Dilemma. According to the Korean Standard Dictionary, this words means ‘a difficult situation in which the choice is one among two paths but neither path will lead to a desirable result.’ To work or not. To be loyal to the duties of a journalist or to protect individual rights. To compromise agreeably with society or to stubbornly stick to one’s principles. From the moment I applied to be a journalist to when I began my 3rd year as one, there was not a single moment that did not contain a dilemma. Even now, as I write this.

 

I know it’s a cliché, but there is a ‘ gap between ideals and reality’

 

When I was 24 years old, I wanted to graduate but wanted to remain at school as well. I needed a fixed income, but I didn’t want to have a job.

 

There was something I wanted to do. I wanted to study German literature—which I had belatedly encountered during college—at graduate school. Graduate school, as if it wasn’t enough that I had double majored in German literature on top of Korean literature, during a time when German literature departments were disappearing at some schools. The words of ‘wanting to study German Literature’ that I had carved into my sandy heart were bombarded by the waves of ‘what are you going to do with a Master’s in German literature?’ That year, when I went on a trip with my family, I drank too much while talking with my dad about this, and that I made a mess of myself crying in front of him and throwing up in the sink was perhaps telling of my desperation.

 

Telling myself that agonizing over problems of my career would do nothing by thinking just ‘buy and eat beef,’ I took the teacher qualification examination, as was my mom’s constant wish. It was a kind of protest, one to show my parents the effort I was putting into getting by. The winter immediately after I failed the examination was spent applying for a private middle school and taking those exams. I then joined a publishing company as a temporary employee, thinking that I would rather earn money than waste time like that for something I didn’t even want desperately. And following the human nature of repeating the same mistakes, I left the company with the same feelings.

 

Actually, I had dreamt of working in the press during my high school years. Even after entering college, I harbored the small thought of being a journalist, even if abstractly, and agonized over society all I could while meeting and conflicting with many people. This gradually led to skepticism towards the press. This was because of my own assessment that although they say the press exposes illegalities, it could not be completely free from the influence of power and capital. Instead of overstating its justness, I thought it would be less embarrassing to myself to be loyal to making a living, or, to borrow the words from the poet Kim Su-yeong, to ‘be angry over how a 50 won [cheap] beef rib was nothing but fat.’

 

But when I actually attempted to focus on making a living, there wasn’t something I particularly wanted to do nor anything that seemed to be something I could do. To summarize by using the writing style of my teacher’s comments on my student records from elementary school and middle school, I decided to be a journalist according to the path I had taken during college and my overall aptitude and talents. Luckily, I was able to accumulate enough so-called ‘spec’ to safely pass the document evaluation [the first part of the hiring process]. After taking examinations [the second part of the hiring process] once or twice a month for 6 months, I became a journalist. I’m ashamed to say that I didn’t become a journalist to be ‘angry’ at the ‘palace’ or the ‘debauchery of the kingdom.’

 

Between the rights of a workerand the responsibilities of a journalist

 

Whatever the motivation was, I think that I must be more diligent every day in getting ‘angry’ than others. Although these days they’re regarded as punching bags and called ‘giregi [gija (journalist) + sseuregi (trash)],’ journalists, as the 4th estate, the air of society, have to make efforts to uncover valuable or hidden information and make it public. Not only huge exclusives, but even each and every word in smaller articles actually carries a lot of weight. On top of this weight is the thrill that something new will be made known and the fear that it may cause some kind of impact.

 

▲ The July 14 2014, Saenuri Party National Convention, held at Seoul Jamsil Indoor Stadium. The candidates running for the party representative and related personnel are singing the song, Geowiui kkum [Dream of the Goose]. The line ‘together, on the day I can smile at the end of my life’ is being sung. ©Yeogija(“Female Journalist”)

In particular, in the political department I’m in now, to the extent that each word said by politicians makes news, literally every single letter is important. The articles are completed by each letter that is typed on the keyboard under this weight. I think that the start of justice as a journalist isn’t something special but is to endure the footsteps made in the world by carrying this weight in addition to the force of gravity by which others step on the ground.

 

When the physician at a hospital I visited recently asked me whether I was ‘doing physical labor or mental labor,’ I answered ‘I’m a journalist,’ and the physician smiled, nodding. Although much of my time as a journalist is spent typing in front of a desk, the fewer years one has worked as a journalist, the more often she is required to physically go to a site. In addition, most press agencies are not able to work only 5 days a week, let alone maintain a 9-to-6 schedule. Lunch and dinner time are frequently spent with our sources.

 

In preparation for an emergency situation at the field sites, you should always have your cell phone next to you. And inevitably, your mind and body are tired. In particular, since news agency journalists have to manage all kinds of situations, their work load is somewhat greater than other journalists.

 

The senior journalists emphasize the ‘duties’ and ‘obligations’ of a journalist. Of course, there are times when that’s needed, but viewed from the aspect that it’s a means for making a living, such talk is along the same lines as exploiting the labor of interns by demanding their ‘passion’ and ‘dreams.’ If I were receiving the appropriate compensation for the severity of my workload, there would be another zero attached to the balance of my savings account by now. 

 

This is the other site where I feel a dilemma. I want to do my best and be just since I’m a journalist anyway, but it’s not easy to do justice towards myself. Whenever the demand for appropriate treatment or compensation regarding my own labor is frustrated between the duties and obligations a journalist should have, I start to question what my own sense of justice is.

