Every year following high school graduation, thousands of students receive a singular letter in the mail. Printed on the envelope is a navy and red swirl — an emblem reminiscent of the Korean flag. It’s from the Military Manpower Association.
It’s a letter of conscription.
I remember the day my mom came home one afternoon holding two of those letters — one for me and one for my twin. Receiving the letter was akin to a rite of passage: your dad got conscripted, your friend’s dad got conscripted and, if you’re lucky, you know a grandparent who fought in the Korean War who was also conscripted. But, everyone still dreads the day the letter arrives in the mail.
“어떻게, 우리 애들이 군대 벌써 가네,” (Oh, our kids are already going to the military) my mom sighed.
“그니까 …” (I know, right …) my dad exhaled.
“빡빡이 time!” (Time to go bald!) I joked.
“Oh my god,” My twin exclaimed, caressing the top of his head.
***
I live 35 miles from the Demilitarized Zone, one of the most heavily armed borders in the world. It’s a little discomforting living that close to the border, considering that I once woke up to an evacuation alert one early morning in May before coming to Michigan. “Seek shelter, this is not a drill,” flashed across my phone screen. I went back to sleep, having accepted my fate in the blink of an eye. Living under the continuous pressure of North Korea has been a long game of ebb and flow; I remember being in middle school, watching my friends and teachers swarming around a television to watch Kim Jong Un cross into South Korean territory for the inter-Korean summit. A year later, we watched Donald Trump shake hands with Kim in Vietnam. Then, in what felt like a blink of an eye, North Korea announced another round of weapons testing. Back to square one.
This has been going on for as long as I remember.
Still, any time North Korea is on the news, anxiety runs high. The North is the boy who cried missile, except nobody is unwise enough to ignore his cries. So while threats aren’t boldly printed on every headline, they’re definitely still burning in the back of the Korean psyche. But beyond the seven-decade war Korea is still technically fighting, my friends and family dread the military — not because of our enemies at the frontlines, but our allies in the barracks.
Korea has a notorious hazing culture in the military.
I know military hazing exists in virtually every military in the world, and I might just be “soft” and need to “be a man,” but every memory I’ve had seeing the military appear on the news was never for good reason: In 2014, an army sergeant killed five other members in a shooting spree; in 2018, a solider was found with a gunshot wound to his head in the bathroom at the DMZ an apparent suicide; in 2021, a female Air Force member was found dead after complaining about abuse; later that same May when I woke up to that evacuation notice, a soldier was found in critical condition after putting a bullet up his chin; in July, a Marine drowned after not being provided any safety equipment during rescue missions. Fortunately, similar cases were more frequent a decade ago, and cases have been declining ever since — even the “deserter pursuit” unit of the army was recently disbanded (there’s a great Netflix show called “D.P.” after this unit that’s a little dramatized but I still highly recommend it).
My twin’s knees, fortunately enough for him, are somehow decrepit enough to qualify him as a “Social Service Agent,” which basically means he gets to enjoy a warm bed and breakfast at home and commute to a library for an office job, while I’ll be in the middle of nowhere sleeping next to 10 other snoring baldies who also want to go home. Funny enough, my older brother and my dad were also social service agents, so I’m the only one who can say I’m “actually going to the army.” Exemption from the military is only possible by winning national or international awards: medaling in the Olympics, receiving gold in the Asian Games or being the greatest esports player of all time. I don’t have any world-class skills or attributes, and hey, if BTS can’t escape conscription, how can I?
So, what scares me more? North Korea or potential hazing from my superiors? I can’t pick my poison — maybe I’ll have to take both. With an already globally-charged political climate and a recent denouncement of reunification, the prospect of deployment feels closer than ever. And what better way to create hardened soldiers than through hazing? I don’t want to end up as another military tragedy or a statistic of war, but I suppose the least I can do is hope this is just another false cry of “missile.”
Another thought that saddens me about conscription is what it means for my college experience. Service is 18 months long (and 21 months for my twin — what a loser). By the time I get back, my roommate will have graduated early and the rest of my friends will be seniors. The upperclassmen I got to know around campus will have long graduated, hopefully working full-time jobs or miserably settling into graduate school. But hey, the Hadley Family Recreation and Well-Being Center will have finished construction and I’ll maybe have a full head of hair grown back by Winter 2026. At least I also know I’m not alone in this endeavor: a handful of my Korean friends here at the University are going, along with my friends at other universities and their friends and their friends at other universities, and so on and so forth.
After our 18 months are over, I suppose it’ll be like going to college again for the first time for all of us. I may have forgotten all I’ve learned in my introductory courses, but I will at least know how to handle a Daewoo K2, to endure tear gas, to throw grenades the right way and will have hopefully realized what I want to major in while crawling under some barbed wire. I don’t know how I might turn out after finishing my service: Will I end up as some emotionless, productive and stoic robot? Or will I hopefully just be a ripped version of my same self? Only time will tell. You apparently learn to unlearn and relearn the basics — everything you thought you already knew — walking, talking, folding your clothes. My older brother and his veteran friends say they come back to university with a surge of motivation, hoping to “catch up” with their now “older” friends who are now looking for jobs after graduation while you’re still taking some random course to satisfy your major requirements.
***
“아이고…” (Oh man…) my dad held the letter in his hands. “잘 갔다와!” (Have a nice trip!) he joked, patting me on the back.
My two older brothers erupted in laughter.
“At least I don’t have to pay your tuition for a while,” he added.
He had a point, so I said nothing.
He handed me the letter so I could read it for myself, but I honestly couldn’t decipher any of the formalized military jargon in it.
I sighed in resignation.
I knew this moment was inevitable and I shouldn’t have been surprised — my friends and I first started worrying about this day since middle school.
“이병, 함수영,” (Private Sooyoung Ham) my oldest brother jokingly saluted. “Oh wait, you’re not a private yet,” he corrected. “훈련병 124번 함수영,” (Bootcamp trainee number 124, Sooyoung Ham) he saluted again.
Laughter erupted again.
Admittedly, the banter was funny. As my brother saluted, I saw myself saluting at bootcamp, bald and maybe a little scared.
As laughter began to dissipate, my brother patted me on the back.
“Don’t worry, you’ll be fine,” he reassured me. “Just listen to your superiors and do well on the physical testing stuff.” I nodded.
“그래 맞아, 괜찮을거야,” (Yeah that’s right, it’ll be okay) my mom added. “우리가 편지를 쓸게,” (We’ll write you letters).
I leave for bootcamp sometime this June. After four weeks of training, I’ll be stationed somewhere in the peninsula. But a saying apparently goes, “The further down south, the better.”
I pray I won’t be stationed at the DMZ.
Statement Columnist Philip (Sooyoung) Ham can be reached at philham@umich.edu.