창작과 비평

The Quarterly Changbi 212, Summer 2026

From the Spirit and the Power of the People

“How foolish it was/To think that the sea would forever/Lie asleep. /How ecstatic it is/To see those waves rise together, /Roaring and surging forward. /How exhilarating it is/To imagine those furious waves, at once, /Washing away all the filth/Of this world.”

This is “Waves (Pado),” a poem by Shin Kyeong-nim, included in his book of poetry Road (Gil, Changbi, 1990). Within its brief compass, the poem vividly portrays the vitality of the people’s movement and the prejudices of a society unable to perceive that energy. Its subtitle, “Watching the Farmers’ Demonstration at Yeouido,” situates the work at the time of the 1989 farmers’ protest that demanded abolition of the irrigation tax—a colonial-era remnant imposed as a fee for agricultural water use. The poet envisioned the surging wave of protest as capable of “washing away” the accumulated “filth” that had long oppressed farmers, sensing in the collective movement of ordinary people the activation of a transformative momentum. And yet the irrigation tax was not fully abolished until 2000.

More recently, many of us experienced firsthand the profound meaning of novelist Han Kang’s statement that “the dead help the living” during the Revolution of Light. By contrast, Marx in the preface to Capital expressed the opposite idea in similar language: “We suffer not only from the living, but also from the dead.” Entrenched evils torment people far longer than is commonly expected. Recognizing that longstanding problems are rarely solved all at once, it becomes crucial, if the voices heard at protest sites are to be realized in practice, to continue extending and sustaining the sense of “being on the ground” even after demonstrations have ended.

A year and a half have passed since the insurrection, and nearly a year since the election of the new president. The achievement of stabilizing severe turmoil caused by the insurrection in such a short time is undeniable. Yet the complex process of judging those responsible, together with irrational U.S.-led wars that threaten international peace, shows that confusion and instability persist at home and abroad. Moreover, the media’s and the public’s fixation on the KOSPI index, anxieties from the U.S.–Iran war, and fears provoked by rapidly advancing AI technologies suggest that although the immediate crisis has been contained, our expectations—and our capacity to act—for cleansing society of its accumulated “filth” have become blurred.

Holding the forces behind the insurrection accountable remains essential. But what deserves emphasis now is not only punishing individuals but also transforming the long-standing systems on which they relied. Those who joined the insurrection were forces opposed to national autonomy and democracy. Their dependence on the United States and attempts to reinforce the division system reveal that dismantling the outdated order on which they depend is inseparable from building an autonomous and peaceful community. Likewise, judicial authorities that continue to sympathize with insurrectionary forces highlight the need for constitutional revision beyond the 1987 framework, to safeguard and renew democratic values. Perhaps we now stand at a crossroads where autonomy, democracy, and peace can be made more firmly rooted in our community.

Through experiences of defending democracy by the power of the people, we have grown by seeing and learning from one another. We have confirmed our connection as a collective political subject, generating political intimacy rather than distance. I recall vividly the scene at Namtaeryeong where farmers, women, and figures from institutional politics came together. As our capacity to think in terms of universal values has expanded and our feelings of closeness have deepened, the momentum of the people—embracing diversity and capable of leading us toward a better reality—circulates around us. One example is President Lee Jae-myung’s criticism of Israeli atrocities against Palestinian civilians and his call for the defense of universal values and human dignity, which received strong support from citizens.

We must ride this momentum and continue generating and imagining new ideas capable of washing away the world’s filthiness. To ride the momentum of the people means not only relying on their strength, but also securing a perspective grounded in the people’s viewpoint when determining the direction of our society’s tasks. This viewpoint is that of sovereign citizens who know that improving their own lives and transforming the community are inseparable. It means creating new forms of challenging action for a better common life and creative orders capable of coordinating such action, rather than merely adhering to established rules. To eradicate entrenched abuses by root and branch requires a higher-order social order capable of confronting the very structures that normalize and sustain them. This is a message worth sharing once again with those who, during the Revolution of Light, were inspired by collective wisdom and practical action—and one that those in political circles, currently focused almost exclusively on the upcoming June local elections, would do well to heed.

In this issue’s special feature, we turn to works that preserve the history and memory of our community. Historical events and memories carry a latent dynamism, set in motion by the perspectives of the present. Put differently, the way we engage with the past reveals our current outlook and position. The three articles in the feature move fluidly between past and present, viewing life through knowledge and recalibrating knowledge through life. By situating communal time on the horizon of reflection, they render our reality more vivid and invite us to revisit both the distinctive values forged together within communities and the challenges we face today.

