr. Kim was known to be a Christian, and the day when the body was discovered was May 1, the Easter weekend. The police instituted a multi-front investigation in order to discern the recent tracks of the dead and establish the precise cause of death. A representative from the Police Agency said, "We found that Mr. Kim was involved with a certain cult; we are trying to see if that fact is relevant here," and added, "We will find the precise cause of death after the autopsy."

가시관 쓰고 대못 박힌채… 50대男 ‘십자가 주검’ 미스터리 [Dong-A Ilbo]

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Ask a Korean! Wiki: Fashion in Korea?

Dear Korean,

I am an English teacher (surprise) in Seosan, Korea and I would like to know more about Korean fashion. Are there blogs by other weiguks like me on Korean fashion?

Nina teacher

An obvious nominee would be Feet Man Seoul. But other than that, here is when the weakness of the Korean's knowledge about Korea comes into play: the Korean almost never reads anything meaningful about Korea in English. As a native Korean speaker, there is no point reading anything in English, when sources in Korean language are obviously superior. There are a number of fashion websites and blogs in Korean, but that is probably not what Nina Teacher is looking for.

Fashionista readers, got anything?

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The upcoming movie Priest is based on a Korean cartoon series. This probably is the first case where a Hollywood movie is based on a Korean cartoon series. Here is the cover of the first issue of the comic book:

(Source)

The preview looks decent.