Sun Tzu Diplomacy

We've designated this our nap day. It's a time to just lie low and recharge our batteries as we have a full evening planned.

At lunch hour, I phone mom, it's 9:30 p.m. Tuesday, her time, and I actually catch her in the house. This is rare, especially in the summer, for mom sets herself a Korean work schedule, even at an age when most people are considerably less active.

I think of mom every time I pass by the septo and octogenerians tilling the gardens around campus and throughout the city. Rain or shine, they're out and about in pants, long-sleeved shirts, and big sun hats, bending themselves in half, pulling weeds and planting flowers. Earlier this week, while others were scurrying indoors to find relief from the heat, they were scaling the hillside constructing terraces in the mid-day sun. No air conditioning for these ladies.

In fact, many Koreans don't really believe in artificial cooling systems; they think them deadly. This is why we so often see doors wide open while the air conditioning system struggles to keep up. It's also why there's a constant cycle of rooms being cooled, and doors and windows re-opened. One can safely assume these women pay little mind to such concerns, such is their focus on the task at hand. They are, at turns, both inspiring and disspiriting. I can honestly say I cannot imagine doing their jobs today, never mind thirty years from now. Yes, they remind me very much of my Benjamin Button-like mother.

During our brief, 5 1/2 minute phone call, mom is as vivacious as ever, and we manage to pack in more meaningful discussion than many people can muster over the course of several hours. It's astonishing how immediately alert mom can be, anytime of the day or night. She has just one speed: lightning fast.

At 3:30, Ryan and Diane chauffeur us to GFN, Gwangju's English language radio station. The interviewer is Michael, the owner of The First Alleyway Western pub and restaurant at which Dr. Shin and I had lunch last weekend. Michael is a well-informed, astute interviewer who actually listens to his guests. This is a rare talent in today's "New Journalism Gone Wild" media circles.

The New Journalistic style evolved in the 1960s. Truman Capote is often cited as the father of new journalism for his insertion of himself into his reportage for his award winning book In Cold Blood. Other authors in this genre include Tom Wolfe, Joan Didion, and Hunter S. Thompson. This generation of reporter/authors managed to adroitly side-step the self-involved, narcissistic approach into which this form eventually devolved.

In our interview, Michael manages to stay the conversational course, incorporating the thoughts and opinions of all participants, interspersed with his commentary. And he packs a great deal of information into just fifteen minutes. As a long-time journalist, I'm impressed by his skill, which surpasses that of many who do this work on a full-time basis.

On the drive back to campus, the phone rings. It's the Angry American demanding a ride to tonight's wrap-up dinner at the International Centre. He's staying a ten minute walk from the place. Though we try not to be intrusive, it's hard not to hear one side of the conversation. It's a lesson in class and diplomacy as Diane gently tells the caller that the chauffeurs will be busy attending to the evening's celebrations.

And what celebrations they are! Our Residence Hall Cafeteria caters the affair, setting out splendid hot and cold offerings including pork, drumsticks, sweet and sour chicken balls, fresh fruit and vegetables and a wide assortment of dainties. At the end of the evening, we're encouraged, in the Korean tradition, to take home the leftovers. The Angry American pushes aside students to fill two bags of his own. Apparently the T-shirts, pens, and other gifts we received tonight weren't enough.

Gale has commissioned a group of students to prepare a 10 minute PowerPoint presentation to showcase the good times had by the professors. We see slide after slide of white, middle-aged, wealthy professors, without a Korean in sight, enjoying Korean culture. Amidst the dozens of images, we see just one, unfocussed, shot of me, and one of Rob, in the middle of a group. Truly, this is like being at the prom with the mean kids: The jocks versus the nerds. And now, as then, we're more than happy not to be a part of their group.

Students have also prepared presentations, but by the time poor Sue's turn comes, even though she's been given an award for being the "top buddy," there's no time for her presentation. She has to simply scroll through her pictures, without explanation. Coincidentally, there are several pictures of Rob and me in her presentation, but they fly by in an instant. Upon spotting the second one, Dan the Man sidles up to Rob and says, "Oh. There you are again." Yes, Dan. There we are. With the students. The Koreans. That we've been excised entirely from this evening's wrap-up seems poetic.

Before dinner, Dr. Shin gives very brief address, after which he remarks to Rob, "I believe in karma. That is why I gave a short speech. We'll talk." I think this no-nonsense, down-to-earth man, who judges people by their character rather than their status, or their capacity to spin a web, gets it. Seconds later, Dan silkily slips by, trying to insinuate himself into the scene, and I'm reminded of an expression I heard earlier today. In English we say, "Speak of the Devil." In Korea, they say, "Speak of the Tiger," or, "You can't be a yang-ban." (A yang-ban was a Confucian scholar during the Chosun dynasty. This person would not be the type to eavesdrop to hear what people were saying about him.)

At the end of the festivities, Eric suggests we attend a karaoke parlour across the street in Hu Moon. A number of students and professors take him up on the offer, and while Rob heads home to prepare for tomorrow's exam (and escape karaoke hell!), I decide to honour the students and join in. Dr. Shin does not come along, but he does treat us to a mini-display of his major operatic capabilities, belting out a snippet of song in the cavernous hallway. Everyone is blown away.

As we prepare to exit the building, we notice the glass doors are locked. Dr. Shin tries to summon someone to open them, but we decide we might as well just leave through the main doors, which are already ajar. Just then, SharaLee, who has been attempting to speak, finally gets to state, ever so calmly, "But, what about those doors?" as she gestures to the wide-open ones to our immediate right. Everyone, including Dr. Shin, laughs uproariously.

To no one's surprises, Gale, Sharon, Dan, and Kathy follow Eric and Heidi into one karaoke studio, while the students are in another. The segregationist tendencies are so deeply ingrained in these people that it would never occur to them to mix it up. I decide to channel old Sun Tzu, the sixth century BC Chinese military strategist, who also happened to be a realist. The author of The Art of War, knew all too well the importance of brokering peace treaties, when necessary. So, to be politick, I spend 45 minutes with the profs and then head to the real action down the hall with the students. While with the profs, I gamely sing along, even joining Sharon in a rendition of Daydream Believer. The kids and I later rock out to I'm a Believer. As an natural optimist, I can't help but note the symmetry in these seemingly random choices of song.

By 11, I'm pooped. I walk my TA to her bus stop. Of the seven TAs, little Hye Seon was the shyest and least inclined to jump in. After several exchanges outside class, she's much more open with me. At tonight's wind-up, she corrals the photographer to take a few pictures of us together. On my polaroid snap she wants to write, "I love you," but has insufficient space, so she draws a heart. I tell her I will put that picture on my fridge. Rob explains to her that this is a very important place in our home, because we open the fridge so often! Waiting for Bus 28, Hye Seon tells me that she dreams of coming to Canada, and I say if she does get that opportunity, she's more than welcome to stay at our home.

I arrive at our apartment by 11:15 and am surprised to find the door ajar, and Rob fast asleep. Then I remember, we're in Korea, a place where people leave their valuables unattended and never seem to worry about locking up their bikes.

I'm so wound up that I spend the next two hours on the Internet catching up on the news, including a story about North Korean - UN discussions regarding the sinking of a South Korean submarine in March. But this depressing matter seems very far removed from our mirth making on this warm Gwangju night.