Political divide now a linguistic divide in two Koreas
After 70 years of separation, South developing English-based language
SEOUL On one side of the line that has divided two societies for so long, the words arrive as fast as globalization can bring them: English-based lingo like “shampoo,” “juice” and “self-service.” To South Koreans, they are everyday language. To defectors from insular North Korea, they mean absolutely nothing.
Turn the tables, and the opposite is true, too: People in Seoul furrow their brows at homegrown North Korean words like “salgyeolmul,” which literally means “skin water.” (That’s “skin lotion” in the South.)
Two countries, mortal enemies, tied together by history, by family — and by language, but only to a point. The Korean Peninsula’s seven-decade split has created a widening linguistic divide that produces misunderstandings, hurt feelings and sometimes even laughter. The gap has grown so wide, scholars say, that about a third of everyday words used in the two countries are different.
North and South Koreans are generally able to understand each other given that the majority of words and grammar are still the same.
But the differences show how language can change when onehalf of the country becomes an international economic powerhouse and the other isolates itself, suspicious of outside influences.
The United States’ huge cultural influence through its military presence, business ties and Hollywood has flooded the South Korean vernacular with English loan words and “konglish,” which uses English words in non-standard ways, like “handle” for steering wheel, “hand phone” for cellphone and “manicure” for nail polish.
In North Korea’s view, all that is just further evidence that the South is an American cultural colony.
When Pak Mi-ok first arrived in South Korea after her defection in 2002, she was told by a waitress at a restaurant that water was “selfservice,” an English phrase she had not heard before. Too shy to admit she didn’t understand, she ended up going without water during her meal.
“I worried the waitress would look down on me,” Pak said. She started out working at restaurants but struggled to understand customers. “I thought they spoke a different language,” she said.
Pak gradually picked up on the new lingo, and in a recent interview she used words like “stress” and “claim” that aren’t heard in the North.
The North’s isolation and nearworship of the ruling Kim family has also skewed the language. “Suryong” is the revered title for the North’s founding leader and his son, Kim Jong Il, the father of the current ruler, Kim Jong Un. But in the South it’s used to refer to a faction or local leader from centuries ago.
Pyongyang is so eager to “purify” its language under its guiding philosophy of self-reliance that it vigorously eliminates words with foreign origins and uses homegrown substitutes.
Shampoo is called “meorimulbinu,” or “hair water soap,” and juice is “danmul,” or “sweet water.” Such differences fascinate and amuse South Koreans, who love to examine them on quiz and comedy shows.
The communication gap widens when it comes to technical terms used in medical and technological settings, according to Han Yongun, a South Korean linguist. About two-thirds of medical terms are different, he said.
“I think that North and South Korean doctors cannot work together in the same operating room,” Han said.
Over the past 10 years, there have been efforts to produce a joint dictionary containing 330,000 words from both countries — a rare example of co-operation.
But as is often the case, political tensions have interfered with progress.
I think that North and South Korean doctors cannot work together in the same operating room.