My Korea - Kevin O'Rourke

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do not add the person’s name.

      Everyone in Korea has an appropriate title. Unfortunately, the foreigner often is not too sure what it is. The Columbans had a seminarian on overseas training who worked in a parish in Wŏnju. What to call him was a big problem. Eventually the problem was solved when someone hit on the layman title. From then on he was known as Layman X. Figuring the intricacies of titles is enormously complex, well beyond the ability of most of us. What we need is safe practice. Over the last twenty years the culture of the ajŏsshi-ajumŏni title has changed enormously. Nowadays everyone seems to be either ajŏsshi or ajumŏni. In the apartment yard, I’m normally addressed as ajŏsshi or harabŏji. Harabŏji and halmŏni are okay, but a foreigner should be careful about using ajŏsshi or ajumŏni. Err always on the side of safety. Giving someone a little extra rank doesn’t hurt. The worst that will be said of you is that you are very polite. Sŏnsaengnim is almost always appropriate. Your doctor, your dentist and your teacher can always be called sŏnsaengnim. A nurse is called kanhowŏnnim. Your housekeeper should be addressed by name – Miss Lee, Miss Kim. When you get to know her well you can call her ajuma or ajumŏni, but don’t do it in front of non-family members. Your kids will call her ajuma or ajumŏni very quickly, but they too should use her name in front of outsiders.

      Never call the waitress agasshi. You will save yourself some pain if you note her name when she first approaches your table. But if you don’t know her name – Miss Lee, Miss Kim, Miss Park – call out ‘Yŏgiyo!’ to attract her attention, Similarly the waiter should be Mr Kim, Mr Park and so on (chibaenim perhaps if he’s a head waiter), not ajŏsshi. Young people who know each other well address each other by name, Myŏngja sshi, Kimun sshi; the girls often call an older boy op’a, an older girl ŏni. If you know students well, you can use their names, but be careful. In the office avoid Kim sshi (sshi translates as seed); Kim sŏnsaeng is better; there’s no need for nim between equals. Miss Kim and Kim yang are widely used. When cordial relations exist, it’s always permissible to refer to someone slightly older as hyŏngnim. Don’t call your taxi driver ajŏsshi; call him kisanim. Don’t call the man who comes to fix the sink, fridge or computer ajŏsshi even though you hear Koreans use this title; better call him kisanim or don’t use any title. Most people in my apartment complex call the guards in the yard ajŏsshi. I don’t call them anything, but if circumstances force me to make a choice, I call them kyŏngbiwŏnnim. Many Koreans smile at this, but the guards don’t think any the worse of me. Never call a woman samonim. It’s polite all right, but they don’t like it. We used to use pu’inkkesŏ or perhaps Kim yŏsa if we knew the woman’s name, but I don’t hear either of these too much anymore. And never refer to your wife as yŏsa or pu’in. It’s a certain giggle causer. When talking to equals, she is chip saram, or anae, or ajumŏni; she’s ch’ŏ when talking to people that outrank you. The wife refers to her husband as namp’yŏn or uses his name, Mr Kim, Mr Cho. In direct address the husband calls his wife yŏbo, the wife calls her husband yŏbo or chagi. In the old days she referred to him as pakkat yangban (outside master) or sŏbangnim. Nowadays these appellations raise a smile. The general principle is, if you don’t know the appropriate title, use sŏnsaengnim, and if sŏnsaengnim feels awkward, don’t use any title. Finally, be aware that when polite people start calling you ŏrŭshin, you are already on the slippery slope to old age.

      Social standing is critical in interpersonal relationships. There are only two class categories anymore: yangban and sangnom. Yangban is an honorific term for the nobility; sangnom is so bad that no one admits to belonging to this class. Now, of course, there are all sorts of yangban: the real yangban who traces his bloodlines in family registers (hojŏk) to mid-Chosŏn and earlier; and the manufactured yangban who created a family registry with a little bribery and general skullduggery and thus raised the family escutcheon from sangnom to yangban. I’ve been told that 10% of the population was yangban at the end of Chosŏn, but that by the time the country got through the Japanese occupation, there were none left! This, of course, is a Korean gentleman poking fun at prized traditional institutions. You should be aware that while it is always permissible for Koreans to belittle Korea, it is never permissible for foreigners to do so. There are five or six family names that are sangnom, but I have no intention of listing them here because that sort of information is offensive. Suffice it to say I’ve noticed over the years that a lot of my foreign friends have sangnom Korean names, probably given by a Korean mentor with a sardonic sense of humour. Most of these friends are blissfully unaware, or pretend to be, of the joke they carry on their name cards. What’s in a name? According to Dr Crane foreigners are sangnom anyway!

      You will appreciate then that a thorough grounding in the yangban concept is de rigueur for aspiring long-term residents. The definitive text, The Yangban’s Tale, was written by Pak Chiwŏn (1737–1805), the indefatigable Chosŏn dynasty Shirhak (Practical Learning) scholar. Again copyright restrictions do not pertain.

      A yangban lived in Chŏngsŏn in Kangwŏn Province. A man of most benevolent disposition, he loved reading the classics. Whenever a new county magistrate was appointed, it was customary for the new appointee to seek out the yangban and express his warmest feelings of respect. However, such was the poverty of the yangban’s household that he had borrowed 100 bags of rice from the government granary over the last number of years, a state of affairs that greatly angered the inspector when he came to town on an official inspection and examined the accounts of the government granary.

      ‘What son-of-a-bitch of a yangban has depleted the army grain?’ he shouted and he ordered the arrest of the yangban.

      When the county magistrate got the official arrest order, he was filled with pity for the yangban. But what could he do! The yangban had no means of repaying the debt. The magistrate was caught in an impossible situation. He couldn’t put the yangban in jail; and he couldn’t disobey the order of a superior.

      The yangban in his desperate plight was reduced to tears. He wept day and night but unfortunately failed to come up with a plan.

      The yangban’s wife cried out in frustration:

      ‘You’ve spent your life sitting there reading and now there’s no way of repaying the debt. Yangban, yangban! I’m sick of rotten yangban. The title is rubbish!’

      A rich man lived in the village, and when the story of the yangban’s misfortune was noised abroad, the rich man had a serious discussion with the members of his household.

      ‘No matter how poor a yangban is, he’s always respected and honoured. No matter how much money I make, I’m always despised. I’m not let ride a horse. If I meet a yangban, I must tremble and grovel. I bow, I scrape, I crawl. It’s a dirty life. Now the local yangban has a huge problem. He’s caught; he has no way of repaying the government grain. So why shouldn’t I buy his title and be a yangban myself?’

      As soon as the rich man had the agreement of his household, he went to see the yangban and offered to repay the government grain. The yangban was delighted. True to his word, the rich man went to the government office and repaid the debt.

      The shocked magistrate, not sure what this was all about, went to see the yangban. The yangban, dressed in hat and knee breeches, fell to the ground in fear and trembling. He couldn’t even look at the magistrate, and he kept referring to himself in the low form as ‘Your servant, your servant.’ More shocked than ever, the magistrate helped the yangban to his feet.

      ‘What does all this mean? Why on earth are you doing this?’

      The yangban was even more overwhelmed. He fell to his knees again, kowtowed and said, ‘A thousand pardons. Your servant has sold his yangban title

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