Exkewjeu mee ssuh
Written by Master Whang
This article by Master Whang (Sr. and/or Jr.) was originally written for and posted on www.CarbonEcho.com, a martial arts website dedicated to educating the public about all martial arts. While the site enjoyed tremendous popularity, it ceased operations several years ago.
Exkewjeu mee ssuh
A volunteer came running to me, all panicked. “Sir, there’s a protest in Ring 15!” I ran down looking for Ring 15, muttering to myself “What is it this time?”
The USTU National Tournament Committee works hard. Very hard. We’re the people in red jackets who run all the USTU’s national events, like Senior Nationals, Junior Olympics and the US Open. We work like dogs, ask ourselves why we do it, and keep coming back for more. I guess love for whatever your particular passion may be leads to irrational behavior. The toughest tournament is always Junior Olympics, partly because of the sheer number of competitors (between 4,000 - 5,000) - but more so because of everyone else, by which I mean coaches, parents and spectators (add another 10,000 people). When we’re on the floor, part of our job is to calm coaches and parents down when they think Junior was “robbed.”
I go to the problem ring, and ask the protesting coach what the problem is. He bows down low. “Exkewjeu mee ssuh. My prayuh, he roozu metchi paibu-paibu.” (Translation: Excuse me sir. My player lost his match, which was scored 5-5.) “My prayuh, he kick beri hahdu. He kiku to hedu. He pushi pushi. Pang-pang! He controru metchi ssuree round. I no undusten.” (Translation: My player kicked really hard. He kicked to the head, was the aggressor (”pushed and pushed”), and controlled the match all three rounds. I don’t understand.”)
I’m totally dumbfounded. Because the coach before me spewing forth in this perfect Konglish is a blond-haired, blue-eyed guy who looks like he’s just stepped off the last plane from Wisconsin. In the nanoseconds that it takes me to respond, a surprising number of things go through my head. “Maybe this guy just immigrated from Denmark or some other Scandinavian country, and hasn’t quite mastered the language - that would explain his blond hair and blue eyes. Or maybe this guy is trying to make fun of Koreans. Or maybe this is one of those guys who thinks that by speaking in heavily Korean-accented English (commonly known as “Konglish”), he’s going to gain some instant credibility as a Taekwondo coach.” After I regain my composure, I ask the only question that pops in my head: “DO YOU SPEAK ENGLISH?!!!” half expecting to see him showing me his Danish passport.
But his big blue eyes get even bigger. Terror, there is no mistaking it. I can see him freaking out. I can see him thinking through his exit strategy options, and realizing all doors are closed. Finally, I get a deep bow from him. “I’m so sorry, Sir!” I can’t place the accent, because HE HAS NONE!
Needless to say, he quickly dropped his protest after that embarrassment. I recounted this story to my fellow Committee members. When they heard it, their reactions ranged from disbelief to outrage to belly-aching laughter. There were a lot of “shoulda coulda woulda’s” too, like Master Mark Williams suggesting that I should have started speaking with a Puerto Rican accent asking him what he meant.
The incident reminded of this television show I saw a few years ago on the Boy Scouts World Jamboree. Scouts from the world over come and meet, camp, exchange pins, and promote world peace. A 12 year old American boy was filmed asking his 12 year old Japanese counterpart “What do you like about America?” This drew a blank stare and a weak smile from the Japanese boy. He asked the question one more time, with no change in result. The frustrated young American boy thought for a few seconds, and figured it out. He repeated the question in English. But at half speed. And at twice the volume. “WHAT … DO … YOU … LIKE … ABOUT … AMERICA????” A well intended, but ineffective effort at best.
Listen, I’m not going to blow this incident out of proportion, and make some crusade out of it. I know that those who insist on speaking Konglish do so because, in their attempt to pass on the art of Taekwondo to future generations, they feel they have to emulate their mentors in every last way, including their instructors’ bad English. I know that it’s even a subconscious effort to honor one’s mentors. There have been many great men with grand ambitions who left everything behind in Korea (which in many cases included nothing at all) to start a new life here, with nothing in their pockets, and no knowledge of English. The English they learned is the Konglish with which they taught. But I’m sure that over the years all of them went through many moments of frustration wishing they could speak English like Americans do. To speak English, not Konglish.
So if you truly want to pay tribute to your instructors and Sabomnim and others who brought the Asian martial arts to this country, do so by being the best instructor that you can, better even than your own instructor. Do so by being as eloquent as you can, so you can communicate effectively. You are, after all, educators. Trust me, far from offending, you will instead be honoring your instructors by speaking English and not Konglish.
