The Political Economy of Korean Nationalist Hype

One of the words heard frequently here and there these days is “gukppong.” According to Wikipedia, the term is a portmanteau of gukga (nation) and Hiropon, the Japanese word for Philopon, a type of methamphetamine. As it spread rapidly through the internet, including YouTube, it came to be commonly used to refer to an inflated sense of national pride whenever our country accomplished something superior to other countries.

The problem with gukppong is that it leads people to blindly and fanatically believe that their own country’s traditions and culture are the best, regardless of whether such claims are actually true. As a result, it can easily draw people down the path of chauvinism, marked by extreme hostility toward other countries or peoples.

What is truly pathetic, however, is that the word gukppong itself is illogical. How can one express a self-centered nationalist attitude and pride in one’s own country by using a foreign-derived hybrid word? It is contradiction upon contradiction. In particular, when I hear people who recoil at the mere mention of Japan say that someone is “full of gukppong,” I cannot help but question their intelligence.

South Korea is becoming intoxicated with gukppong. If just one individual indulges in it, it may not be a major problem. But when the number grows from one to two and then becomes a majority, it turns into a social problem and a public issue—much like drugs do. Personally, I would like to believe this is only a passing phenomenon. But just as it is difficult to escape once one has become addicted to drugs, I am quietly concerned that more people may become intoxicated with gukppong and find it hard to break free. Gukppong is harmful both to individuals and to the nation. In particular, its effect on the market economy is fatally damaging.

Let us recall the message of Leonard Read’s famous “I, Pencil.” It is the story of how a small pencil, long used by humankind, comes into being and reaches our hands. The wood, graphite, eraser, and other components of a pencil are the result of the skills, abilities, and hard work of countless unknown people not only in California, Oregon, and Mississippi within the United States, but also in Mexico, Indonesia, Italy, and many other parts of the world.

The important point here is that no one in the world knows exactly how a pencil is made, and moreover, no one forcibly directs or supervises the process. The people involved in making pencils do not work hard because they personally need pencils. The only reason a pencil comes into being is the needs and wants of those who use pencils—that is, demand. This simple yet miraculous fact, which we so easily overlook in daily life, symbolically illustrates the impersonality of the market.

When I buy snacks at a neighborhood store, I do not know who on earth grew the wheat that serves as the basic ingredient. I do not know whether the person who grew it is white, black, or Asian like us. Nor do I know the religion of those who sell the snacks, or whether they are feminists or anti-feminists.

Of course, these days regulations such as country-of-origin and ingredient labeling mean that we can at least tell whether the ingredients are domestic or foreign. But even if the snack was made domestically, there is no way to know whether the people directly involved in its production were actually Korean. Given current conditions, is it not far more likely that a considerable number of foreign workers took part?

No. To speak frankly, I neither need nor want to know any of this. As a consumer, all I can do is choose products that are inexpensive and good. A rational consumer does not seek to know all the information related to the production, distribution, and sale of a product when purchasing it in the market.

When the benefit of collecting all the information needed to understand how a single pencil or a single snack is made is smaller than the cost required to obtain that information, the theory of “rational ignorance” sounds quite persuasive: in such cases, it is actually more rational simply to ignore it.

The impersonality of the market is the market’s true beauty and virtue. In this way, the market separates economic activity from politics and all its prejudices. It protects people from being discriminated against in economic activity for any reason unrelated to productivity. Those who participate in the market are free from constraints based on skin color, sex, ideology, religion, or anything else. This is why the market economy is ethically superior to any other system and to any government.

A certain degree of gukppong may be hard to avoid. Attachment to one’s own country and people arises naturally from human nature. And because it stems from human nature, gukppong is not unique to Koreans. Americans, Japanese, and Chinese have it too. If they, too, become intoxicated with their own versions of gukppong, exclusively favor their own goods, and discriminate against Korean products, that benefits neither us nor anyone else. Gukppong is another name for “my side is always right,” and, like a drug, it is dangerous.

Sungjun Kim, Professor, School of Public Administration, Kyungpook National University

---

Original title: '국뽕'의 정치경제학

Author: Seong-jun Kim

Date: 2023-09-04

Source: https://www.cfe.org/bbs/bbsDetail.php?cid=press&idx=25997