Moment of Reflection - After Watching "Ben X"

For me, the single most memorable scene in the movie Ben X was when the bullying video was shown on screen during Ben’s funeral. It wasn’t memorable because it was cathartic to see the good finally pay back and the evil repent, but rather because the scene itself felt so… ironic to me. Clearly, the original intention of the movie was to illustrate the moment in which the evil bullies are humiliated in front of the still-alive public conscience. But instead of feeling gratified, I felt uneasy. I was constantly repeating the same question inside my head: “What would I have done had I been Ben’s classmate?”

             

              For the record, I’m against bullying in any way, shape, or form. Although I’ve never been bullied, I, too, went through a period of social isolation. When I moved to the States at the age of 9, I experienced what it’s like to be left out just because “I was different.” I understand just enough - from the victim’s perspective - how terrible it can be to be bullied, harassed, and isolated. Therefore, I abhor anyone who bullies other people altogether.

              But can I say that I’ve always acted upon my beliefs? Have I actively fought against an act that I detest so much? Have I reached out to victims like Ben? Have I never hurt anyone’s feelings by “teasing” him or her? Has my “teasing” never crossed the line that, sometimes, it approached the standards of bullying? I’d certainly like to say “yes” to all questions. But what I want to believe and what actually is the truth is different. Maybe, if I were put in a situation in which another Ben was being harassed by a group of people, I might have looked away. This doubt is what constantly made me uneasy.

             

             Then, I ask the same questions to the crowd who are glaring at the bullies in the video with disgust and contempt. Would you have helped Ben if you had been in that classroom? Are you sure you wouldn’t have joined the students jeering at Ben? I can imagine hearing angry responses. What? Are you kidding me? Of course I would have helped Ben! I’m “different!”

However, the truth is that nobody says out loud that he or she is a bully. In fact, when we’re watching the film, we all consider ourselves to be absolutely moral and warmhearted. We despise the bullies, condemn the ones who join the bullying act or simply sit back and watch, and root for Ben inside our minds. But honestly, have we never seen a Ben in our lives? Hands on our hearts, can we really say that we’ve never ignored him or even took part in the awful act?

             

             When I think of how many people in that church would have actually acted differently in the video’s situation, the final scene seems ironic. To me, the juxtaposition of the ashamed perpetrators and the furious audience is rather comical. Had the situation been different, the two groups might have switched places. Everyone, including the people who claim to be ethical, has the potential to become a spectator if not a bully. Then, I ask again, are you really “different?”

             

             After watching that last scene in Ben X, I am together ashamed with the bullies. I quietly swear to myself that I’m going to try harder to live up to my beliefs - that I’m going to be different from the ones who didn’t help Ben.

             

             What about you?

After reading "Ethnic Theories of Plane Crashes"

           Reading this chapter was a painful wake-up call. When Gladwell first mentioned the failures of Korean Airlines, my patriotic sentiments were ready to be offended and to rebut to whatever he had to mock about my country. However, as I read through his detailed, step-by-step analysis of attributing plane crashes to the cultural aspects of the Korean people, I had to recognize what Gladwell had brought up was, largely, true. We Koreans are educated and trained from birth to be respectful to authority. The acceptance of hierarchy is embedded throughout our entire nation, and those who are at the lower level of the pyramid are expected and demanded to be subservient to their superiors; whether it’s children to their parents, employees to their employers, or just the young people to their elders. And this tendency doesn’t exist only in Korea, but in the Oriental World as a whole. Many countries that belong to the Eastern Cultural Region rank at the top of Power Distance Index scale, which means that people from this region generally don’t challenge the ones in power.

                  Sometimes, this sort of paying-deference-to-authority identity, or the deep-rooted culture that formed the identity, can be viewed as “beautiful.” That’s the expression Gladwell uses to describe the excerpt of a typical Korean dialogue between individuals in different power ranks; he says that the subtlety is courteous and beautiful. However, I agree with Gladwell that in certain circumstances, such subtlety is unnecessary or even dangerous. The kind of conversation that Mr. Kim and his 과장 had after work shouldn’t take place in a cockpit of a plane that is facing bad weather conditions, technical malfunctions, and especially severe lack of fuel. If the person in charge, the captain in the cockpit, is fatigued and unable to make reasonable decisions, whoever can take over should take over, particularly since hundreds of lives are at stake. But maneuvering airplanes isn’t the only task that involves human lives or other valuable resources; driving buses or subways, rescuing people from emergencies or disasters, investigating and tracking down criminals, importing merchandise, exporting merchandise, or any other possible job you can imagine of is responsible for perhaps the countless livelihoods, or actual lives, of people. Therefore, given the detrimental consequences of failures of each and every one of these tasks, the agents of these tasks should primarily focus on maximizing efficiency and minimizing the risk of failure. Ironclad hierarchies are hardly an effective method to achieve that goal.

