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The Quarterly Changbi 204, Summer 2024

Not Criticism, But Judgment

A phrase that appears regularly in discussions about the result of the April Parliamentary election is the “victory of the opposition forces,” although opinions differ about which parties are included in these “opposition forces” or just how crushing this victory was. But, immediately after the election, voters for opposition parties often said that they did not feel like they’d won, because they regretted that the number of seats gained by the opposition forces fell short of 200, which could have enabled the impeachment of the president or an amendment of the Constitution to incapacitate the presidential veto. However, as they gradually realized over time that it was indeed an overwhelming victory, they have questioned: Who are the true agents of this victory? In fact, it is the voters. Instead of the usual dynamic of candidates focused on gaining support for themselves, the voters, even more intensely, focused on how to make the candidates support them. So it is they who qualify as the victors. We know how to refer to these people, who exercised their initiative throughout the entire process of election campaigning, beginning with the nominations, as if determined to make the point that the true meaning of an election is not gamesmanship but achieving the people’s will. They aren’t “fellow citizens,” as the ruling party campaign director labeled them, but “candlelight citizens,” who fearsomely blazed together, at an appropriate time, even while they are usually scattered.

We have learned through the behavior of the current regime after the parliamentary election that one’s realization of a defeat comes later than one’s realization of a victory. Like the villain in an animation, who falls only after stepping forward in mid-air, without realizing their grave situation, they are holding out, leading us to wonder how dramatic an exit they intend to make. The 20th-century German philosopher and social theorist Theodor Adorno once said, “True progress looks like regression.” But what we are witnessing here is a bit like the opposite: a situation in which true regression has put on the clothes of progress. The current regime is trying to erase the clear message of the election—that is, a “judgment on the [current] regime”—by mobilizing such apparently legitimate terms as “communication” and “collaborative governance.” The most important word in the definition of “judgment,” that is, “an act of making considered decisions or coming to a sensible conclusion,” is that it’s a decision. It is because of this definition that “judgment” is different from “criticism,” which is “an act of pointing out what was done right or wrong” and criticizing the latter. Thus, whether the terms are communication or collaborative governance, since they do not cross over the threshold of a judgment on the current regime to end, they are acts of regression. As revealed in the post-election “inter-party summit” and press conference, the current regime does not have even an ability to deceive people—and it might be better this way.

The mixture of progress and regression is found in unexpected areas as well. The third party in the previous term, which continued the pedigree of progress through parliamentary politics, also had its fate change greatly, as it did not acquire a single seat. This fact also calls for our serious reflection. Progressive mainstream media seem to be going down a similar path in terms of a decrease in reputation and status, although perhaps not as dramatic a change of fate as the party mentioned above. This change might be due to their assumed position that progress comes from a place where they don’t make decisions—so that the only just thing to do is to criticize all decisions. Their false assumption that a decision is a passive act conforming to the status quo just encourages a cynical attitude: that both the ruling and opposition parties are ultimately flawed—which ignores differences within the current system. This “progressive” cynicism has always existed, but it has morphed into a new position, as citizens’ sovereign activities have emerged through the Candlelight Revolution, enlarging differences within the current state through decisions, and making changes by doing so. At this juncture, the progressive media actually deny that change has happened as a result of this election, because they believe that their criticisms would be given more political credence by this denial. Some even clearly prefer no change.

In an article pointing out the crisis in the legitimacy of critiquing (“Why Has Critique Run out of Steam? From Matters of Fact to Matters of Concern,” Critical Inquiry, Winter 2004), Bruno Latour finds “critical barbarity,” fostering the attitude that being critical is always right, as a cause of this crisis. The word “critical” here includes the skill both to exercise all sorts of mechanisms of criticism brilliantly and to quietly withhold them. Interestingly, this is similar to [Korean] prosecutorial practice of wielding their power of exclusive indictment. Through their arbitrary choices, between practicing or withholding criticism (or indictment), they level all objects as potential objects of their criticism, making the situation murky by doing so, while ostensibly standing tall with their own “justice.” In the West that Bruno Latour discusses, this problem emerges because regressive forces copy the critical techniques of the progressives and exercise them more powerfully. In contrast, in Korea, the repressiveness of criticism is revealed because of the more advanced political actions by Candlelight citizens than previous progressive actions. I believe Korean criticism can become innovative by paying attention to this gap and take it as opportunity.

Another slogan that drew as much attention as “Judgment on the [current] Regime” in the April election was “Three Years Are Too Long.” Although a major attraction of this slogan was its incisiveness, in fact, three months, indeed, three weeks, feel too long now that the election is over. We feel anxious because, although the judgment was made, how to execute it has not been decided yet. Still, movements responding to the judgment, such as efforts to legislate special probe laws, including the Special Probe Law for a Marine’s Death, have appeared in the political arena, and open mention of the current regime’s early cessation has become mainstream. As the election has drawn the situation toward a turning point, an explosive power latent in political practices of various groups has grown as well, so that it now would not be surprising to see an event become a flash point. Confirming again through the recent parliamentary election that any attempt at regression to turn back the transformation of our society would not be successful, I am reminded of the phrase “imaginary community.” Isn’t this phrase, which was coined [by Benedict Anderson] to criticize the groundlessness of a nation, in fact more appropriate for the project of building a country and deserving its nomenclature from the actions of Candlelight citizens? Our anxiety is in fact also our wish to unfold this imagination more strongly and more freely.

