Honesty has been bred into the culture, here in South Korea. It’s not only valued, it’s expected. It’s a given that one will tell the truth in any given situation, and I, for one, am grateful.
When I left my purchase in a convenience store and returned three hours later to claim it, it was given to me, no questions asked, even though someone new was manning the counter – someone who’d never seen me before in his life. (While we’re on the subject of honesty, I suppose I should admit I did that more than once.)
More than 100,000 people signed up for a fundraising walk-a-thon. No lists of names were kept, and when participants arrived to pick up their gift bags, they were given freely, safe in the knowledge that everyone had already paid their participation fees. Conceiving of dishonesty almost doesn’t occur, even in a city of nearly 4 million people.
Steven and I usually didn’t bother locking the door at night, though we did when we were both out of the apartment. I never worried about leaving my purse on chairs in restaurants and bars, confidant that it would still be there – with all its contents – when I returned.
Kids generally don’t cheat on tests, and any attempt to tip at a restaurant is taken as a mathematical error on the customer’s part. I’ve actually been chased down the street by a distraught waiter who was convinced my overpayment was a mistake. He bowed and apologized profusely as he handed me the money, even as I protested.
It’s nice to feel so safe here. No, not each and every Korean is 100 percent honest. I’m pretty sure some of my students sneak a lollipop out of my candy jar when no one’s looking. But really, it’s the foreigners who you’ve got to watch out for. My pal, Dani, has had her purse stolen twice in Korea – both times in expat bars. Sometimes I feel a bit ashamed to know it’s “my kind” that’s the problem here. One can only hope the good example Koreans set will rub off.
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