Last week I was in the Korean Demilitarized Zone, the security strip that divides the two Koreas. A strip established in 1953 that measures 4 km wide and 238 km long. It is a zone free of army personnel, almost unpopulated by civilians and designed for military containment. During the visit I asked a question to the guide who accompanied us and who at that moment shared some macroeconomic and social data about North Korea: Are the people of that country happy?
I’m probably not the first person to ask you that question, but it must not be very common for you to ask it either. She was silent for a few moments, mulling over my question and weighing her response. After a few moments, she composed herself, and told me that happiness was something internal and that it meant something different to each person. Faced with my obvious face of feigned dissatisfaction with that answer, she tried to give me a little more context about North Korea, but without specifically delving into my question.
Minutes later he introduced us to a political exile from the totalitarian state led by Kim Jong Un, who had escaped from North Korea a few years earlier. His journey, where he traveled separately from his wife and daughter, was long and painful. After a tour of several countries, he was able to reach Seoul, where he lives today with his family.
During the conversation with the former Pyongyang resident, a 52-year-old man, he shared with us his experience of life in North Korea. He told us how he, his wife and his daughter enjoyed a high social and economic level thanks to his father’s high military rank. As we listened attentively to his stories, he eventually revealed why he decided to escape the country. As if she had been present when I asked the question to our guide, she explained that the decision was based primarily on the desire to provide her daughter with an environment where she could freely make her own decisions: what to study, where to live, what to work on, or with whom. get marry. That’s what, she revealed, happiness means to him. Her ability, as a legitimate human being in this world, to be able to make her own decisions freely.
So, why does what for some means a country where they can be happy, for others it represents an oppressive and unhappy environment? Last week, in this same space, I addressed the social and economic miracle that turned South Korea, despite having been devastated by a civil war and with few natural resources, into one of the main technological and economic powers in the world. With a vibrant private sector, a skilled workforce and world-class infrastructure, on average 36 people commit suicide every day in this country.
In 2021, South Korea recorded the highest suicide rate among OECD countries, with approximately 13,000 people dying (Statista, 2024). Over the last two decades, this figure has doubled, reaching 26 deaths per 100,000 inhabitants in 2022. This phenomenon, which places suicide as the sixth cause of death in the country, affects both elderly men as well as young people, being since 2011 the main cause of death among people between 10 and 24 years old.
A few days after visiting the Demilitarized Zone, I asked our guide why the suicide rate in South Korea was so high, especially among young people. This time he answered me unambiguously: because we have focused only on getting out of poverty, on producing more and generating wealth.
A dynamic country with a remarkably positive global reputation faces social contradictions that create a paradox. Despite the imposing and modern buildings, airports, public transportation and urban infrastructure that reflect the power of the nation, citizens live with stress, isolation, repressed emotions and deep dissatisfaction.
A nation considered an opportunity to make a new life for some must learn to prioritize the socialization and well-being of its citizens. Today South Korea is a deeply unhappy country.
Epilogue.- Following the article I wrote in these pages last week, a kind reader shared the following with me: “For those who like music, philosophy, psychology and literature: BTS has a collection of albums that are mainly based on ‘Demian’ by Hermann Hesse and, along with this, they incorporate ideas from Jung, Nietzsche, Ursula K. Le Guin and others. In particular, their “protest” song ‘Spring Day’ references Le Guin’s ‘Those Who Leave Omelas’, in memory of the sinking of the MV Sewol ferry carrying students. There are very interesting analyzes of many of his lyrics in Bangtan Universe (BU).”
The author is a Doctor of Philosophy, founder of Human Leader, Partner-Director of Think Talent, and Chair Professor at ITESM.
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