한국 해녀들, 물질 전통을 잇고 있다 … LA Times 1면 소개

한국 해녀들, LA타임스 1면에 떴다

 

[아시아경제] "나이가 든 해녀들이 세상을 떠나기 전에 모든 것을 배워야 나 역시 다른 여성들에게 그것(해녀의 모든 것)을 가르칠 수 있을 것이다." 한국에서 가장 젊은 해녀라는 33살의 김재연 씨가 로스앤젤레스타임스와의 인터뷰에서 밝힌 소감이다. 이 신문은 27일자 1면 중앙 '칼럼 원'고정란을 통해 한국 해녀들의 삶을 다뤄 눈길을 끌었다. '전통에 몸을 담그다'라는 제목의 기사에는 한국의 얼마 남지 않은 해녀들이 딸에게 바다에서의 삶을 가르치며 전통을 이어가는 이야기를 담았다. 신문은 한국의 해녀들은 1970년대 1만5000여명에 달했으나 현재 3분의1인 5000명 수준으로 줄었고 그중에서도 70세 이상의 고령자가 절반 이상이라고 설명했다.

LA타임스 `한국 해녀의 삶' 1면 소개
 
<로스앤젤레스=연합뉴스> 미국 일간 로스앤젤레스타임스(LAT)는 27일 1면 중앙의 `칼럼 원' 고정란과 5면 전면을 할애한 장문의 기사에서 한국에서 어렵사리 전통의 명맥을 이어가는 해녀들의 삶을 크게 소개했다. 로스앤젤레스타임스(LAT)는 27일 1면 중앙의 `칼럼 원' 고정란과 5면 전면을 할애한 `전통에 몸을 담그다'라는 제목의 장문의 기사에서 소수의 한국 여성들이 어른들로부터 교육을 받아 해녀의 전통을 잇고 있다고 소개했다.  이 신문은 해녀들이 딸에게 바다의 삶을 가르치며 수십 년간 전통을 이어왔으나 오늘날 현대적인 어선들 때문에 해산물 채취량이 줄어 그들의 삶이 위협받고 있다고 전했다.

 

이 때문에 갈수록 해녀들이 줄어 1970년대 1만5천여명에 달하던 해녀들이 지금은 5천명 수준이며, 그나마 절반 이상이 70세를 넘긴 사람들이라고 덧붙였다.  이 신문은 한국의 최연소 해녀 김재연(33) 씨를 소개하면서 김 씨는 돈을 벌기 위해서가 아니라 해녀 일이 선조와 자신을 이어주기 때문에 배우고 있다고 소개했다.  김 씨는 이 신문과 인터뷰에서 "나이 든 해녀들이 모두 세상을 떠나기 전에 내가 할 수 있는 것을 모두 배워야 언젠가 또다른 여성들에게 그것을 가르칠 수 있을 것"이라고 말했다.

 

 

<원문> 

latimes.com/news/nationworld/world/la-fg-korea-women-divers-20101027,0,1663729.story

latimes.com

COLUMN onE

Korean island women carry on diving tradition

 

For generations, South Korea's haenyeo have been free-diving for shellfish, a way of life that has brought power to the women of the sea. Though the tradition is fading, a few young women are still learning the lessons of the deep.

By John M. Glionna, Los Angeles Times October 27, 2010

 

Reporting from Mara Island, South Korea

 

◀ Kim Jae-yeon displays a typical catch, a small top shell whose meat South Koreans consider a delicacy. (John M. Glionna / Los Angeles Times)

The sea is restless as Kim Jae-yeon perches on the rocky shoreline, eyeing the churning waters at her feet. Slowly, she wipes her goggles with a fistful of grass to keep them from fogging underwater and offers a prayer to the pounding surf for her good fortune.

 

Like six generations of women before her on this treeless speck of land in the East China Sea, the young mother of two is preparing for a dangerous job no man here is allowed to perform: free-diving for minutes at a time to catch abalone and other shellfish.

 

Kim is learning to join the ranks of the haenyeo, or women of the sea, whose role as ocean hunter-gatherers has long given them special status in a Korean culture dominated by men. These women on a group of islands south of the South Korean mainland have turned tradition on its head.

 

For decades, divers here have groomed their daughters for a life at sea. They teach them how to conserve oxygen to extend their dives and stress the importance of working in groups, like a herd of watchful seals, vigilant against shark attacks, rip currents and marauding motorboats that buzz the surface.

 

The diving, with its daily hazards and emphasis on teamwork, has molded the women into a cohesive group that has often gathered by the campfire with the day's catch to make decisions about village politics.

 

But this matriarchal way of life is now in peril. Modern fishing boats that encroach on their catching grounds have reduced the number of shellfish, forcing the haenyeo farther out to sea, leaving them less time to dive.

 

The diminished catch has made the profession a struggle for survival. Nowadays, the women are able to gather only enough catch to feed their families, with a bit left over to sell to tourists. Shellfish that once was sent to ports such as Japan now stays at home. And, lured away by careers on the mainland, fewer daughters are diving.

 

The number of haenyeo has plummeted by two-thirds in just a few decades, from 15,000 in the 1970s to slightly more than 5,000 today. on Mara Island, about the size of an 18-hole golf course with a full-time population of 80 residents, the number has dropped from 15 to seven.

