MetaKnigel If the Rule is Broken–Break It.

The Candy Vaccine: Prejudice and Generosity in South Korea

Written by Knigel Holmes

After watching a video of a foreigner assaulting a Korean grandfather,
a Young Korean man spits on an uninvolved Canadian subway passenger.
The incident shakes the white Canadian who does not usually have to experience direct hostile racism.
Later, a Korean grandmother's kindness reminds the Canadian not form his own prejudice.

I did not know what I knew, yet glancing up at his eyes—I knew. Locking eyes with mine, the young Korean gentleman exiting the subway car—jaw violently shaking—spat on me. His mouthful of lukewarm water drenched my leg. Deserving the diminutive, this kid appeared, if not acted, twenty or twenty-one; an age too close, yet still too far from rationality. Youth suffer their impulses. Still, by spitting on me, the boy demanded satisfaction.

Undoubtedly, few misunderstand the contempt and disgust behind the gesture. Expressions of disgust cross language barriers; we need no white glove formalities. Few insults slight worse than spitting at another; therefore, one would have to do something deserving of such vengeance. This kind of pre-emptive aggression could not be without a logical explanation.

Explaining logically, however, proved difficult with Korean medication making my brain kvetch against any thought except getting home, yet I did find myself off the train asking this kid, in monosyllabic, butchered Korean, why he would use me for a spittoon. Too busy wrestling my cough away from infecting other passengers, I had not unintentionally given the stink eye. The unexpected expectoration remained inexplicable.

Above all, while exploring foreign countries, travelers represent their home culture. International visitors must keep pleasant while being the first to apologise in uncertain confrontations. Culture clashes rarely end in the foreigners’ favour. For foreigners living in Korea for a few years, accumulated confidence dissipates upon being thrown into situations of sudden and overwhelming helplessness. Lengthily experience abroad lulls foreigners into feeling capable of dealing with any situation; however, abrupt riptides drag them out—bewildered—into the murky unknown. When at ease, open-mindedness, tolerance, and acceptance come naturally, yet these assumptions depend on having enough experience to navigate situations with serious consequences: prior broad-minded attitudes collapse against agitated behaviour during combustible moments. Kindness is easy, until challenged.

Despite obscenities exploding from his mouth, I took hold of his shirt collar. His volatile and antagonistic behaviour demanded that I restrain him and protect myself while stopping him from leaving—as he was trying to do. Conversely, I was not interested in seeing my actions out of context later on the Internet or in the Korean media. At the same time, although maintaining cool, calm assertiveness, I felt like a child because my Korean vocabulary was still at home in my textbooks. Having forgotten useful words such as “police” and “security” I entertained a growing audience as they stood around gawking at me—a foreigner—spouting nonsense, playing charades, and picking on one of their children. Frustrated, I pulled the kid towards the emergency phone, got past him trying to block me, and called down a tiny, old security man who luckily spoke a little English.

Recently, the Korean media reported on an altercation in which a “black” man threatened and then assaulted an older Korean man on a bus. Commentary on the video circulating over the Internet renewed resentment towards foreigners. While this situation is not statistically significant compared with Korean physical violence, the Korean media tends to sensationalise negative situations involving foreigners. Although daily fights break out between Koreans, the media rarely comments; however, nearly all incidents involving foreigners receive nationwide backlash. Without exaggeration, almost every Korean has heard of the “black” foreigner.

Thus, with racial tension in mind, I contemplated what I ought to do while the security guard mediated between the kid and me. I desired to go home; however, I felt obligated to prevent him from ending up as some dastardly serial expectorator haunting the subway hunting foreigners. The next option would be to press charges; however, not only would this be too serious of a punishment, it could backfire. I could not be certain that the police would take my side. The solution then crawled out of my dazed brain. I was not interested in vengeance, only the reason behind the boy’s actions; therefore I offered a deal: I would not file a police report if he told me why he had, without provocation, spit on me.

What will we do to satisfy our want of justice? There is no conclusive evidence of intrinsic morality—no absolute good or evil; we are left designing our own ethical systems. These systems are far from rational. We pride ourselves on emotions—such as empathy—guiding our ethical codes. However, emotions are not stable, nor are they inherently rational. We are not rational—merely rationalising. Sure, the human brain is magnificent, yet so magnificent that it outwits itself by concealing our blind spots. Relying on heuristics, the brain becomes vulnerable to logical fallacies. We use short cuts reducing cognitive dissonances of unsolvable injustices. Often, when we cannot find a solution to the conflict, we seek other ways to reduce the negative affects—leaving us to appease our need for justice by bringing down wrath onto anything loosely associated with the injustice that sparked the negative feelings. So, upon seeing infuriating news, we go out, find people fitting the descriptions, and take the frustration out on them. We feel like heroes. Vengeance might not resolve the initial problem; however, it does reduce our negative feelings—at least for a while.

Likewise, our accumulated experience creates narratives. Going through life, we add stories into stories—fears into fears. Each negative story adds to the fear of becoming a victim; however, as those stories build up, we end up defensive and more prone to perceiving another culture negatively. This collection constructs stereotypes until we become one of those stories—fulfilling our own prophecies. While there is truth within these stories, our brains skew the information. After a while, fear builds up in magma chambers of resentment against foreigners. This percolating hostility induces young Korean gentlemen, having watched a video the day before of a foreigner hitting a Korean grandfather, to justify spitting on another, but innocent, foreigner because of a cough—a simple, common cough.

Epilogue:

Once I was back on the Subway heading home, I ruminated on the whole experience while trying to restrain myself from coughing. Feeling a touch on my arm, I turned to see a grandmother. She smiled and held out a cough candy. The candy, unfortunately, was not only less than delicious; it also caused more coughing. I did, however, understand the grandmother’s intention, and she will never know how well she inoculated a virus corrupting my schema of Koreans. Intellectually, I understand Koreans are not a single, homogeneous group; however, experiencing racism directly, fear-mongering stories invaded my thoughts. I could have unintentionally paid the racism forward, yet one small candy—one random act of kindness—sweetened the bitter thoughts.