What I learned in Seoul
I wake up Friday morning on the 17th floor of my hotel that looks out to Seoul’s skyscraper dense Gangnam district, relieved that this beautiful city has not been attacked by North Korean artilleries, or worse. South Koreans live their lives unconcerned with their nuclear weapon hoarding, temperamental neighbor just thirty five miles to the north, but I’m worried, even if they’re not. Every day, citizens walk by signs in the subway reminding them that the underground areas are also bomb shelters. Thousands of commuters at Samseong Station walk past an ad displaying the face of Korean pop star S. Coups (among other glamorous K-Pop ads) which is flanked by adoring fan letters. A remarkable juxtaposition occurs when, around the corner, you see a case full of gas masks that could protect a lucky few from a chemical weapon attack. Even for the persistent South Koreans, these days seem to be slightly more tense than before.
I have not feared for the lives of so many as I’ve had during my last few days in Seoul. Already a pressure cooker before this week, the vacationing President Trump crossed his arms and blurted out an improvised provocative alliteration of “fire, fury, and frankly power,” in regards to North Korea’s latest threatening rhetoric. It’s unsettling to know that the easily agitated President Trump and Kim Jong Un, a man who executed his own uncle and inherited power of one of the most oppressive countries in the world, will determine the fate of Seoul metro’s 23,000,000 residents.
My Korean business contact whom I’ve known for less than twenty four hours expressed concern with how President Trump will handle rising tensions with North Korea. Perhaps a people who have just replaced an impeached president are wondering how it’s possible that American’s haven’t yet impeached theirs.
A friend of mine once advised me not to worry out about things that you can’t control. People in Seoul do not worry out about whether or not Kim Jong Un will be any more unstable and threatening than he was the day before. They’re resilient and they carry on. But I am not a resident of Seoul. I’m an American citizen who dreads when the President of the United States conducts foreign policy discussions via Twitter and fears that the current commander in chief is unfit for the responsibilities bestowed on him. I worry that six months into his presidency, he still doesn’t understand the impact of his own words on a global scale. I worry that he doesn’t understand how his comments affect relationships with our allies, and worry he doesn’t think critically about how his actions and threats can have enormous impact on the people of Seoul.
As rain comes down and lightning flashes across the sky, I pack my bags for my flight home in a few hours. I leave behind the fifth largest metropolitan area in the world that will face this ongoing threat every day. South Koreans didn’t vote in the 2016 American election, and if truly difficult decisions need to be made, they will wonder if President Trump will act in their best interests or only in the interests of making America great again. I am leaving Seoul, but I’ll continue to worry for them.