Erasure and Transformation–A View of A Last Time
‘You could make anything—even tanks—in Euljiro.‘
It was a tight-knit maker economy neighbourhood in Seoul. Refugees of the Korean War settled here, scavenged and traded scraps and machine parts. The foundation of small industries’ expertise: metal works, casting, and assembly.
Hyundai started in a garage here, as a small construction and engineering company. A repair shop and construction supply store.
Young Kim is a Korean-American artist. We came to Seoul for his wedding. We became friends when he moved to Jakarta. On our second day in Seoul, he took us to Euljiro.
The area is named after General Ulchi Mundok. The Koreans named the four main boulevards after the military leaders who defended Korea from Japanese invasions.
Young used to work in one of the ‘factories’ here. He needed the skills to fabricate things for fine art. The shops make nuts and bolts, springs and metal sheets, cogs and gears. He can speak ‘market’ Korean—the working-class dialect. He said he could get discounts if he bargained speaking that.
Most of Euljiro’s metal workers and shopkeepers are old people. You can greet them for a little (or a lot of) impromptu chit-chat (something you can no longer do in Gangnam).
Neither Young nor the shopkeepers need the extra profit margin; they just enjoy the connection. The government and real estate companies began buying up land for the redevelopment of luxury condos.
Young and his fellow artists complained about the gentrification. That the transformation is an erasure. But Young and his friends were also part of the process. Euljiro is now Hipjiro. Many young people set up bars and cafes, and artists opened studios and design spaces. The Jung-gu district government designated it as a ‘special manufacturing and cultural zone’ and subsidised the creative and hospitality revival.
The millennials and Gen Zs are into vintage aesthetics, a nostalgia for the pre-digital era, of simpler (yet less convenient) times. The juxtaposition of the old industrial era, with its home industry practicality, and the new first world consumer era, with its posh excesses, makes Euljiro a hotspot for Newtro—the new retro. Think Fallout post-nuclear apocalyptic world (without the scarcity and dangers).
A shopowner was closing his shop. He brought all his wares out. He said he’d been bought out. It doesn’t make sense for him to stay in business. He’s going to buy a home in the countryside and retire.
I wondered: can you just stop after decades, a lifetime, of working? I read about a seal carver in Koreana magazine. He has been working in that trade since he was a teenager, during the War. Hand-carved seals are no longer a necessity now, with digital printing. His eyesight is weakening, but he doesn’t stop because he doesn’t know what else life is than work—hard work.
We had an encounter with a couple of Leica photographers. The man had three Leica Ms slung on his neck. The lady wore a Q. They asked where we are from.
We knew that we’re in the natural hunting grounds of street photographers. Our element. We didn’t need much words.
The workday ended. The alleys made space for the Korean BBQ restaurants to set up tables for alfresco dining. Plastic chairs and folding tables, butane camping stoves. Meat and saam (vegetables) and rice. Aluminium cutleries. A universal human delight of sharing meals.
We ended the walking tour in a bar on the fifth floor of an old grey derelict building. We each downed a shot of Glenfiddich. 59 Stairs is a Catholic themed wine bar; it has a lifesize statue of Mother Mary and her statuette. Candles and a crucifix adorn the wooden dark brown lacquered furniture. Neoclassical paintings hung on the walls. The pretty barman, with glass skin face typical of K-pop idol men, wore silver cross earrings. I wonder if it’s for style or an actual symbol of faith. Surprisingly, Christianity is more popular than Buddhism in this part of the Far East.
Young’s Christian name is Alexander. When we attended his wedding ceremony at Sseongbukdong Catholic Church, the entire procession was in Korean and Latin, with hymns sung and sermon; the eucharist and wine. No Korean Jesus, but the priest is Canadian.
At the end of the ceremony, everyone greeted us: ‘Pyeonghwaga dangsinege itgil reul.’
‘May peace be upon you.’
The prayer I am familiar with.
His grandfather was a four-star general in the ROK Army during the military dictatorship regime. Naturally, his family has ties with the chaebols. Like many of the champagne socialist third-generation ultra-rich, he doesn’t like how his family money creates distance with most people. The polar opposite of the first-generation pioneer: his grandfather didn’t eat pork. Not because he was a Muslim or a Jew (obviously), but to show that he was different from his poor countrymen.
Young let go of his Korean passport because he didn’t want to serve in the military. ‘My grandfather’s services can cover five generations,’ he said.
His grandfather never talked about what he did in those undemocratic times. I can’t help associating it with Han Kang’s Human Acts and the film A Taxi Driver. As Goenawan Mohamad wrote in Manurung: ‘The Cold War was only cold in the West.’
The bar has a view of Hotel Kukdo. Young told me that the hotel was owned by his father’s friend. He lost his fortune because he drank so much. In the 90s, Korea was on the verge of becoming a rich country. The Korean psyche at that time was high-octane individualism—the Randian libertarianism. Focusing on your self-interests, taking risks, were seen as virtues. When there is a Red Hot Threat up North, can you blame the South for overcompensating in the excesses of capitalism?
His father’s friend used all his assets to secure financing for investments which were high-risk/high-return and lost them all. Now he’s broke, but he’s still friends with Young’s appa. He came to Young’s wedding.
It was 6 pm, but the Northern Hemisphere subtropical summer meant it was still the golden hour. I think of Orwell’s words: intellectuals like to romanticise the working class. Sometimes, even roleplaying as one: artists’ studios in industrial workshops or traditional markets; techbros or lawyers buying and running a farm (with the help of farmhands, of course); corporate executives opening coffee shops; rich kids setting up restaurants and bars (or, in Zorba The Greek, buying a mine and work on it yourself).
But are we really good at it? Manual labour? Beckham is a farmer now. That suits him, it seems. He got to channel all that energy. The military grade discipline and routines he developed as a professional athlete are the fundamentals of farm work.
Transferable and acquisition of skills. I think that’s the keywords. No, we can’t be good at everything. But we are not that rigid either. The caste system in the Orient was not meant to be hereditary and immutable. It should be seen as archetypes, which are not exclusive traits in one individual and can be standalone relative to one another. Society needs all of them: the intellectuals, the warriors, the merchants, and the servants—even the pariahs. How we treat them is the measure of our compassion. ‘Might is right’ is the world of beasts. The lesser circle of reincarnations.
Some blocks have been cleared up for reconstruction and walled with fences. Billboards of cartoon advertisements: a nuclear family of three: the dad in suits, the mom with an apron, and the kid going to school, the park, and the church.
‘Next time you’re here,’ Young said, ‘it will all be so different.’
Yeh. What we witnessed was a view of a last time.
***
I submitted the photo essay/visual story of Euljiro for the application on JIPFEST 2025 Storytelling with Purpose Workshop by Ian Teh. This is the textual essay version.
P.S. I got selected and had the privilege of learning from a master storyteller. I asked him to sign the cover of my copy of Jhumpa Lahiri’s Roman Stories.
