[Kaleidoscope]Lost in translation of Korean words

There are some words in the Korean language whose definitions are so ambiguous that Koreans sometimes confuse their use. For example, many Koreans use the word "blue" to describe something that is "green." When a traffic light is green, most Koreans say, "It`s blue."

Things get even more complicated when the word for "sin" is confused with "crime." The Korean word for crime is interchangeable with the word for sin. Strictly speaking, this implies that there exists no clear distinction between crime and sin in the Korean mind. Therefore, when a Korean says, "I have sinned" or "I have committed a crime," he uses the same expression and feels the same sense of guilt that accompanies both meanings. In English, "a sinner" is clearly different from "a criminal," but Koreans do not seem to differentiate the two clearly.

This confusion often causes a major psychological problem. Those who have sinned are likely to feel that they have committed a crime and thus deserve some type of punishment whether it is eternal hellfire, suffering, or punishment. On the contrary, those who have committed a crime often seem to feel that they have sinned and thus can be forgiven upon penitence. This mindset especially applies to some of our politicians who seem to view political corruption or crime as sins that can easily be atoned.

Many Koreans also confuse the word for "individuality" with "selfishness," which explains the prevalence of group mentality over individuality in Korean society. Anyone who wants to be individualistic is immediately misunderstood and condemned as a selfish person. In Korea, therefore, one is always expected to be part of a larger community and belong to a group, a faction, or an organization. No wonder numerous clans, societies and associations exist in Korea -- alumni associations, hometown societies, church clubs, the list goes on.



By the same token, Koreans are expected to sacrifice their personal interests to serve public interests. For example, one can neglect or even abandon his home, if necessary, in order to serve his country. In Korea, this is highly regarded as a noble act, whereas in many other countries, there are strong beliefs that he who cannot protect his home cannot protect his country. However, in Korean society priority is always given to one`s community and fatherland.

Quite a few Koreans are also confused when it comes to "totality" and "totalitarianism." Mistaking totalitarianism as totality, most Koreans do not even realize that they live in a totalitarian society where different voices are seldom allowed. Koreans frequently chant: "United, we live. Divided, we die," but that seemingly harmless slogan often invites a totalitarian society where the freedom of speech and the freedom of press are effectively, if not ruthlessly, oppressed. In such a totalitarian society, uniformity and conformity are celebrated, and those who have different opinions are condemned as black sheep. Traditionally, Koreans abhor wet blankets that spoil the mood of unity.

Also, many Koreans confuse "authority" with "authoritarianism." For the past few years, Korean society has defied the authority of teachers, bosses and professionals under the pretense of social revolution. Instead of denouncing authoritarianism, people deprecate a person`s authority and integrity. As a result, South Korea has become a country of amateurs, constantly making mistakes in domestic and foreign affairs. Surely that is the price people should pay after ignoring professionals` opinions and perspectives.

An influential politician in the ruling party recently told me: "Today, anybody can become a cabinet minister or a lawmaker in South Korea. Isn`t it great? Isn`t it what democracy is all about?"

Well, I beg to differ. First of all, he who wants to be a cabinet minister or a lawmaker should be a highly qualified professional, not just anybody. Moreover, democracy has nothing to do with a system in which anybody can become president, prime minister or a national assemblyman

Another baffling aspect one may observe is Koreans` misunderstanding of the English word "victim." When translated into Korean, "victim" is misconstrued as "sacrifice." This leads to misinterpretation when communicating with one another. For example, if there is a plane crash or a hostage situation, Koreans would call the unfortunate passengers or hostages "the sacrificed ("huisaengja")," instead of "the victims ("pihaeja")." Even Saul Bellow`s novel "The Victim" has been translated into Korean as "Huisaengja," or "The Sacrificed," radically altering the original meaning of the title.

Hopelessly confused with the concept of the two radically different words, Koreans tend to think that they are "sacrificed" when they are, in fact, victimized by something or someone. When a Korean becomes a victim of an accident, prejudice or social injustice, therefore, he thinks he has been sacrificed for some grand cause. Since the meaning of the word is lost in translation, his plight is galvanized by a touch of sacredness and heroism. Naturally, he thinks he deserves a medal of honor, national cemetery burial or monetary reward from the government even though he is nothing but a victim of an incident.

This confusion as to the use of some Korean words well illustrates some of the baffling contradictions found in today`s Korean society.

By Kim Seong-kon