 

Living as a female journalist: a cool heart and a warm head instead of vice versa

 

I don’t know if it’s because I became a journalist or if you become like this when you live among other people out in the world. I used to be sensitive, but I’m becoming numb towards more and more things. It’s because I see all kinds of things while writing articles and being close to the scene. It also probably is due to the fact that I tried to maintain a distance from the source or the story under the pretext of establishing “objectivity.”

 

▲ On May 27th 2014, journalists are waiting on the 2nd floor of the National Assembly Hall for the results of negotiation between the two political parties regarding the follow-up measures for the Sewol disaster. This is the so-called ‘ppetchigi.’ When you’re doing ppetchigi, it’s hard to eat or go to the bathroom. This day’s ppetchigi continued for days. ©Yeogija(“Female Journalist”)

This was true even when the family members of those who died during the Sewol Ferry disaster came to the National Assembly Hall when the legislation of the Sewol Ferry Special Act was not making progress due to political conflicts. The family members, who were coming to the National Assembly Hall for the first time, held a press conference. To clarify the “subject” in my article, I sought the person who read the brief and asked, “You’re one of the bereaved family members…right?” The person looked at me for a moment with a reproachful gaze that asked how I could ask such a question, and then answered, “Yes, I am a bereaved family member.” I have regretted that moment over and over. I asked a question—that I could very easily have asked someone else—to that person. I regretted that I hadn’t considered the fact that the question itself could cause sadness to that person.

 

This applies to the sensitivity regarding gender as well. When I was a member of the student council at college, I tried to make a culture that discouraged [the part of] FM(Field Manual, a military manual: In the FM system, freshmen are required to introduce themselves loudly and formally [like an Army private] whenever an older student tells them to.) [that requires] a way of introducing oneself that only allows those who unabashedly have large voices to escape embarrassment. Along with my friends, I was always on the lookout for sexually discriminatory words and actions. I clumsily tried to resolve the sexually discriminating incidents that I and others experienced. It was confusing to start my adult working life, and in the press at that, after hanging out with friends who were—similar to myself—sensitive or beginning to develop a sensitivity towards these issues.

 

Journalism in particular is strongly male-centric. There are even sayings that female journalists are another gender. The military culture of strict hierarchies between seniors and juniors is prevalent among journalist circles, such as the rite of passage of eating and sleeping at the police station during the training period and reporting as if it were a roll call, or the apprentice-style way of learning work. A clear example is the soccer match held once a year by the Korean Journalist Association where male journalists play on the field. There have been times when I’ve experienced sexually harassing comments and acts of sexual harassment from my sources or older senior male journalists and quietly dismissed them, considering the narrow press circle where words travel fast. And I’ve heard stories of female journalists letting go of such incidents secretly like this more than once or twice.

 

Your sensitivity is your antenna towards the world. Whenever I’m aware of how my sensitivity has become blunted, my thoughts become complicated. It’s because I feel that my work is ruining me. I have to sharpen this edge of sensitivity; a year has passed with it already sort of worn, while I’m tired living the everyday of my life and my work. In her third year being out in the world, this clumsy rope-walker is unstably trying to walk the rope between personal life and public life.

 

Although I will be the youngest in the political department tomorrow as well

 

They say the ones who are the earliest to go to the scene and the last to leave are the journalists of news agencies. Because news agencies not only directly provide news to their readers but also supply news to other press agencies such as daily newspaper agencies, they have to cover the news of the world widely and in detail. For now, I will be the youngest in the political department of the news agency tomorrow as well.

 

Journalists call the youngest in each department ‘maljin.’ As the maljin of not only a political department but the political department of a news agency, I will be vigilant from the moment I come to work until I leave, lest I miss anything that happens. I will poke about here and there all day in the National Assembly building, going to the morning meetings of the political parties I attend, recording the contents, and following politicians around, listening to what they say.

 

▲ August 1st 2014, while walking around the main building area before working overtime at night, I saw the skin of a cicada stuck on the tree bark. At that time, my mind and my body were tired. It was deeply comforting to know that the traces of cicadas that must have waited years to come out into the world were also present at the National Assembly. ©Yeogija(“Female Journalist”)

 

Even amidst this inertia of everyday life hectically passing by, the dilemma between ideals and reality and between my personal and work life will continue. Although I won’t be able to reach an answer soon and will only bite my poor nails, it also is somewhat comforting that it’s not a Kafkaesque choice where there is no way out either way. That is, even if I momentarily lose my way in the labyrinthine National Assembly like the protagonist of Kafka’s story, I have the chance to walk out myself.

 

The Chilean poet Pablo Neruda wrote in a poem, ‘Why do the trees hide the splendor of their roots?’ The background I have written here, even when I’m not a great or wonderful journalist, is along the same lines as those lines above. Although not brilliant, a 26-year-old female third-year journalist who has passed through these processes and can say about herself that she is at least not a bad journalist is standing here right now. That is, that my roots were as zigzagged as this, that I also was as confused as you, but I’m continuing to walk this path as I write this. [Translated by Rose]

 

*Original article: http://ildaro.com/6885 Published: November 11, 2014

 

◆ To see more English-language articles from Ilda, visit our English blog(https://ildaro.blogspot.com).

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