TOPIK Hoax: My Experience Learning Korean from a Cult
Written and photographed by Isaiah Winters
Cult members are all around if you just know where to look. I’m not talking about the local Seventh Day Adventists who run the tasty vegetarian buffet downtown, or the Jehovah’s Witnesses who stand outside the immigration center and smile at passersby. Heck, I’m not even talking about the pairs of nice young “elders” who pound the pavement of Gwangju and give free English lessons on behalf of the Mormon Church. What I’m talking about are the local cult members who don’t even have the decency to be upfront about the craziness they represent – the ones who reach out to strangers and take advantage of them under entirely false pretenses.
A good case in point is the time when I was approached at the YMCA bus stop downtown by two women offering me free Korean language tutoring. It was obviously a ruse, but I couldn’t resist the chance to get a good story and learn some Korean for free. They asked for my phone number and soon set me up with a tutor in my area. My tutor, a married woman in her late 30s, claimed to be an English academy teacher and said this program was just a way of fostering more positive exchanges between Koreans and foreigners. She gave no further detail, save that she did this on a volunteer basis. She first had me take a TOPIK listening test on her laptop and then we spent the rest of the hour free talking in Korean. We would repeat this routine every Saturday morning for the next six weeks.
I was surprised by how long she kept up the façade until, suddenly, the mask began to slip. At the end of our penultimate meeting, she asked me if I’d do her a favor and sign a benign-sounding online petition that vaguely dealt with peace between North and South Korea. When asked to elaborate, she said it was being done by a women’s group for international peace, which to me sounded almost meaninglessly broad in scope. She also asked me to share it with all my foreign coworkers and try to get them to sign it, too – but not the Korean ones. I lied and said I would. After she sent me a link to the petition, I researched the benevolent-sounding group and soon found the cult it fronted. Though I won’t bother to call the cult out directly, I’ll just say that its leader is still very much alive and well – some might even say eternally so.
On the following weekend, we chatted for a while in Korean like usual until she finally mentioned the elephant in the room: Had I shown the petition to my coworkers, and had they signed it? I lied and said they weren’t interested in anything political, so they didn’t sign it. Here my tutor grew visibly annoyed – the first time I’d seen anything but smiles from her in a month and a half. “Why won’t they sign it?” she asked sharply. “It’s about peace, not politics.” I responded that it just wasn’t their thing, but my tutor remained miffed throughout the rest of our meeting. I was relieved when we parted. Coincidentally, the following week I had to change my phone number for an unrelated reason, so that gave me an easy out. I never saw her again.
In retrospect, I’ve noticed a few interesting things that were at play during those six weeks. First was that the cult specifically approached a foreigner, someone who was likely separated from family and looking for a new social circle. Next, an expensive service was offered free of charge with the aim of making the lucky recipient feel a bit guilty and thus keen to return any favors. When a favor was inevitably asked, it was so small and easy that going the extra mile to return it seemed fair, effectively turning the lucky recipient into an eager recruiter. In sum, an intentional guilt trip was being leveraged for recruitment purposes, all within the context of a fake friendship.
What was most disgusting about this whole farce was the mockery it made of genuine human interaction, as both she and I were fakers from the start. For her, the whole six-week process effectively amounted to a failed signature collecting scheme, and it sadly revealed how much her cult valued a few foreign signatures over all the time and effort she’d put into our sham friendship. For me, I admittedly milked the exchange for what it was worth, improving my Korean for only the cost of a weekly cup of coffee, despite knowing it was all a hoax. Looking back, I guess the experience was a bit degrading for both of us. Ergo, I don’t recommend you try it yourself, even if the allure of a good story and free Korean lessons makes it seem worthwhile.
If there’s one thing worth taking away from this article, it’s the old cliché that if something sounds too good to be true, it probably is. Cults and scam artists engage in all sorts of similar schemes, from offering free taekwondo classes to inviting foreigners to take part in traditional ceremonies (that they later get charged for). There are even bizarre scams where a person claims to be able to put you in touch with deceased family members (for a price). Regarding the latter, a Korean acquaintance of mine once got approached at a bus stop by a woman who claimed she could see an aura around him, and that it was his deceased relative, “the one who had multiple sclerosis,” trying to contact him. He just so happens to have a deceased relative who had that very disease, so the scam artist’s numbers game nearly suckered him in. In short, beware of excessive serendipity.
Ultimately, scams, cults, and proselytizing will always be with us in one form or another, so it’s good to stay alert when approached on the streets. I admit that the latter of these three doesn’t bother me so much, so long as the proselytizers are upfront about the religion they represent. This frankness becomes all the more important for promoters of fringe religions whose teachings often lead to social stigma and ostracism when publically followed. But as far as scam artists and cult members are concerned, if they don’t have the decency to be upfront from the start, then they deserve the figurative finger.
The Author
Originally from Southern California, Isaiah is a Gwangju-based urban explorer who enjoys writing about the City of Light’s lesser-known quarters. When he’s not roaming the streets and writing about his experiences, he’s usually working or fulfilling his duties as the Gwangju News’ heavily caffeinated chief proofreader.