What does your conflict reveal about how personal values and beliefs are shaped and/or
constrained by the forces of conformity?
I love being an American. From the global influence we have from our music, our
blockbuster movies, our celebrities, to the most commonly used language in the world, love it or
hate it, it is nearly impossible to escape the clutches of modern day America. And though our
country isn’t in its finest form, I am proud to be a young person of such a country. But on the
deeper level, I love America because of its culture. The dichotomy between Korean culture, my
other dominant culture, and American culture leads me to respect and love America that much
more.
My favorite aspect of American culture is, at least in most cases, adults treat each other
with respect. Older or younger, once you escape the clutches of your teenage years and stop
being lectured to, your words carry weight, they carry meaning. This may stem from the fact that
American culture values freedom. The freedom to choose what to wear, eat, say, not say.
Freedom and finding oneself is so synonymous with American culture that people these days
consider it a “red flag” to be living with your parents post college. I for one, heavily disagree
with this statement. Sure once you establish yourself in society, build yourself a family it would
be pretty strange for you to still live under your parent’s roof. But immediately post grad? In
some cases on your 18th birthday? Independence my ass, more like throwing out the garbage.
But this to say that once you are an adult, you are in most cases treated as such. You are equals
with anyone you see once you step into the world. And this is why I love America. I feel like an
equal, regardless of my education, my background, my beliefs. I can stand on equal footing with
anyone and resolve my differences through communication.
Yet this isn’t the case in my other dominant culture, Korean culture. Korea, much like
many Asian countries, are built upon this old Chinese dude named Confucious. In a nutshell,
Confucius said your elders are akin to the heavens. Might as well exile yourself if you disrespect
your elders. That long hair you see in my favorite historical Korean dramas? That’s because you
would be sinning against your ancestors by cutting off the precious hair they gave you. Even
thinking about body hair and body odor during those times make me shudder. All this to say that
even in modern times, Korean culture is very vertical. The older, more experienced, yet often
senile members of society are revered for their knowledge and time on this planet. And me? A 19
year old freshly culminating from my first year of college? I’m at the bottom of the totem pole.
The lowest of the low. The one to be lectured to and taught, regardless of my qualifications. And
this clash of culture has led me and my grandfather to a thorny path, one where he seems too
proud to try and rectify it and one where I have thrown in the towel.
Going to Korea has always been a favorite experience of mine. I love feeling like I
belong, seeing people who look like me roaming the streets, people like me taking my order at a
restaurant. But more than that, I don’t feel out of place there. It seems like I am meant to belong
there. And it was no different the previous time I went, as I immediately felt a sense of belonging
as I roamed the streets of Korea. Yet I felt that sense of belonging vanish in the coming weeks, as
I traveled with my grandfather.
My grandfather has held some sort of authority for the majority of his life. His own
father passed away before my grandfather turned 20; as the oldest of 6 children, and more
importantly, as the first born male, my grandfather had to fill in the shoes of his father very early,
and I have heard from my great uncle that he took this mantle seriously, providing for his family
in Manchuria, having escaped imperial Japanese occupation. This form of authority also
continued into his work, as he became an ordained minister who taught philosophy at a private
high school then went on to become a revolutionary figure in evangelical Korean ministry.
Enough so that he was regularly asked to become a professor at the Seoul Theological Seminary,
a leading seminary in Korea. My grandfather was undoubtedly wise; he traveled to over 150
countries in his lifetime, led missionaries, revivals, and has experienced countless situations I
cannot even begin to imagine.
His greatest flaw in my eyes though, is his wisdom. Rather, the stern belief that his vast
experiences gives him the authority to teach others. I was a recipient of his belief, as I made the
decision to ask my grandfather how I should get to Busan, the southmost point of the Korean
peninsula. It was a simple question, how should I get here? What train should I take? What
station should I board from?
And he began to tell me. He told me which station to get on from, which train to take,
what time I should board. Then I asked him a question. The fickle thing about human memories
is that it remembers what it wants to remember. In the eyes of those remembering, they were
righteous. That is consequently how I remember this scenario as well. In my memory, I recall
asking a simple question. “Does the train have two routes to Busan?” Well, that was what I was
meaning to ask, before I remember being cut off. 그런데요. But. Such a versatile word. It can be
used to simply ask a question, refute someone’s argument, completely disregard someone’s
words completely and state your own case. The word that fractured our relationship.
The second that world came out of my mouth, my grandfather interrupted me. I looked at
my sister, my face saying ‘Is he serious right now?’ Indeed he was. In American culture, I have
found that in most cases people listen. This may be the freedom of speech, this may be all the
processed junk we eat, slowing down our brains to be unable to respond. Whatever the reason
may be, we listen. We let each other speak. Respect is not earned, it is a natural, god given right
till you prove yourself unworthy of it. And here is where we clashed. To approach this more
critically, this is where our different cultures clashed. By the end of our conversation, my
grandfather was seething with anger. My sister and I were in disbelief, and I never sought to talk
to my grandfather for the rest of the trip. I ate in silence, went out whenever I could, and vented
my frustrations to my sister. She witnessed the situation and agreed with me. I should have been
granted the decency to ask a simple yes or no question. Instead, I was cut off each and every time
before I could utter more than a handful of words.
I hypothesize that my grandfather felt he was being attacked. The product of a highly
Confucius society and having been placed in a seat of authority the majority of his life, he could
not fathom the thought of me, an 18 year old who didn’t even spend 6 months of his life in
Korea, challenging his knowledge. As I kept on defying his authority and challenging it, he
lashed out.
I know my grandfather is a good person. I have learned this through the countless stories
of his sacrifices over the course of his life. But I cannot come to conform with his culture. It
should be a simple solution. I should have conceded. I should have apologized. But as he is
constrained to his view of reality and of respect, I am bound to mine as well. The age old adage
goes, you can’t teach an old dog new tricks. It seems as though we are both old dogs, stubbornly
rooted in our own beliefs. Of what is right and wrong, and seeing our still fractured relationship a
year in the future, it seems neither of us have the will to change.