Grudge Match

-#include virtual="/time/worldcup2002/includes/0527m_stories.htm"-->Much is made of the healing power of sport—how simple games with unambiguous outcomes can modulate unhealthy rivalry and turn hatred into understanding. With that in mind, the World Cup's managing body assigned Japan and South Korea—two countries with a long history of mutual anti-pathy—to co-host the finals. This was supposed to encourage reconciliation. It was more like inviting porcupines to slam dance. Officials have wasted a lot of organizational energy arguing over inconsequential details, such as what to name the mascots, and reaching awkward compromises. There will be no joint opening and closing ceremonies, for example. Finding they have nothing in common to promote, officials resolved that the opener should showcase Korean culture, while the closing will be a Japan-only affair.

Until recently, you could sum up the feud between the two countries like this: Koreans resent Japanese for subjugating and humiliating them during Japan's colonial occupation of the peninsula, which lasted from 1910 to 1945; Japanese consider Koreans to be louts and bumpkins, and moreover can't understand why bygones can't be bygones. The enmity has become ritualized. Whenever Japanese Prime Minister Junichiro Koizumi placates his country's ultra-conservatives by honoring war dead at Yasukuni Shrine, there is an angry protest from Koreans still smarting from atrocities visited on their country by war criminals. And then Koizumi makes the pilgrimage anyway.

Yet, outside political and diplomatic circles where face is paramount, the gulf is being closed. The people of Japan and Korea—who are linguistically similar and ethnically nearly identical—are experiencing a period of unprecedented cultural cross-pollination. A generation of young Japanese has discovered Korea's increasingly vibrant pop scene. Korean singer BoA outsold all Japanese artists in March. Instead of touring Europe, Japanese women these days are just as likely to visit Seoul to have a massage and shop.

Meanwhile, Korea's youth, for whom the trendy present is more relevant than the remote past, sop up Japanese exports such as comic books, animated movies and video games. "The Japanese did us wrong in the past," says 20-year-old Lee Ho Yun as she sips a coffee at a Seoul cafE catering to Japanese manga and animE fans. "That doesn't mean we still have to hate Japan." During the occupation, Japan forced Koreans to take Japanese names, part of an attempt to stamp out Korean identity. Today Lee and her friends adopt Japanese nicknames for fun. She calls herself Izumi, because "it sounds pretty."

The increased exchange can in part be ascribed to the easing of governmental barriers designed to prevent cultural "pollution." Korea banned imports of Japanese movies, music and other material until 1998. That year, Japan's then-Prime Minister Keizo Obuchi signed a written apology for subjugating Koreans, and Korea's President Kim Dae Jung agreed to a gradual lifting of the restrictions. Today most Japanese video games and movies can be imported legally. Game console software and songs with Japanese lyrics are still officially banned but are widely available.

A stronger reason for cultural dEtente is Korea's newfound socioeconomic parity. Even Koreans will admit their lingering resentment is tinged with envy of a neighbor that seemed to be so impossibly rich and successful. But in the past several years, the peninsula has come up in the world. Korea's economy is soaring while Japan's stagnates. Korean companies that once copied Japanese electronic gadgets are growing fast and developing global brands. Samsung Electronics earned $2.1 billion last year, more than Sony and the other top five Japanese electronics makers combined. Korea had the best-performing stock market in the world in 2001. The country is a leader in its adoption of digital technology. At the end of 2001, more than half of Korea's households were using broadband, compared with less than 5% of Japan's, and the former's prowess at wireless communications rivals the latter's. "Korea is becoming more mature and confident as a nation and Japan is beginning to appreciate Korea for its achievements" says Lee Jung Hoon, who teaches Japan-Korean relations at Yonsei University in Seoul. "The momentum is there for a much-improved relationship."

Before, it was as if the cultural current flowed in only one direction, Japan to Korea. Today the polarity has been reversed. Now that they are being exposed to modern Korean aesthetics, Japanese are finding it harder to nurse stereotypes and prejudices. Recent Korean films such as Shiri (Shuri in Japanese) and Joint Security Area—slick, sophisticated takes on the conflict between North and South Korea—were huge hits in Japan. Korean stars regularly appear on television and K-pop is heard over the airwaves. Now that the poor cousin's fortunes are rising, it's O.K. to sample the cuisine. Japanese watch kimchi cooking programs and shop in specialty stores offering numerous brands of Korea's notoriously fiery pickles. Says Hosaka Yuji, an expert on Korea-Japan relations at Sejong University in Seoul: "Mass culture has taught Japanese things they weren't taught in the textbooks."

With only the Sea of Japan (the East Sea if you're Korean) separating them, direct contact through tourism is also on the rise. Almost 2.4 million Japanese traveled to Korea in 2000, more than double the number of annual visits a decade ago. When she was in high school, Reina Ashibe thought Koreans were scary because they spoke so bluntly. A school trip to the country in 1998 changed that. When Ashibe arrived with 120 classmates at a high school in Seoul, they were welcomed with banners and loud cheering. Paired with a Korean student, Ashibe discovered her counterpart knew more about Japanese pop singers and movie stars than she did. The two ended up visiting an amusement park together and became friends. Now 21, Ashibe is so hooked on the place she's studying Korean history at Hitotsubashi University in Tokyo. "It was a nice big surprise that I could make friends there," she says. "When you actually meet them, they are very warm and kind."

Still, relationships in general remain guarded. While nearly 70% of Japanese feel affinity for Korea, only 35% of Koreans say they have a warm spot for the Japanese, according to a poll by Japan's Mainichi Shimbun and Korea's Chosun Ilbo. Diplomatic rows seem certain to flare up regularly for the foreseeable future. The latest incident occurred this month when Chinese guards entered the Japanese consulate in the Chinese city of Shenyang and seized five North Koreans seeking asylum in the compound. Japan maintains the Chinese barged in without permission but many Koreans are convinced Japan left the door unlocked to avoid angering Beijing, North Korea's closest ally. There was a collective sense that Japan had let Korea down again. Criticism has been muted only so as not to spoil bonhomie during the World Cup.

Lee Jun Won, a member of a Seoul punk/ska band that features a Japanese trumpet player, says whenever their conversations turn to politics "there is always a tiny little tension." The trumpeter, Jin Toshio, says he feels comfortable living and working in Seoul nonetheless. When he goes drinking with his bandmates, he says, it's easy to find something in common. "With soccer and music," he says, "it isn't hard to make friends." Maybe there is something to the healing power of sport after all.