2004-2005Tamara Failor

Tamara Failor

ETA :: 2004-2005

Suncheon Maesan Girls’ High School

Several months into my Fulbright year, I faced a cohort of new students.

My getting-to-know-you Q&A generated the standards: “Do you like Korea?” “Do you like kimchi?” Some questions were impressively thoughtout: “Did you lose weight or gain weight after you came to Korea?” The questioning moved pretty quickly to the political: “What do you think about Bush?” “What do you think about Ohno?”

I knew very little about Ohno, so I asked my students to explain. The one who posed the question was stymied, so a peer stepped in: Ohno was a speedskater who “overreacted,” causing an undeserved penalty which cost Korea the gold medal. This was followed with the inevitable, “What do you think about Japan?” Dokdo (disputed islands in the East Sea) was in the headlines, and they knew I’d visited Japan over winter break. I hemmed and hawed; the bell rang. “Bye!” I said brightly, my relief only slightly exaggerated as I stepped quickly out, the laughter rising as the door closed behind me.

During Fulbright Orientation we’d watched footage of a Korean soccer player celebrating a goal by skidding across the grass with speedskating motions, before being tackled by his ecstatic teammates. This was part of an orientation meant to prepare us for a year in a country which now seemed increasingly nationalistic, and torn between resentment and appreciation for the U.S., its supposed liberator and undeniably crucial economic and political ally.

2002, two years before I arrived, was rough for international relations in Korea. Korea’s speedskating loss in the Winter Olympics was only a few months old at the 2002 World Cup, hosted by Korea and Japan. Ohno’s skating team canceled a World Cup-related appearance in Chuncheon, Korea, after he received death threats. The celebrated goal was scored against the U.S., bringing their Cup match to a draw. While I found such intense hatred surprising, at the same time, Ohno seemed a likely focal point for Korean anger, representing both American privilege and arrogance, given his citizenship, and Japanese oppression, given his lineage. Then, in June 2002, within days of the soccer match between Korea and the U.S., two Korean girls in Seoul were crushed and killed by a U.S. military vehicle. The two G.I.s were tried in an American military court, instead of a Korean one, and many Koreans believe their punishment was too light. Public anger was palpable. Anti-American pop-songs gained in popularity on the radio waves.

My response at the time was gratitude that this tension was rarely focused on me. Half a decade later, while spending months in Mongolia, Sri Lanka, and Afghanistan, I better appreciate such frank sentiments about Western powers, and my time in Korea as gentle preparation. Not only did these interactions help me navigate cross-cultural relationships in my career, but to understand that such passions cannot be boiled down to global competitiveness, but often are as grounded in optimism, well-articulated by my young students, as they are in the injustices of history.