Why Jesus Loves Pusan

Feb. 2, 2007

Why Jesus Loves Pusan*
(Letter to a Japanese friend) 

The jetfoil ferry from Kyushu arrived in Pusan a bit late. It was full, so it took more time to unload all the passengers. As soon as I got to the subway platform, a Korean man came up from behind and started talking to me in English. We boarded the crowded car together.
He was a thin, energetic man of about forty, wearing glasses, carrying a traveler’s backpack like mine.

He was a Christian, and he wanted to talk about Jesus Christ. I don’t know how it is in Japan, but here it’s quite common to be approached by Christians who want to spread the gospel. (The verb is “proselytize,” by the way. It’s not one you’re likely to use.) This guy, however, seemed more interested in practicing his English than spreading his religion. His speaking, alas, was better than his listening. I’d tell him something, that I was going to Masan for example, but he couldn’t or wouldn’t get it. He told me about his life and what he was doing. He’s trying to raise money for a Christian FM radio broadcasting station. That’s his Christian mission. My role, on this day, was to listen. Perhaps, as a side effect, I would be saved by Jesus.


Hikers enjoying view from top of one of Busan's many hills.

Ordinarily, in the States or anywhere else, I try to avoid, evade or escape Christian proselytizers. Nor am I very fond of “practicing English” with complete strangers outside the classroom. (Or inside it, for that matter.) But this guy I couldn’t shake. He didn’t look violent or insane so I let him follow me. He told me he was going to the Seobu Bus Terminal in Sasang, so he could take the bus to Suncheon to visit his sick father. I said I was going to the same bus terminal, but of course he didn’t get it. He even seemed surprised when I got off the subway at Sasang with him, maybe a little worried that I was following him!

“Where are you going?” he asked.
“I’m going to Masan. I told you already. I live in Masan.”
“Oh, you must go to bus terminal,” he explained.
“Yeah, yeah, I know. That’s why I got off here.”

He told me some other ridiculous stuff. “Busan’s people are good people. Holy people,” he said. “Seoul’s people and Incheon’s people are wicked.” He made it sound like “weaked,” but I figured it out.

“What? Wicked? Really? Why is that?”

He explained that while Seoul and most of South Korea were overrun and destroyed by the Communists in the early stages Korean War, Busan was not. (The Busan Encirclement) This happened 57 years ago, before he was born. 

“Therefore, Jesus Christ loves Busan’s people. Busan’s people are holy people,” he reasoned.
(He loved the word “therefore.” He used it to begin most of his sentences, as if his every utterance
were the logical, ineluctable conclusion of his premises. But the problem was that he had no premises.
(I think the Korean word he was translating is keuraeso or geulaeseo.)  As for Busan’s being holy, maybe it wasn’t his own theory.  Very few Korean men are that creative.**  Probably some crackpot Busan evangelist cooked it up after the war.
“Well, then, Masan people are holy, too--therefore,” I suggested.
“No, no,” he insisted, looking confused. “Therefore, just Busan’s people are holy.”

I smiled condescendingly and explained that Masan also was enclosed in the Encirclement. With his mouth in an “O” he grunted and admitted his error. His specialty was religion, after all, not history. (I wasn’t boasting; I’d just finished a book on the Korean War.) I didn’t want to argue theological points with him, but from my point of view, Busan and Masan people were just lucky rather than holy, and had the UN/U.S. Army to thank as well. I cannot believe that Jesus or any other deity wanted Seoulians to suffer more than Busanites or Masanese. But I kept this to myself.



Old port area in Pusan

Being Korean and Christian, he felt duty-bound to ask personal questions of me, a complete stranger. He wanted to know about my family, so I told him and asked about his as well. Like me, he’s separated from his family. His wife and two kids are in Los Angeles. I asked him why.

“Korea education is not good situation,” he elaborated. “Therefore, they go to Los Angeles for better education.” Apparently, his wife is going to school, too. Inwardly, I speculated that she wanted to get herself and the kids away from him. Probably, like millions of other Koreans, they have cousins, aunts and uncles in the States. Fortunately, we didn’t have time to discuss family and immigration issues in greater depth. He might have it right about education.

Being Korean, he also had to determine quickly our relative levels in society. I had already told him I was a teacher at a local university, but he was confused because I wasn’t dressed like one. (I was wearing jeans and a stocking hat.) He asked me if I had a “Doctor’s degree.” No, I said, just a masters in history. That he understood right away because it bore directly on his status and self-esteem. “Ah!" he said, "I have Doctor’s Degree in Religion from Seoul University.” I nodded and tried to look impressed. It’s supposed to be the best university in Korea.

Haeundae Beach, Busan

From the bustling Sasang subway exit I had to show him the way to the bus terminal--maybe a five-minute walk. We shouldered our way through the crowd. He wanted to be helpful to an old, ignorant foreigner (me). To him, I had the weary mien that bespoke “Lost.” But suddenly our roles were reversed. He was the one who’d never been to this station before. Nevertheless, when he saw “Masan” on the big schedule board, he pointed and showed me the window I should go to.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” I muttered. I’d been at the terminal many times. I was already in line at another window. It doesn’t matter which window you go to. Anyway, my ticket was for Nam-Masan (West Masan), not Masan. When I got my ticket, he was still standing in line for his ticket to Seoul. I had time to spare, so I decided to wait for him and say goodbye before I shuffled through the crowd to the boarding gate.
“Thank you. God bless you,” he said.
“Same to you. Good luck and have a nice trip,” I said. I was glad we weren’t getting on the same bus. It occurs to me now I should have said something to express my concern for his sick father. But I know—and I intend no sarcasm here-- he had the Lord to help them both through the tough times.

******
NOTES:

*The initial consonant of the city’s name is “부.” Which sounds to my Anglophone ear as either “p” or “b”, and is written in English as either, as I used to think, according to the humidity. When the weather is cold and dry, it comes out as a sharp “p.” When it’s warm and muggy, a flabby, listless “b.”

**As I read this sentence today, it sounds insensitive and biased, but I decided to keep it because it’s an honest indicator of my attitude at the time. First, I was hungover from previous bouts of culture shock, the worst symptoms of which manifested as “I hate this country. I hate these people. I hate myself.” (I'd had similar feelings--fortunately, they never persisted long-- in Indonesia and Japan, too.)
I had just returned from a one-week trip in Japan, where I’d lived and worked from 2002 to 2004. As I stepped off the ferry, Korea instantly seemed rude and oppressive by comparison. Also, by then I’d had several months experience with the stultifying effects of Korean education, at both secondary and university level. My interlocutor was right in saying, “Korean education is bad situation.”