For this issue, we prepared a feature on Korean poetry, which has a close relationship with imagination. This feature, which reminds us of the power of true imagination through the multi-layered genealogy of Korean poetry, presents four articles, together titled, “Korean Poetry Today, Achievements and Tasks.” While emphasizing the inherent possibility in poetry to lead us to nim, which can turn the needle of our fate, Song Jong-won points out the tendency in recent criticism devoted to theories to erase life and truth from poetry, and scrutinizes achievements made by Korean poetry as a commons. Looking at labor poetry’s past and present, So Jongmin examines its history and significance, as they have accompanied Korean labor, as it is repeatedly expelled from the world, even while being passionately attended to, beginning with a confirmation of the outstanding poetic spirit in Jeon Tae-il’s writings. His examination also does not miss Korean labor poetry’s unchanging sense of love and struggle.

Oh Youn-kyung clarifies how women’s poetry, after the “feminism reboot,” has progressed, with flexibility, while sometimes repeating and other times deconstructing gender norms. She then predicts that women’s poetry, which has proven that gender is a powerful tool to approach the intersectionality inherent in life, will be recorded as a victory of life and pride of the future. Meanwhile, as he carefully examines many Korean poems that captured and led him in different directions, and thus are inscribed somewhere in his DNA, like constellations, Ju Min-hyeon testifies to the colorful power of Korean poetry, which has been embracing various aspects of our lives. Under the title “Questions Gaza Asks,” On the Scene in this issue is planned as a special corner, composed of two translated foreign articles addressing the Israeli invasion of Palestine and a commentary by Han Ki-wook. A place that has become a focal point of the entire world, Palestine is well known as a land of prolonged suffering and desperate resistance, yet because of this general knowledge, there has also been a tendency to neglect its concrete situation. We believe that this special corner will offer our readers an excellent opportunity to understand what transformation of thought is proposed to solve the Palestine question, as one of the most difficult tasks of our time, and why this critical question tests Western civilization’s qualification as a civilization.

The conversation among Moon Jangnyeol, Lee Seung Hwan, and Jung Wooksik on the topic “Inter-Korean Relationship in Crisis: In Search of Sustainable Peace” examines the current state and causes of the inter-Korean relationship, which collapsed to the extent that the word “bankruptcy” is no exaggeration, and they discuss ways to improve it. Although already pointed out numerous times, the current regime’s imprudent foreign policies and anachronistic position, pushing through the reinforcement of the division system, are even more deplorable the more we consider it. The participants’ opinions, which raise the serious possibility of war on the Korean peninsula, and their multi-angled evaluation of the latest North Korean declaration of its change of direction in inter-Korean relationship are particularly noteworthy. Through this conversation, presenting possible realistic measures, even in the current condition, where we cannot expect any change in the current regime’s policies, we can shake off our sense of helplessness, which is particularly keen in thinking about the inter-Korean relationship.

In Articles we present the second article in the series “Searching for K-Discourse.” Hong Seuk-ryule’s piece, which newly illuminates the achievements of contemporary Korean history, which have been poached by the conservative New Right’s viewpoint, or the dichotomous discourse opposing industrialization and democratization, pays attention to the dynamic quality of adaptation and challenge contained in major phases of modern Korean history, from land reform and rapid growth, to education, inequality, and peace. In addition, Paik Young-Gyung examines what kinds of discussions and practices it takes for care, which has emerged as an essential agenda in our society, to become a political project in order to achieve its transformation. In particular, her argument points out the limitations in the perspective for approaching care as a right; and her proposal to approach it in the perspective of a commons is impressive.

The creative writings in this issue are also filled with works awakening or reawakening our senses and thoughts. We are happy to present thoughtful new poems by 12 writers, from Kang Bo-won to Hwang In-suk. The fiction corner is also composed of new and fresh short stories by Kong Hyun Jin, Gu Byeong-mo, An Boyun, Lee Misang, and Lee Jangwook. In “Literary Criticism,” Kim Dasol confirms, citing fictions by Park Moon-yeong and Jung Jidon, the literary struggles against surveillance capitalism, which claims to be an inevitable future while it encourages the reckless development of data technology.

In Focus on Author, poet Lee Sul Ya met poet Jung Woo Young, whose 5th book of poems, Bookstore of Gentle Dust, was recently published. This interview-based article vividly conveys how Jung’s poems, which embrace fundamental life, from home, food, and sunlight, to time, place, and death, cross over various boundaries, as gently as dust and reach into the farthest places. In Literary Focus, you will encounter new works in various genres, together with frank commentaries. Hwang Gyu-gwan discusses books of new poems by Kang Woo Geun and Lee Myeong Yun; Yang Jae-hun examines books of recent short stories by Jeong Tae-eon and Sung Hyeryoung, and Choi Jin Seok reviews books of criticism by Cho Daehan and Park Dong-uk. In the Where I Live essay series, which has been garnering greater anticipation as the series progresses, we visit Ganghwado, Incheon, where author Kim Jung-mi lives. Through Kim’s thoughtful eye, encompassing the village community, ecological environment, and history, life at Sanmun, a “door leading to the mountain,” comes alive. Book Reviews introduces new books in various fields; it is rich with succinct reviews containing careful insights as usual.

In retrospect, the anger and lamentations we have expressed for the past two years have also carried with them some painful self-reproach. It was a time when we were learning that efforts to ask ourselves what fell short and what was not thorough enough are also forces that can push us forward. We at Changbi pledge again to be with Candlelight citizens at every step in their efforts. “Three years too long” is clearly not the remainder of the current regime’s term, but the time since the beginning of it. We feel that our preparation is finally over—and change is beginning to happen.

Hwang Jung-a