 

At 33, Kim is the youngest haenyeo in South Korea, where half the divers are older than 70 and 90% are least 50. She isn't diving for the money; Kim makes her living by running a restaurant. But following the lead of her mother, aunt and grandmother, she spends most mornings learning an ancient haenyeo trade that connects her to her ancestors.

 

"It's now or never," she said. one day, the elders will be gone, and the sea will be mine alone. I want to learn all I can while there's still time. So I can teach the other women who might one day come."

 

On this morning, a typhoon is gathering 1,000 miles to the south and the swirling currents already thrash angrily. Even with only four years' experience, Kim knows the sea is dangerous enough without bad weather.

 

As she struggles to put on her wetsuit cap, her aunt, Kim Choun-geum, 56, appears. The older woman patiently assists her niece, whispering words of encouragement. Then student and mentor slip into the churning water to join the others.

 

*

 

◀ At 33, Kim Jae-yeon, left, is the youngest of South Korea’s haenyeo, or women of the sea. She takes to the water with her aunt, Kim Choun-geum, from whom she is learning the diving craft. John M. Glionna, Los Angeles Times / October 27, 2010

 

The haenyeo tradition dates back hundreds of years, handed down from mother to daughter, glorified in folk tales and songs. Some say women's body fat enabled them to better endure the cold waters. Others say they're just better divers than the men.

 

Even now, no man would dream of taking to the waters with the divers. This skill, they know, is women's work, so they stay out of the way.

 

On these isolated islands, the women are often the breadwinners while the men stay at home to raise the children. The divorce rate is higher here than on the mainland, perhaps driven by the can-do spirit of women who grow weary of spouses who don't pull their weight. The haenyeo have the final word on major decisions.

 

Like the earliest female sea divers in neighboring Japan, the Korean haenyeo once wore only flimsy cotton gowns that offered no protection against the bone-chilling cold. Working in groups, they pushed makeshift collection nets attached to a surface buoy while diving dozens of times a day, using iron picks and scythes to pry loose the shells from rocks as deep as 60 feet or more. They didn't believe in overfishing, harvesting just enough to get by.

 

They eventually donned wetsuits, but there's one modern convenience the haenyeo have shunned: oxygen tanks, which would allow them to exhaust the catch too soon.

 

Despite their caution, accidents are common. Each year a handful of divers die in shark attacks or by drowning. The work also takes a long-term health toll. Like many older haenyeo, Kim's grandmother, Byun Chun-ok, 84, suffers from ear and lung problems. Her joints still ache years after leaving the water for good.

 

Kim's aunt, Kim Choun-geum, is fully aware of the dangers of her job. one mistake and the ocean will kill you," she said. "Our rule is to never get greedy." Although South Korean officials pledge to help preserve the haenyeo's livelihood, the women say they need financial assistance for child care and medical checkups.

 

"You can't change depleted resources overnight," said Ham Chun-bo, director of the Haenyeo Museum on Jeju, the main island in the chain. "And even with good policies, you can't force young women to take up this job."

 

*

 

Kim Jae-yeon never planned on becoming a sea woman. She grew up on Mara, the kind of place where the unstaffed convenience store still features an honor system. But she fled to attend college on Jeju Island, and later met her husband, Park Hyung-il. Eventually, after a series of failed businesses, the couple returned to Mara. For Kim, then 29, coming home was life-changing.

 

One day, while accompanying her aunt into the water, Kim's eyes opened to the sea's allure. After the stress of working office jobs on Jeju, she felt a jolt of freedom. She started out with the easiest task, collecting seaweed in shallow waters. But even that exhausted her. "Every day I was so tired I'd vomit," she recalled. "The sea is not an easy place to make a living. I came to respect my elders for their survival skills."

 

She learned that her grandmother was once the island's best diver, who could go the deepest, stay submerged the longest and return with the biggest catch. She heard stories of how the women of her grandmother's day never complained about the cold or danger, instead telling jokes and singing songs to pass the time.

 

After hauling in their daily catch, the women would sit around a campfire at the beach and discuss village business or compliment one another's fishing skills or bravery in the water that day. It was a simpler, self-sufficient life that Kim wanted for herself.

 

Although she makes most of her salary from the restaurant, Kim developed the quiet swagger of a haenyeo, bringing home twice as much money as her husband, a coastal preservation worker on Jeju. "Sometimes it irritates me," Park said. "When we argue, she plays the money card, just like a veteran haenyeo would do."

 

As their profession wanes, the sea women are returning to a more traditional role. "Eventually we'll give up our power and become like any other Korean woman," Kim Choun-geum said. "That's sad."

 

But for as long as she can, Kim Jae-yeon, South Korea's youngest haenyeo, will watch her elders to absorb the lessons of the deep. She feels guilty knowing many ignore their own dives to show her the way.

 

One day, Kim hopes to herself be a teacher to a new generation of haenyeo. She awaits the day her 8-year-old daughter is ready to go to sea. "I'm already teaching her how to dive," she said. "Whether she wants to become a haenyeo will be up to her."

 

john.glionna@latimes.com

Ethan Kim of The Times' Seoul Bureau contributed to this report.

Copyright © 2010, Los Angeles Times