                  And that’s why I believe traditions and customs that demand “respect” to subordinates do more harm than good, almost in every case. Although I understand such cultures have their own merit, in a rapidly globalizing world like ours, respect is considered to be something that should be “earned;” not “demanded.” Free exchange of ideas, open minded discussions, diversity, and horizontal bureaucracies are what define and innovate today’s world, and customs that hinder these ideals could be evaluated as “obsolete.” Especially if someone is in a situation in which he or she is responsible for other’s lives, cultural legacies cannot be an excuse for a mistake. Whether you are a Colombian, South Korean, or a member of any other ethnicity, you cannot be absolved for crashing a plane. Maybe this is why we Koreans should also start to liberate ourselves from the tradition that values unconditional obedience. That’s what I firmly believe in, at least.

                  However, I also understand that changing is difficult. Until I read this chapter, I thought I was irrelevant with the Korean norms of submitting to authority. However, when I read the excerpt of Mr. Kim and his 과장- I imagined myself being put in a similar situation and contemplated how I would have reacted in such circumstances. The answer was painfully clear: I would have behaved the same way Mr. Kim or his 과장 did, and never even think once I was epitomizing our subtle culture. Moreover, all the customs that Gladwell discussed-standing up when a senior enters a room, using deferential language to superiors, or waiting until the oldest person lifts his or her spoon at the dinner table-were natural courtesies that I followed in my everyday lives! I was shocked. Not because I thought our traditions were some useless crap, but because I recognized how deeply permeated our culture was within our thoughts, habits, actions, and lives. How could I request other people to change, when I myself was being heavily influenced by culture?

                  Nevertheless, despite the difficulties, I believe changing is possible. The example of Korean Airline demonstrates how change of cultural viewpoint was tricky but possible, and also worthy. Worthy enough to transform an airline that had 17 times more accidents than American airlines to one of the safest and renowned airlines in the world, and worthy enough to earn the firm a Phoenix Award in 2006 and make its record spotless since 1999. I won’t say that change is always better, but definitely in some places, change is needed. And the cockpit of a plane is just one example; who knows in this vast new world how many more places require openness, flexibility, and horizontal relationships instead of hierarchies. As it is becoming more important in various occasions for every single member of a group to speak up, the need for Korea to adapt to different cultural values is increasing. So let’s change; if Korean Airlines can do it, so can we.

This Week's Contemporary Issues Class

The two topics I want to talk about are:

Should Truvada be approved as a HIV prevention pill?

http://www.nytimes.com/2012/05/15/health/policy/taking-truvada-to-prevent-hiv-also-comes-with-risks.html?_r=1&adxnnl=1&adxnnlx=1338709794-b7QAsnLsf6596IUsiFg8gQ

http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/health-18030057

http://abcnews.go.com/Health/Wellness/truvada-hiv-prevention-pros-cons-popping-pill/story?id=16304884#.T8sXc9hinAw



The future of the European Economic Crisis and the Eurozone: Will Greece and Ireland remain as parts of the EU?

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/European_sovereign-debt_crisis

http://www.nytimes.com/2012/06/02/world/europe/greek-leftist-challenge-to-europe-on-austerity.html?ref=world

http://www.nytimes.com/2012/06/02/world/europe/ireland-approves-fiscal-treaty.html?ref=world



Hope you enjoy (?) the articles!

After Reading "Harlan, Kentucky"

             Who are we? We are what we are. We are defined by where we are from, who we grew up with, and even when we were born. In the 6^th chapter of the Outliers, Gladwell explains such factors can help determine “why” we make certain decisions. According to Gladwell, these “cultural legacies,” or the influences of the environments we originated from, become a part of our identity. For instance, American Southerners, especially borderland residents who used to be herdsmen, react much more aggressively compared to Northerners when they are insulted. Why is this so? The book suggests it may be because herdsmen had to be more petulant to protect their stocks than farmers who only had to raise crops. The ancestral roots of these people had survived for centuries to shape the personalities of the descendants. For inhabitants of Harlan, Kentucky, perhaps their roots that valued the “Culture of Honor” were what caused so many feuds between families.

             What I found interesting in this chapter was the great power “culture” had among its people. When we evaluate ourselves, we usually consider us to be intellectual beings exercising free will. We believe that what we choose to do, from picking a cheeseburger over noodles at lunch to enrolling in college instead of advancing to the job market, is primarily dependent on our own mind and its process of thinking. However, after reading this chapter, no fool could claim the Howards’ and the Turners’ “decisions” to shoot each other down was the sole product of their free will. Or, even if it is, that “free will” could have been formed and amended by the constant influence of its surrounding environment; in other words, its culture. The rationale that we humans believe to be so ultimate and flawless is actually, much more fragile: it is easily transfigured by the discipline of our parents, underlying violent heritages, and many other cultural factors.

