Making Protests Fun
Mekong Review, February 2025, Issue 38(Seoul)
By Seulki Lee
How does one save the world against evil with little more than one’s own imagination? When faced with hopeless nonsense from the political leadership, what can one do with their writing?
In 2008, the science fiction writer HONG Jee-woon wrote a short story titled ‘대통령 항문에 사보타주 (Sabotage in the President’s Anus)’. When I meet him on 28 December 2024 near the Constitutional Court in Seoul where Koreans have gathered to protest every Saturday since 3 December—the day President Yoon Suk Yeol briefly declared martial law—he tells me about what motivated him to write this story: “In Korean, there’s a colloquial expression that translates roughly to ‘talking nonsense’ or, more literally, ‘spouting crap from one’s mouth’. My approach to science fiction often revolves around exploring what it would feel like if such idiomatic expressions became real in the world. That’s the idea that inspired this work.”
‘Sabotage in the President’s Anus’ was written during the Lee Myung-bak administration (2008–2013). During his time in office, Lee, the seventeenth president of the Republic of Korea, made many remarks that struck HONG as deeply self-contradictory—so much so that they seemed to perfectly embody the idiom of “spouting crap from one’s mouth”. In the story, the president has literally started to excrete shit from his mouth instead of his anus. Enraged by this usurpation of its role, the anus protests against the president. Instead of addressing the issue, the president and his bureaucrats engage in cover-ups, trying to ignore the existence of the problematic orifice. HONG opens the story outrageously, grabbing attention from the get-go: “The president sat on the toilet. It had been a while since he last did so. He hardly had the time to visit the bathroom, let alone feel the need, as he had been busy creating unnecessary work, leaving him with barely four hours of sleep a day.”
At one point in the story, HONG writes that “the anus is a communist”. It’s a reference to how some groups in the country weaponise the label “communist” to delegitimise their opponents. “Even if you’re simply quoting what’s written in the Constitution, you’re labelled a communist,” HONG says. He asks himself “what’s so bad about being a communist, anyway?” but recognises that it’s become a tool for exaggeration, distortion and defamation, used to serve the interests of the ruling elite. Powerful people have exploited the historical pain and trauma associated with communism to vilify and marginalise others. When it came to his story, HONG wanted to turn the tables and give the ruling elite a taste of their own medicine, even if only in fiction.
There are times when reality cruelly reminds us how little things have changed. When Yoon declared emergency martial law, he cited the need to defend South Korea from “shameless pro-North Korean anti-state forces”. In another televised address nine days later, Yoon spoke of “criminal groups” and referenced, without evidence, alleged hacking by North Korea into South Korea’s National Election Commission.
None of this surprised HONG. His story was inspired by Lee (later convicted of bribery, tax evasion and embezzlement that occurred during his presidency), published in a book during the administration of Park Geun-hye (who was impeached and later imprisoned for offences including corruption and abuse of power) and republished last year, during Yoon’s administration. As one of his colleagues said to him: “Even now, [your story] doesn’t feel out of place and that’s just so frustrating.”
HONG’s wife says he excels at describing clueless ‘boomer’-like old men. “I think that compliment stuck with me because I do have a knack for capturing such characters,” he says. “Hearing the same things being repeated felt like watching the predictable behaviour of people I already knew all too well. It all just seemed like a tedious repetition of the same old patterns.”
But repetition can have its own power. The way HONG sees it, by the time South Korean society moved into the Yoon era, political leaders had begun to believe their own lies. What started as fabrications designed to manipulate others seems to have gained control over them, too; politicians have become trapped in their own falsehoods, unable to escape. Yoon’s claim of election hacking by North Korea, for instance, is a right-wing conspiracy theory that has gained traction despite there being no basis for such claims.
“That realisation hit me hard,” HONG says. “And this doesn’t seem to just be an issue with Yoon as an individual—his errors, distortions or perceptions. It feels like the entire far-right faction has become trapped in this worldview.”
In the past, the state was actively involved in paying opaque groups to manipulate public sentiment through popular platforms like YouTube. Things have evolved: content creators can now run and monetise their own channels, generating momentum and earning money by spreading hatred and distorted narratives. State funding is no longer necessary; the fake news ecosystem is now self-propagating.
“This self-perpetuation leads them to influence each other, turning their viewers, and themselves, into fools,” HONG says. “What began as an effort to manipulate and deceive others has created an environment where the manipulators themselves have fallen victim to their own lies. Watching this grotesque scene of people descending into ignorance—one feeding off the other—is absolutely horrifying.”
I ask if HONG worries about retaliation for his work, since he’s basically accusing powerful people of talking shit and having anuses for mouths. He doesn’t hesitate: “I’m a US citizen. I figured the worst case scenario would be deportation or visa denial but not imprisonment. That feels like a safety net for me.” He doesn’t seem particularly bothered by the prospect of being blacklisted and blocked from government funding, as other artists and writers—like Bong Joon-ho, the celebrated director of Parasite, or Han Kang, winner of a Nobel Prize in Literature—have been.
