Leaving the Scent of “Alpha-Male Instincts” — What Did Gwanghwamun Ever Do to Deserve This?

[Choice Times=Sung-Dae Shin, Editorial Writer]

Living at the very top of a hillside neighborhood, the view outside my window is straight into the mountain. Residents from the apartment complexes below line up every day, dogs in tow, climbing up for their walks. Each time they pass the pavilion by the outdoor exercise equipment, every dog presses its nose to the stone base of the pillar and sniffs. And the male dogs, without exception, lift one hind leg and spray their urine on it—“splash!” Sometimes even the females do.

If you look closely, humans seem to have the same instinctive habit of marking their “territory.” Those in power especially. Once they secure a position as some kind of “chief” or “head,” they immediately rush to the National Cemetery to sign the guest book, or plant a commemorative tree in a garden under their jurisdiction.

In the past, even scholar-officials, wherever they went, carved their writings into flat rocks. Across famous mountains in North Korea, large inscriptions praising the “Great Leader” are engraved everywhere. Ordinary people, unable to restrain the same instinct, sometimes scribble their names at tourist sites or stack a few stones by the roadside before leaving.

For Seoul mayors, there is a place where they leave behind this same “male-dog instinct”: Gwanghwamun Square. Each mayor pours money into it, overturning and rebuilding the place just to leave his own mark. Thanks to that, there is hardly a day without construction at Gwanghwamun—and of course, it will continue.

Going to Gwanghwamun Square is irritating. The main boulevard in front of Gwanghwamun has been pushed aside like a temporary detour, while the square itself is crammed with sculptures, monuments, fountains, rest facilities, and masses of trees. Benches and oversized planters line up in rows, and the ground is filled with decorative tricks of every kind. On the half-square that remains, events are held every few days. It is a full-blown marketplace. They seem unable to sleep if even a single inch is left empty.

Originally, there was no “square” on Gwanghwamun Street. In 2009, under Mayor Oh Se-hoon, the central median was removed to create one. Later, Mayor Park Won-soon tried to turn it into a civic rest space, but the project was halted. When Oh returned, he completed it in its current form. Even that was not enough—he attempted to install a massive flagpole, only to abandon the plan after public opposition.

There is a phrase, “having no sense of proportion.” It is a slightly refined way of describing ignorance of one’s limits. Standing in Gwanghwamun Square, the phrase comes naturally. It feels as if one lung has been removed—you cannot breathe. As if fitted with an artificial heart, your chest feels stiff and strained. Body and mind tilt askew, and even the country itself seems ready to topple over like the Sewol ferry.

In 1997, Yeouido Plaza—the largest in East Asia at the time—was redesigned as a park and renamed Yeouido Park. Yet Gwanghwamun Square has become neither a square nor a park, but an awkward, chaotic mess. To make matters worse, when the Seoul Metropolitan Government began building a “Garden of Gratitude” last November, complete with a “present arms” sculpture, Prime Minister Kim Min-seok stepped in and said the construction should be halted.

Can they not even distinguish a square from a park? A square must be empty. That is the very reason it exists. If citizens truly need a place to rest, the adjacent empty site of the old Uijeongbu complex should be turned into a park. If that is still not enough, then demolish the Government Complex and make that area a park as well, creating symmetry with the Uijeongbu site.

I have never seen anything prosper by blocking roads. Please, straighten the distorted plaza and boulevard, remove all the tacky playthings, and leave the space cleanly and refreshingly empty. Enforce ordinances strictly so that bazaars, rallies, and protests are prohibited, and allow only truly national-level events.

In any case, Gwanghwamun Square is a symbolic landmark of the Republic of Korea. Is there any Korean who does not know the greatness of King Sejong? Even so, this country is no longer Joseon—it is the Republic of Korea. Naming the road “Sejong-daero” is more than enough. Let us also remove the golden statue, mounted on a diamond-shaped pedestal and emblazoned with the oversized name “King Sejong” like a kindergarten name tag.

The centennial of the nation’s founding is approaching. A leader with an eye on the future should already know what needs to be prepared. While we are at it, perhaps the authority to approve any changes to or use of Gwanghwamun Square should be vested in the Prime Minister—so that each new mayor can no longer freely “relieve” his so-called alpha-male instincts there.