             Our lesson from this chapter could be applied in reflecting upon another intriguing topic: “Cultural Relativism.” Basically, the concept means that the ideas and habits of each and every culture should be respected equally. Having grown up and been educated from a predominantly Western culture (at least, from my perspective, I’d say Korea’s pretty Westernized), I used to think “Honor Killing” or “Cannibalism” existing in faraway, remote cultures were barbaric. Basing my thoughts on the UN Human Rights Charter or our “common sense,” I argued the constituents of such cultures should be ashamed. But as I pondered more about the topic, I began to question, “Is there any value that is universal or absolute?” Back in the Chosun Dynasty, people valued honor or loyalty over their life. To them, it was justified to kill a person to protect their honor or loyalty to the king. As we’ve read from the book, the jury of the South also thought it just to kill one’s insulter. Then, who can we throw the stone at, based on what standards and judgments? In esoteric cultures, is the peoples’ “perception” wrong because it’s different from ours? Such notion would be bigotry, since we too used to justify slavery with our own convenient set of value systems. If we were to travel back a few hundred years, we’d be the “Alices in Wonderland” who couldn’t adapt to the way of living. Traveling to a different culture might be just the same thing.

             So then, how can we even make evaluations or judgments about what is right and wrong, good or bad? Every event could be the outcome of different values from diverse cultures. This is the question I’ve had for years, and I still haven’t found the answer yet. I guess there’s still a lot more to learn and contemplate about. What is your opinion?

Most Inspirational Video

I picked this up while I was surfing in YouTube-everybody should watch this.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VSrAJsWvEIc

Who I Am

“Who am I?” The question popped up in my head when I was trying to write yet another college essay. It was past midnight, all the lights had been turned out, and only the soft snoring of my roommate filled the room. I had been sitting in front of the monitor for almost two hours, to draft the 10th, or maybe the 100th version of my college essay that was supposed to be touching and humorous and insightful at the same time, or in other words perfect to guarantee my admission to a top university.

My peers had written remarkable essays about the sorrow they felt towards an AIDS patient they met during voluntary service at a hospital, or the insight they gained from experimenting the “Fluid Bridge” while competing in the Korean Young Physicists’ Tournament, or the pleasure they’d felt while they were conducting the school orchestra on Beethoven’s Symphony No.9. I envied them. Their essays were so outstanding that whoever read them was moved, impressed, and forced to like the personalities of the writers. All their stories seemed to have their own unique colors, just like an ideal college essay.

On the other hand, mine didn’t make its readers laugh or cry with it. After reading some of the best essays written by students from our prestigious high school, I was anxious to “produce” something that was more than, or at least as impressive as, my friends’. I tried to decorate my life with the colors similar to those of my peers’, hoping to astonish my friends as their essays had done to me. But no matter how much effort I put into imitate others, no matter how hard I tried to invent an authentic feeling for AIDS patients or to imagine the ecstasy of conducting physical experiments or orchestras, my essays didn’t show who I was. I would always get the same response, “Hmm…the essay doesn’t really…come to me.”

That’s how I flunked the previous 9, or perhaps 99 versions. It was past midnight, and I was tired, frustrated, and running short of colors to plagiarize from. Then for the first time, ironically, the most fundamental and important question popped up in my head, “Who am I, really?”

The answer was here, all along. I am me. I don’t know a terminal AIDS patient, and I’m not a physicist or a conductor. I am someone who was unable to write a successful college essay, but nevertheless didn’t give up and is trying for his 100th time in spite of the immense fatigue and frustration he feels for sitting alone in his dark, lonely room. This was the attitude I’d adopted all along in parliamentary debates I did instead of physics; in singing at festivals instead of leading an orchestra. I am someone who was jealous of others for their talents, for their dazzling achievements, and who strived to be magnificent like them. That was the passionate personality that enabled me to claim first class-honors and receive merit scholarships.

I didn’t have to create an “artificial me,” an imaginary physicist or conductor, but to just honestly show myself: a good debater, a decent singer, and an excelling student. I didn’t have to be someone else. I should have been proud of my own colors and painted my essays with them, which I am doing right now.

And even if this 100th version still doesn’t come to the readers, I know I’ll be sitting back at my chair to draft the 101th. The relentless ardor, the jealousy generated from a sense of inferiority, the desire towards perfection motivated by that jealousy, the fatigue and frustration I’m feeling at the moment, and the confidence I’ve restored in myself as I’m finishing this essay.

This is who I am.