HONG writes fast and seldom edits or rewrites his work. It’s in total contrast to Kim Bo-young, a fellow science fiction writer who might tinker with a single piece for years. “I once joked with Kim that I wished my work could be propaganda—something people read for two weeks and then completely forget about,” HONG tells me. “We laughed about it and she nodded, saying, ‘That does sound like something HONG Jee-woon would say.’ She left it at that.”
That had been the intention behind ‘Sabotage in the President’s Anus’: “I wanted it to be something that people might read for two weeks, something that could be mentioned casually at a protest like, ‘Hey, there’s this book out there’, and then disappear entirely.”
The opposite has happened; it’s found new resonance. HONG’s publisher has produced hundreds of copies of his story—in a fold-out, black-and-red design mimicking advertisements—for him to distribute at protests. The day Yoon declared martial law, HONG also made the story available for free via a Google Doc.
“I personally feel that a writer’s responsibility isn’t just to endlessly ask questions and reflect,” he says. “I want to deliver clear messages because that’s who I am. Not everyone can focus solely on asking questions; sometimes someone has to provide an answer, even if it’s not the ultimate one. My answers aren’t meant to be universal truths, of course, that’s impossible.”
It’s clear that HONG’s goal is to criticise the president. But he also wants to do it with humour—fighting authoritarianism with a smile and some jokes in the mix. Defending democracy is important work, but HONG also wants it to be fun and engaging.
Most creative programmes in South Korea still focus on literature or creative writing. HONG, who teaches at Chungkang College of Cultural Industries, believes that teaching and studying genre fiction—like science fiction, fantasy, web novels and other popular commercial works—is more important than ever. “I believe we are more attuned to the pulse of the era. That’s the emphasis of our programme [at the college]: creating works that resonate with both the present and the broader audience.”
After our interview, HONG leaves the café clutching his handouts and a Star Wars lightsaber. He’s acutely aware of how pop culture and subcultures have seeped into the protests. “At these protests, you’ll often find people waving otaku flags,” he says. “Many of them share a common narrative: they’ve been inspired by stories where the protagonist sacrifices themselves for justice and saves others. They come with this mindset of ‘it’s okay if I sacrifice myself’, shaped by the stories they’ve embraced.
“This shift in mindset is, I believe, a crucial part of the current protest culture, the twenty-first-century content market and even the movements of citizens. It’s why you see people at protests carrying lightsabers, waving [K-pop] lightsticks or crafting flags inspired by their favourite works. It’s an embodiment of how deeply personal passion can drive collective action.
To read original article: CLICK HERE
In 2008, the science fiction writer HONG Jee-woon wrote a short story titled ‘대통령 항문에 사보타주 (Sabotage in the President’s Anus)’. When I meet him on 28 December 2024 near the Constitutional Court in Seoul where Koreans have gathered to protest every Saturday since 3 December—the day President Yoon Suk Yeol briefly declared martial law—he tells me about what motivated him to write this story: “In Korean, there’s a colloquial expression that translates roughly to ‘talking nonsense’ or, more literally, ‘spouting crap from one’s mouth’. My approach to science fiction often revolves around exploring what it would feel like if such idiomatic expressions became real in the world. That’s the idea that inspired this work.”
‘Sabotage in the President’s Anus’ was written during the Lee Myung-bak administration (2008–2013). During his time in office, Lee, the seventeenth president of the Republic of Korea, made many remarks that struck HONG as deeply self-contradictory—so much so that they seemed to perfectly embody the idiom of “spouting crap from one’s mouth”. In the story, the president has literally started to excrete shit from his mouth instead of his anus. Enraged by this usurpation of its role, the anus protests against the president. Instead of addressing the issue, the president and his bureaucrats engage in cover-ups, trying to ignore the existence of the problematic orifice. HONG opens the story outrageously, grabbing attention from the get-go: “The president sat on the toilet. It had been a while since he last did so. He hardly had the time to visit the bathroom, let alone feel the need, as he had been busy creating unnecessary work, leaving him with barely four hours of sleep a day.”
At one point in the story, HONG writes that “the anus is a communist”. It’s a reference to how some groups in the country weaponise the label “communist” to delegitimise their opponents. “Even if you’re simply quoting what’s written in the Constitution, you’re labelled a communist,” HONG says. He asks himself “what’s so bad about being a communist, anyway?” but recognises that it’s become a tool for exaggeration, distortion and defamation, used to serve the interests of the ruling elite. Powerful people have exploited the historical pain and trauma associated with communism to vilify and marginalise others. When it came to his story, HONG wanted to turn the tables and give the ruling elite a taste of their own medicine, even if only in fiction.
There are times when reality cruelly reminds us how little things have changed. When Yoon declared emergency martial law, he cited the need to defend South Korea from “shameless pro-North Korean anti-state forces”. In another televised address nine days later, Yoon spoke of “criminal groups” and referenced, without evidence, alleged hacking by North Korea into South Korea’s National Election Commission.
