Leap Day 1996
Dear __[everyone]__,
Forgive, please, the form-letterness of this communication. It is a form letter (actually, at the moment it is a file being created on HangeulWordPerfect). It is not intended as a devaluation of any correspondence we have thus far engaged upon (or, as the case may be, not engaged upon). It is for the sake of mass communication, and to avoid unnecessarily repeating myself, that I do this. That said, read on.
I do not yet know what will be the outcome of the situation herein to be presented. However, if you have received this letter, then know that the long wait for resolution has ended and I am most likely on my way (perhaps circuitously) home.
I may have to leave Korea. Last Friday (it is now Thursday), agents from the office of Immigration came to the school to question me. They did not really need any answers, as they had them all. The purpose of their visit was to serve me with a subpoena (?) and to take possession of my passport. Flashback: When I was invited to Korea and applied for a visa, it was with the aid of the contract that I had signed with one Oh Gui-ja, of Nam Inch'on Foreign Language Institute. Oh Gui-ja is the wife of the man you may have heard referred to, Mr. IM. She is also, apparently, the money behind his educatory empire. The Ims own four extracurricular schools (hakwons): Nam Inch'on, which neither I nor any of my American co-employees have even seen; Olympiad Hakwon, where I have worked since my arrival here; Kwangyo-Dong Olympiad, where Duke (whose visa is also for Nam Inch'on) has worked; and Segyero Hakwon, where Link (also, whose visa is for Nam Inch'on) works. I suppose the bosses thought that, as they owned all of the schools, it wouldn't be a problem to move us from one place to another.
Within our first 90 days in country, we went to the Immigration office to register for our green cards (here, they're actually blue booklets), as is required by law. On that day we (and the boss) discovered that we couldn't simply have our alien registration cards say we worked one place (where we actually did) when our contract said something else. So we registered for Nam Inch'on (and, so far, I've still got the blue card to prove it!). The boss was given the impression that it was simply a matter of forms and processing to get the place of employment changed. Accordingly, in the months that have followed, he has made repeated trips to the immigration office, and wined and dined with numerous officials there, in an effort to have us legally registered. We, the wide-eyed Americans, were told not to worry.
Thus it continued, until last Friday. Our first interpretation of the event was that more officials at immigration were hungry, but it was really too big an affair for that. I was "busted" by three agents, Duke by three, Link by two and Oh Gui-ja by three. That's eleven people, and those only underlings. As, according to law, once we had received green cards we were no longer required to carry passports, none of us were carrying our passports. At school I was given a summons to appear at the office of Immigration the following morning at 9:30 (Duke and Link received similar ones). But they couldn't take my passport. So, I was obliged to go with the men to my house (missing my class but not minding too much for the excitement) where I delivered my passport into their keeping. Link and his entourage were there at the same time, and Duke and his group of agents arrived shortly after I left. Once they had my passport, they took me back to school to finish my classes. My question: Why, if it is illegal for me to work at Olympiad Hakwon, are you taking me back there to finish my work?" Sympathetic agent: "I cannot make a decision on your case until tomorrow."
That night we had a war meeting. The boss, his sidekick and our liaison (as it were - though sometimes we wish it were not), and we three. We were told not to worry, that it would all have been taken care of before we even arrived at immigration the next morning. And, if it had not been taken care of, the boss would be happy to go to court to have the law overturned. So we slept.
Next morning, no word before we had to leave. So we went there. It was a long morning, mostly waiting, but the occasional interaction with The Man. Our group demeanor was pretty good: Duke joked with them; Link tried to draw them into pleasant conversation and I, true to form, pointed out logical flaws in their procedure and was generally recalcitrant. As I said, it was a long morning. The gist of it is this: We are guilty of violating two points of the immigration code. These violations carry a maximum penalty of one year in prison of 5 million won fine. The boss can face a maximum of three years in prison and 10 million for each of us. I found out later that if the fine is under 1 million, I can immediately apply for a new visa; if 1-2 mil., I cannot apply for two years; 2-5 million won and I cannot reapply for five years (so, in a worst case scenario I can still come back for the 2002 World Cup ;-). But nothing was decided that day. The officials said that they would decide and let us know on Monday. On Monday, Tuesday; Tuesday, Wednesday; and so on. The only clue we have to the continuing struggle is the fatigue and loss of spirit in our boss, with whom we try to meet often, and the continued absence of our passports.
In the meantime, we are all still working.
But a decision must come before long (unless it is all a clever ruse on the part of our boss to keep from giving us our vacations; but that I doubt). The boss has said that he can probably get jobs in Japan for Link and I. Link is into the idea. I'm not so much. I'd like to try some time in Japan, but at this moment, I'm not at all interested in signing another year contract for ESL teaching anywhere. My thoughts have turned to home. So, if a decision comes through, and if I have to leave the country, I'm hoping not to just go straight back to D.C., but, rather, to take advantage of my starting position, 1/2way 'round the world from where I've ever been before, and do some travelling on the way home. If I can afford it.
As for the fines... Well, I expect the boss to pay for that. And even if he doesn't, I don't mind too much, because that kind of money has never been real to me. Although I have enough, it still isn't really real. But I don't expect to be paying it myself. And the boss doesn't seem too fazed by the figure he's facing.
There is some doubt in the minds of Link, Duke and Roy (our fourth housemate, whose contract and therefore visa says where he actually works) as to our actual guilt in this affair. Duke keeps talking about getting a lawyer, and about the broken laws being a matter of interpretation. They are not. I read the laws (and a few others) in an English language book of the Immigration Law one official kept shaking in our faces. We have, indeed, broken the laws that they are telling us that we've broken. There's no question. Roy says, "but it's not your fault," and Duke, grasping for hope, agrees. That much is true. It's not our fault; but it is our responsibility. We did not have the necessary knowledge of the laws or the language to change it, but we did break the laws. That's my tale. See you soon.
-- oomph