Sunday, June 14, 2020

Han (한, 恨)

In every new language I learn, I find new concepts that are described by that culture alone, untranslatable into other languages because there's no matching concept. In Japanese there was "wabisabi," meaning imperfect work that shows off the beauty of life's imperfections, as well as "nekojita," cat's tongue, which means someone who's sensitive to spicy foods (no term I can think of in English except "wimp"), and in Korean there are several terms like these. "Nunchi" is used quite often for people to catch the eye of others and understand what should be done without stating it, an implicit understanding.

Han, on the other hand, means a sort of shared suffering, a resentment or sadness that's shared by a group of people, prevalent enough that it becomes a sort of solidarity, a beauty in the shared suffering. It often is associated with feeling of resentment Koreans have towards Japanese occupation, to being invaded by other countries and other groups of people, and now they share it in the reality that the country is divided into 2 halves, and it's still unclear when if ever the country will be united. "Han" was even used as the title to an episode of the West Wing and used by President Bartlett, so it was pretty prevalent, so it's surprising I didn't encounter it in my now 3+ years of studying Korean.

I feel like black Americans are suffering from this shared identity of han, especially nowadays in the wake of many black lives lost due to police brutality. I've come out against "abolishing the police" and strong Twitter and Facebook attacks on others on social media, but that doesn't change the fact that I understand black people's pain every time a black person is shown on the news having been killed by a police officer, or someone from another race. There is a collective pain felt by black people, that they've killed one of us, that hurting and killing one of the group is like killing all of us. That is a very strong idea, and I admire black people's solidarity and standing together in the face of seemingly overwhelming adversity, that they feel pride in their shared circumstance, even if is sad and hateful.

Although black Americans have very strong han, I feel most minorities have han in some way or another. We've all suffered through some injustices and discrimination. (Not to minimize the difficulties black Americans have had, I think most would agree that historically they've suffered the most). I remember the first time I was in Boys and Girls Club of America in inner city Chicago and other kids pulled their eyes flat to mimic me as an Asian person, and at that moment I understood what discrimination was. I still experience it as an adult, being called "Yao Ming" on the basketball court or "I didn't know you knew how to do that" when tipping the dealer at a Las Vegas blackjack table. Each time something overtly or even subtly racist happens against me as an Asian person, I seethe in quiet anger and get the feeling of han, like I'm representing all Chinese Americans in the world and have to defend the honor of an entire race, and at the same time knowing that other Chinese Americans out there must be feeling the same.

And it's not even just about race; I feel like han could apply to any situations where you're the minority or the victim of some power play, being made to feel small. When I was on the chess team in high school I felt a strong han for all chess nerds out there, a kind of solidified humiliation of being the nerds and the bottoms of the social hierachy at my high school. (Hint: I was on a lot of minorities/ low totem pole activities). Math team, orchestra, etc., etc. But just like the word han, there's a little bit of hope that can arise from being targeted as the minority, to feel closer as the outcasts and use that as a chip on the collective shoulder and fight back knowing you have this shared identity. That's what I would encourage black Americans do in today's world, have hope and stay strong; they certainly have a unifying slogan down already: Black Lives Matter.


Fantasize on,

Robert Yan

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