None of this surprised HONG. His story was inspired by Lee (later convicted of bribery, tax evasion and embezzlement that occurred during his presidency), published in a book during the administration of Park Geun-hye (who was impeached and later imprisoned for offences including corruption and abuse of power) and republished last year, during Yoon’s administration. As one of his colleagues said to him: “Even now, [your story] doesn’t feel out of place and that’s just so frustrating.”
HONG’s wife says he excels at describing clueless ‘boomer’-like old men. “I think that compliment stuck with me because I do have a knack for capturing such characters,” he says. “Hearing the same things being repeated felt like watching the predictable behaviour of people I already knew all too well. It all just seemed like a tedious repetition of the same old patterns.”
But repetition can have its own power. The way HONG sees it, by the time South Korean society moved into the Yoon era, political leaders had begun to believe their own lies. What started as fabrications designed to manipulate others seems to have gained control over them, too; politicians have become trapped in their own falsehoods, unable to escape. Yoon’s claim of election hacking by North Korea, for instance, is a right-wing conspiracy theory that has gained traction despite there being no basis for such claims.
“That realisation hit me hard,” HONG says. “And this doesn’t seem to just be an issue with Yoon as an individual—his errors, distortions or perceptions. It feels like the entire far-right faction has become trapped in this worldview.”
In the past, the state was actively involved in paying opaque groups to manipulate public sentiment through popular platforms like YouTube. Things have evolved: content creators can now run and monetise their own channels, generating momentum and earning money by spreading hatred and distorted narratives. State funding is no longer necessary; the fake news ecosystem is now self-propagating.
“This self-perpetuation leads them to influence each other, turning their viewers, and themselves, into fools,” HONG says. “What began as an effort to manipulate and deceive others has created an environment where the manipulators themselves have fallen victim to their own lies. Watching this grotesque scene of people descending into ignorance—one feeding off the other—is absolutely horrifying.”
I ask if HONG worries about retaliation for his work, since he’s basically accusing powerful people of talking shit and having anuses for mouths. He doesn’t hesitate: “I’m a US citizen. I figured the worst case scenario would be deportation or visa denial but not imprisonment. That feels like a safety net for me.” He doesn’t seem particularly bothered by the prospect of being blacklisted and blocked from government funding, as other artists and writers—like Bong Joon-ho, the celebrated director of Parasite, or Han Kang, winner of a Nobel Prize in Literature—have been.
HONG writes fast and seldom edits or rewrites his work. It’s in total contrast to Kim Bo-young, a fellow science fiction writer who might tinker with a single piece for years. “I once joked with Kim that I wished my work could be propaganda—something people read for two weeks and then completely forget about,” HONG tells me. “We laughed about it and she nodded, saying, ‘That does sound like something HONG Jee-woon would say.’ She left it at that.”
That had been the intention behind ‘Sabotage in the President’s Anus’: “I wanted it to be something that people might read for two weeks, something that could be mentioned casually at a protest like, ‘Hey, there’s this book out there’, and then disappear entirely.”
The opposite has happened; it’s found new resonance. HONG’s publisher has produced hundreds of copies of his story—in a fold-out, black-and-red design mimicking advertisements—for him to distribute at protests. The day Yoon declared martial law, HONG also made the story available for free via a Google Doc.
“I personally feel that a writer’s responsibility isn’t just to endlessly ask questions and reflect,” he says. “I want to deliver clear messages because that’s who I am. Not everyone can focus solely on asking questions; sometimes someone has to provide an answer, even if it’s not the ultimate one. My answers aren’t meant to be universal truths, of course, that’s impossible.”
It’s clear that HONG’s goal is to criticise the president. But he also wants to do it with humour—fighting authoritarianism with a smile and some jokes in the mix. Defending democracy is important work, but HONG also wants it to be fun and engaging.
Most creative programmes in South Korea still focus on literature or creative writing. HONG, who teaches at Chungkang College of Cultural Industries, believes that teaching and studying genre fiction—like science fiction, fantasy, web novels and other popular commercial works—is more important than ever. “I believe we are more attuned to the pulse of the era. That’s the emphasis of our programme [at the college]: creating works that resonate with both the present and the broader audience.”
After our interview, HONG leaves the café clutching his handouts and a Star Wars lightsaber. He’s acutely aware of how pop culture and subcultures have seeped into the protests. “At these protests, you’ll often find people waving otaku flags,” he says. “Many of them share a common narrative: they’ve been inspired by stories where the protagonist sacrifices themselves for justice and saves others. They come with this mindset of ‘it’s okay if I sacrifice myself’, shaped by the stories they’ve embraced.
“This shift in mindset is, I believe, a crucial part of the current protest culture, the twenty-first-century content market and even the movements of citizens. It’s why you see people at protests carrying lightsabers, waving [K-pop] lightsticks or crafting flags inspired by their favourite works. It’s an embodiment of how deeply personal passion can drive collective action.
To read original article: CLICK HERE