나오미 in korea

I was running the other day and passed herds of Korean teenagers. In some ways they’re just like every other group of teenagers I’ve come across. They travel in packs, they take up the whole footpath, they’re plugged into cellphones and MP3s, they eat nothing but junk food, they’re noisy, immature and giggly, they wear terrible school uniforms that make them look uglier and more awkward than even they dare to imagine.

Except, for one major aspect. Korean teens are not intimidating. They’re not even mildly irritating. I ran past them without feeling a single barb or leer.

I would like to think I’m not usually intimidated by people less than half a decade younger than me. But on a short break home in New Zealand, when I walked past a group of high school kids, I was profoundly put off by their appearance and attitude. They were sneering, noisy and dirty. They’d throw stuff at passing cars, sit ten to a Mazda in the McDonald’s carpark, hoot and deride rivals in throbbing cars cruising past, swear, spit, smoke, wear clothes that a roadside hooker would deem slutty. The girls had bleached hair with dark roots, wore black g-strings pulled over their muffin tops and white pants with dragging, filthy hems. The boys pulled their caps low to hide wretched, angry baby faces.

They wanted me to buy them cheap vodka. I refused, and walked away from a hurl of abuse, half of a well-aimed double cheeseburger bouncing off my skull. Obviously, I’m uncool.

But I haven’t yet seen Korean teenagers reach the same level of general unpleasantness. Although they hang out in the same numbers in the same public places, I don’t get bad vibes from them. They study. They hold hands, boys too, sometimes. Their hair is tidy. Uniforms are always navy blue, dark green and white. They carry umbrellas. They don’t hang out in cars. They wear glasses. They are decorous. All in all, they’re a tame lot. There’s no rebellious streak, no goths, no bogans, no punks, no skinheads, surfies, skaties, druggies, gangs or any other subculture that people invent to give themselves an identity.

The only graffiti I’ve seen is the usual “김유미 4 이기석” carved into desks and the backs of bathroom doors. Near my house there is a lone scrawl of hanguel in blue spray paint. “Resist!” it exhorts. But even this is pathetic, a desperate, impulsive half-thought; there’s no clue as to what we’re supposed to be resisting or rebelling against. The other local example of graffiti is the painting of the Stars and Stripes elsewhere in town. It’s been updated with “BUSH PIG DOG DIE” lettered in thick black capitals. Fair enough.

So Korea has a lack of restive, assertive teens. I have several theories as to why this is so: social strictures, family pressure, the lingering effects of Confucianism, an education system that staunches rebellion and creative thinking, the driving need to conform and be like everyone else. Or maybe I just haven’t been to the local McDonald’s enough on Saturday night. Either way, Korea’s lack of rebellious teenagers means I’m safe when walking the streets at night, free from entreaties to buy cheap booze and cheeseburger missiles.