Yeong Yoon and I work in the Halla Classic Building—he on the 11th floor and I on the 4th. We meet for lunch once every two weeks, and he stubbornly refuses to let me buy. He pays every time.
Mr. Yoon was born in Yesan in 1939 but moved with his family to Seoul at the age of 5. Before going any further, I should make mention of his famous uncle, Yoon Bong-Gil. He is among the most honored of Korean independence activists, having killed several Japanese dignitaries at a gathering in Shanghai in 1932. Yoon was arrested, convicted and executed. His act met with approbation from Chinese president Chiang Kai-shek: “A young Korean patriot has accomplished something tens of thousands of Chinese soldiers could not do.” The Japanese were then committing gross abuses against the Chinese, Koreans and others.
His father played and interacted with Yoon Bong-Gil, his cousin, often during childhood. Thus, Mr. Yoon grew up hearing many stories about his praiseworthy uncle. (You can today visit the Yoon Bong-Gil Memorial Museum in southern Seoul.) He graduated from Hankook University of Foreign Studies in 1963 with a degree in English literature. After doing military service and working as a radio announcer for a few years, he went to the USA and got a master’s at Syracuse University. Korean students earning graduate degrees at American universities are fairly common now but were much rarer in the late 1960s. Linguistically and culturally, Mr. Yoon was on his own. By relentless application, he succeeded.
Back in his homeland, he was offered a position at Korea University. He taught courses in telecommunications from 1971 to 1989, during which time he saw many things he could not countenance. “Presidential appointments, teaching appointments, student admission, students’ grades—much of it was corrupt, based on giving money,” he said. “I wrote letters, gave speeches and was involved in demonstrations. President Chun Doo-Hwan was my enemy. Finally, I was forced out.”
Although he could have gotten another teaching job, Mr. Yoon abandoned academia completely. He created an NGO, a non-governmental organization, entitled Badkiller. Its purpose is simple: the exposure of corruption in Korea. He informed me that plagiarism among college students is rampant, that parents feel obliged to make financial gifts (bribes, in other words) to grade school, middle school and high school teachers, that pastors at many churches shamelessly dip into the collection plate and that tax collection here is inefficient and rife with corruption. Mr. Yoon insists that the Anti-Corruption and Civil Rights Commission is strictly for show and is, in fact, corrupt. He asserts that the chaebols such as Samsung, Hyundai, LG and SK are treated much too tenderly by the government.
From a one-room office, he and his assistant, Lee Kwang-Koo, do research, write letters and set up meetings with government officials with the purpose of rendering Korea a more honest and transparent society. Mr. Yoon is not entirely a doom-and-gloom guy; he concedes that things are better than in decades past. When he was teaching at Korea University, tabs were kept on his comings and goings. Furthermore, regardless of his vigorous activities he is not hassled, threatened or pressured. “We are living in a free country,” he says. “Nobody bothers me.”
I dare say that, were he still alive, Yoon Bong-Gil would be dismayed at the systemic problems still plaguing Korea. How, though, could he not feel a measure of pride at the efforts being made by his nephew to remedy them?
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