Joung Ju A revisits the event known as the “Sabuk Incident” through two documentaries, A Dust Buries Sabuk and 1980 Sabuk. She reexamines the complex realities of the incidents that arose during the coal miners’ struggle for rights and dignity, as well as the essential meaning of that labor dispute, which gradually faded from view amid the turmoil. By carefully asking why the Sabuk labor struggle should be understood within the broader context of the democratization movement, she encourages us to recognize the plight of those deprived of their livelihoods during industrialization as a shared concern.

Han Young-in explores the phenomenon of constructing narratives by treating not only individual lives but also the history and memory of communities as resources for extraction and exploitation, which he terms the “market for personal narratives.” At a moment when the longstanding norm of an “ethics of narrative” seems to have collapsed and the attention has shifted toward an “economy of narrative,” he offers a critical analysis of this market’s power to transform historical memory into private property. At the same time, he reflects on literature’s irreducible capacity for representation, which cannot be reduced to individual experience alone.

Yoon Eun-seong, through the poetry of Heo Su-kyung and Cho Jung, illuminates the enduring light of ecological community that continues to shine within the history of Korean poetry. In Heo Su-kyung’s earlier poems, she carefully traces neglected regionalities and the violence of human-centered civilization—elements that allow us to sense the ecological crises we face today. Through Cho Jung’s poetry, she demonstrates how practices of caring for ecological values cultivate an integrated awareness not only of the relationship between humans and nature but also of relationships among people themselves, extending even to the alleviation of suffering within those bonds.

In the dialogue section, moderated by Lee Nam Ju and featuring Moon Hee Joung, Lee Hae-young, and Jeong Hyungon, the participants deliver a sharp critique of the United States as a nation effectively defined by warfare, grounding their arguments in the realities of the recent U.S. invasion of Venezuela and its war with Iran. They also explore the possibility of an “international solidarity of the transformative middle-way” as a counterforce to the global resurgence of far-right politics. Their concrete and pragmatic discussions of issues such as the transfer of South Korean wartime operational control from the US to South Korea and the prospects for advancing a North–South Korean confederation are significant. They prompt us to consider how we might actively respond to shifts in the international order, strengthen our autonomy, and fulfill our responsibilities as a “good nation” within the global community.

As announced in the previous issue’s dialogue section, the sixtieth-anniversary special project, “Dispatches From the Field,” begins here as a continuing series. In its inaugural installment, anthropologists Paik Young-Gyung and Ju Hyun Woo visit the Andong region, which suffered devastating wildfires a year ago. Drawing close to residents affected by the disaster and to activists assisting in the recovery of their lives, they listen attentively to local voices while considering practical difficulties and possible solutions on the ground. Moving beyond administrative measures focused solely on compensation payments, they emphasize the importance of supporting community-based practices of recovery. Particularly striking is their argument that the goal should not be mere “restoration” to a previous state, but rather the “mending” of autonomous forms of life. The essay conveys stories that are difficult to hear without approaching the site itself, allowing readers to sense the vitality of local life that persists despite many hardships.

Another sixtieth-anniversary special project, “Korean Literature and the Possibilities of K-Thought,” has its second installment. This essay vividly introduces how Hwang Sok-yong’s novel Halmae (Grandma) expands the horizons of global ecological storytelling and explores the distinctly Korean modes of thought and sensibility that underlie it. The piece also anticipates and supports the critical essays that will follow in this ongoing series.

In addition, through our forum, author interviews, literary focus section, and review essays, we present a wide range of voices from our time. We welcome both new works for this season and pieces that offer profound insight, opening up diverse avenues of reflection. In the serialized column “What Took Care of My Life,” Baek Ohn yu’s essay shares the wisdom that has guided her life, leaving a gentle afterglow. Our creative section, featuring new poems and short fiction, is equally rich and rewarding.

In Shin Kyeong-nim’s poem “After the Fair Is Over” (Pajang, in Farmers’ Dance, Changbi, 1975), we encounter the line: “Faces that all look like friends.” Are we living in a world where such faces are multiplying—or one where they are disappearing? “Faces that are, without exception, like friends” may serve as one measure of a community’s richness. This season, we hope our readers will find themselves gazing upon one another’s faces with intimacy, experiencing in the present moment the future they dream of, and bringing that future a little closer to hand.

Song Jong-won