Viktor Ahn, Korea's Hero

(Because the blog was quiet during the Winter Olympics, the Korean thought it may be appropriate to have a reflective piece about the Games. Enjoy.)

It would not take a Korea-centric blog to note that Viktor Ahn, formerly known in Korea as Ahn Hyeon-su [안현수], was one of the best story lines from the 2014 Winter Olympics. Ahn's story, covered everywhere from the New York Times to Deadspin, is now familiar. Ahn was once the ace for Korea's world-beating short track skating team, and was a dominant force in the 2006 Torino Olympics. After a knee injury and factionalism within the skating administration within Korea, Ahn did not make Team Korea's roster for the 2010 Olympics in Vancouver. Frustrated, Ahn became a free agent, renouncing Korean citizenship and taking the flag of the highest bidder, Russia. In the Sochi Olympics, Ahn became one of the Games' greatest winners, taking three gold and one bronze medals. In the process, he solidified his place as the greatest short track skater ever, with six career Olympic gold medals and two bronze.

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How did Koreans feel about Ahn? Initially in 2011, when Ahn announced his decision to leave Korea, there was some grousing in the corners of Korea's Internet by those who thought Ahn was betraying his country. But what little grudge Koreans had held against Ahn mostly evaporated by the beginning of the Olympics, even before Ahn stepped on the Sochi ice. Overwhelming majority of Koreans cheered for Ahn when he was skating, and they were genuinely happy when Ahn won his first medal, a bronze. By the time Ahn was done setting the record, Koreans showered their love on Ahn just as much as they did with any member of Team Korea. 

(Well, any member except Kim Yuna. But Kim Yuna is Kim Yuna--there won't be another one quite like her. That's for another post.)

Why did Koreans cheer for Ahn? A shallow analysis may point to Korea's strong ethno-nationalism, and claim that Koreans simply love any Korean who succeeds. Such an analysis may have had a point in certain previous instances. (Hines Ward, for example.) But this time, it badly misreads the pulse of Koreans' positive emotion for Ahn. Koreans were not cheering for Ahn simply because Ahn is Korean; Koreans were cheering for Ahn because Ahn represents the triumph of the individual, victorious over injustice.

(More after the jump)

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"Individualism" is not a word that is commonly associated with Koreans. The prevailing stereotype about Koreans (which is consistent with the prevailing stereotype about Asians generally) is that Koreans are conformist and deferential, ever wary of what other people think and never stepping up to challenge authority. 

The problem with stereotypes is not that they are completely wrong; it is that they are used in a manner that is far beyond their usefulness. Rare is a case in which a stereotype is utterly without basis in reality. But very common is a case in which the stereotype is applied without rigorous examination of the context, individual differences, and actual events on the ground. By being applied that way, stereotype flattens reality. It turns innumerable vibrant colors into grayscale, and claims that the world is only made up of a sliding measure of black and white.

Same is true about the stereotype about Koreans being conformist and deferential to authority. It is not necessarily wrong. But simply pointing to the stereotype misses the fact that, in modern Korean culture, there has been a consistent counter-streak of rugged individualism and vigorous challenges to those in power. Behind the prevailing picture of Koreans who defer to authority and hierarchy, there is a fierce and deep-seated distrust of the government and the powerful that is nearly Ayn Randian.

And why wouldn't Koreans distrust government and authority? Seen from a certain angle, modern Korean history is a history of Korea's authority figures letting down its people. The last Korean kings were too weak to protect their people, and signed away their land to Imperial Japan. When Korean War broke out, President Syngman Rhee was already on a southbound train when South Korean government was announcing to Seoul citizens that there was nothing to fear, because the ROK Army was repelling the North Koreans. Indeed, some Koreans would point as far back as the Imjin War of the late 15th century, when King Seonjo abandoned Seoul to run from the onslaught of the advancing Japanese army while the Righteous Army--a volunteer army made up of peasants, led by local noblemen--fought the enemy to death, as an instance in which Korea's leaders let people down, and the people had to find their own salvation.

One must also remember that Imperial Japan's brutal rule, followed immediately by the devastating Korean War, nearly reduced Korea to the Hobbesian state of nature, the war of all against all. For all the emphasis that Korean culture supposedly places on manners and propriety, the spectre of death--the actual one as well as the fear thereof--was more than enough to loosen or destroy the traditional bonds. It is not a stretch to say that such loosening of bonds at least partially contributed to the rise of modern Korea as an advanced industrialized nation. In the English Industrial Revolution, peasants had to be displaced from their land to become the mobile labor force that modern capitalism required. In Korea, two wars that literally destroyed Korea's tradition did the same. The new, modern Koreans emerged as a result: tough, independent and individual, taking nothing lying down.

Again, in certain contexts, the observation that Koreans are conformist and deferential to authority is not necessarily wrong. But it misses the long history of Koreans fighting back at what they perceive as unjust authority. Korea's Independence Movement did not relent until World War II was over. When the dictator Syngman Rhee sought to become a lifetime president, Koreans overthrew him. Second, third dictators came along, and Koreans overthrew them too. Labor activist Jeon Tae-il immolated himself, protesting the deplorable labor conditions of the 1970s in Korea. Attorney Kim Yong-cheol blew the whistle on Samsung's slush funds in 2010. In the waning days of Korea's last presidential election of 2012, police investigator Gwon Eun-hee tried to halt, and later exposed, Korea's spy agency's meddling with the election. Even at a smaller scale, it is not difficult to find ordinary Koreans fighting the injustices they encounter in their lives. 

As is always the case for underdogs, those who fight back fail more often than they succeed. But when they do succeed, Koreans heartily cheer them on. So Koreans cheer for Viktor Ahn, for Ahn most certainly suffered injustice at the hands of the authority. The pettiness of factional politics that Korea Skating Union inflicted on Ahn is galling. The entire KSU, including the administration, coaches and the athletes, was split into two factions: those who attended Korea National Sport University, and those who did not. Ahn, a KNSU graduate, initially was a beneficiary of the factional politics when the KNSU "line" was more dominant in the early 2000s. When the political tide turned, the players and coaches of the non-KNSU line did everything it could to push out Ahn. Even in international games, the non-KNSU players would impede Ahn. In an infamous episode, a non-KSNU skater beat Ahn into pulp because Ahn refused to let him win. It became so bad that Ahn ended up practicing with the women's team, in which the KNSU faction was stronger. Ahn's knee injury made it that much easier to freeze him out of the 2010 Winter Olympics.

Staring down the demise of his athletic career, Ahn fought back by adopting a new homeland, taking on a new name and skating with the Russian flag on his chest. And boy, did he stick it to the man! Ahn's three gold medals matched the number of gold medals won by the entire Team Korea which, as fate would have it, did not win a single medal in men's short track skating. Ahn could not possibly have had a sweeter revenge, standing victorious over the KSU bureaucracy that wronged him.

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Seeing this, it is difficult for any Korean not to identify with Viktor Ahn--for Korea has no shortage of small injustices committed by those who hold the authority and power. Who wouldn't want to project themselves onto Ahn on the podium, a brilliant individual shining over the boss's yelling, the older relatives' nagging, the petty corruption, and all the other social ills that Koreans see as being the results of too much deference to authority? Viktor Ahn may have become an Olympic hero for Russia, but for a different reason, he is just as much of a hero for Koreans as well.

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