a new meaning
the international centre for democratic transition, which is where i work, is currently conducting a training program for north korean officials. in fact, they're in budapest now, doing sessions on good democratic practices. which i suppose is a good thing. one of the other interns here told me that anita, one of the head staff here, said jokingly about the program, don't let the american kids NEAR the north koreans. no, really.
the other day, there was a new piece of paraphernalia on the wall; one of my bosses had received it as a gift. it was a hanging scroll, with a woman painted wearing a hanbok and dancing with a drum by her side. there is a sense that the painting is cheap, even gaudy, with its almost neon shades, and the way her mouth is slightly parted open is suggestive and all wrong, but no matter. she is korean. she is one of us.
and it struck me, as it sometimes does when you think about these things away from the news, away from nuclear threats and caricatured kim jong-ils, how close and yet so far they are, how they are just a mere boundary away and yet we cannot extend our hands: come. hold on. you are me and i am you. how can it be, almost 50 years later, there is no progress, there is no movement forward, just a vast, so-called "demilitarized" zone, full of alarm and landmines? what can be done? what will it take? meanwhile, the differences between us grow evermore, variations in speech and writing, hopes, dreams, fears, not to mention the economic disparities in living standards and opportunities.
being here in this NGO, i decided very quickly, i don't want to work in international diplomacy. there is no end in that. it continues, fruitlessly, painfully, and the feeling of lack of progress, lack of any movement forward in 50 years, is not something i can deal with on a daily basis.
and most ironic is that the formal name of south korea, translated from korean, is the great han people's nation.
the other day, there was a new piece of paraphernalia on the wall; one of my bosses had received it as a gift. it was a hanging scroll, with a woman painted wearing a hanbok and dancing with a drum by her side. there is a sense that the painting is cheap, even gaudy, with its almost neon shades, and the way her mouth is slightly parted open is suggestive and all wrong, but no matter. she is korean. she is one of us.
and it struck me, as it sometimes does when you think about these things away from the news, away from nuclear threats and caricatured kim jong-ils, how close and yet so far they are, how they are just a mere boundary away and yet we cannot extend our hands: come. hold on. you are me and i am you. how can it be, almost 50 years later, there is no progress, there is no movement forward, just a vast, so-called "demilitarized" zone, full of alarm and landmines? what can be done? what will it take? meanwhile, the differences between us grow evermore, variations in speech and writing, hopes, dreams, fears, not to mention the economic disparities in living standards and opportunities.
being here in this NGO, i decided very quickly, i don't want to work in international diplomacy. there is no end in that. it continues, fruitlessly, painfully, and the feeling of lack of progress, lack of any movement forward in 50 years, is not something i can deal with on a daily basis.
and most ironic is that the formal name of south korea, translated from korean, is the great han people's nation.