On the 19th, Ms. Kim Rye-sook, the owner of Nokduhop, is putting away beer bottles, the only trace of business. The daily sales of 20,000 won were miserable, but compared to days when she was just sitting around empty-handed without a single person to talk to, it was a ‘lucky day’. That’s how self-employed businesses in this land were declining.
The glass door was heavier than the material. The only customer who opened it on the 19th was a long-time regular. Ms. Kim Rye-suk (69, female) treated him to a bottle of beer and a plate of dried snacks. The 20,000 won per dish was the entire sales for that day. Since there was nothing dirty, there wasn’t much to wash or clean. At around 11 p.m., Ms. Kim stood up heavily after putting away the beer bottle. The door finished its meager work by letting its owner out.
It has been 27 years since it was established in Daehak-dong, Gwanak-gu, Seoul, aka Nokdu-geori. Nokdu Hof, once a hangout for Seoul National University students, has long since lost its old glory. There are only one or two groups of customers a day, and it is not uncommon for it to be empty. He is surviving day by day along with countless self-employed people in this land who have to worry about their livelihood.
Kim was a farmer. Born in Mokpo, Jeollanam-do in 1955, she did not have a long education like most women her age. After graduating from high school, she moved to an island (Jindo) to get married and become a farmer’s wife. She was fed up with poverty and the countryside, raising her sons and daughters while working the fields and plowing the rice paddies.
“I thought, ‘Hey! I’m going to work for someone else, so I’ll go to Seoul and make some money. I need to make some money.’”
He also joined the ranks of locals who flocked to Seoul to make money. He came to Seoul later than his peers. In 1996, when he was over 40, he boarded a train to Seoul, holding the hand of his son, who was in his second year of middle school. He left his husband and high school daughter behind in his hometown. He settled in Samseong-dong, Gwanak-gu, where several of his in-laws lived, and the following year, he became acquainted with Nokdu Hope. He was hired as an employee when Nokdu Street and Nokdu Hope were both at their peak. Since it was a store that had established itself as a so-called “activist hope,” a virtuous cycle was formed where seniors brought juniors, and those juniors brought juniors again.
The hard work of the Hope House leaves behind an old body that breaks easily.
Since the departure of the students preparing for the civil service exam and the Seoul National University students, the merchants of Nokdu Street have been struggling to survive. The map below shows the names of some of the stores that responded to the interview with JoongAng Ilbo.
They also benefited greatly from the late-night operating restrictions. Nokdu Street was famous as a place where you could secretly drink after midnight. The owner would secretly exchange signals with the staff inside the store via walkie-talkie from outside, then open the shutter and let the banned customers in.
Kim, who worked for 5 years while receiving a monthly salary of 1 million won, watched the heyday of the street and the store. That is why he quickly took over the store in 2002 by paying 20 million won in key money when the owner was about to close the business. Even after he took over, Nokdu Hope maintained its status for a while, and customers continued to come in.
But the world began to change little by little. As restrictions on late-night business were lifted and development began here and there around Seoul National University, the monopoly of Nokdu Street came to an end. The student activist culture that had been a source of customers also began to die down. The new generation did not drink as much as their seniors.
Reporter Kim Kyung-jin
The ‘Corona situation’ was fatal. During the two years when the virus was rampant, not a single college freshman came. They had no reason to visit Nokdu Hope after that, as they had no connection to it in the first place.
“I haven’t seen any freshmen in four years. I really miss the students who used to come in droves in March.”
With the complete abolition of the bar exam, the number of examinees also ebbed away like a tide. The area, which had turned into a one-room village, was occupied by a small number of outsiders who came only to sleep at night. Customers decreased rapidly, and the number of empty seats increased.
Meanwhile, as he grew older, Kim began to fall behind the world. Gravity seemed to act only on him. The world was overtaking him, who had been stuck on the ground, at the speed of sound, and Kim had no ability or capacity to even catch up. Things like delivery apps and kiosks were someone else’s story. Because of the burden of labor costs, he couldn’t even employ people who were familiar with cutting-edge civilization. He was quickly pushed to the edge.
His current monthly sales are only 3 to 4 million won. After deducting the cost of purchasing alcohol, food, taxes, utility bills, loan interest, and the cost of injections and medicine he gets twice a month for back treatment, he only has a few hundred thousand won left. He can’t even pay his rent (1.24 million won). His 20 million won deposit has already been deducted from his rent. He barely manages to pay his rent with the 1.65 million won earned income tax credit he gets once a year from the National Tax Service and the occasional allowance from his children.
After 27 years of hard work, he has little left behind. All he has is a single-family home that he rents and the old customers who occasionally visit to share memories and pocket money. He has no employment insurance, let alone his share of the national pension.
My husband, who came to Seoul late and worked as an apartment security guard for 25 years to support our household, also lost his job last year due to his old age. Now, the household’s fixed income is only the husband’s national pension of 450,000 won per month, the basic pension of 250,000 won for the two of them, and the several hundred thousand won in store profits that can only be collected during good months.
That’s why it’s hard for him to close down. And closing down isn’t free. “When I brought up the idea of closing down to the building owner, he told me to restore the store to its original condition and leave. When I asked around, he said it would cost at least 8 million won. Where did he get that money?”
He rated his life satisfaction at 30 out of 100. The reason was simple. “Because it’s hard…”
After locking up the store with difficulty, Mr. Kim walked home with a heavy burden. His frail and old back, which had been fractured twice last year due to work and old age, was carrying a very heavy burden. In the unusually dark alley, there was no one to carry the burden.
Self-employed, the ‘Achilles’ heel of Korea’… Hear the sad reality of 51 people
6.65 million self-employed people are on the edge of a cliff. Falling income, excessive competition, excessive labor, skyrocketing costs, and rapidly increasing debt are squeezing them. The self-employed problem is also Korea’s Achilles’ heel. All the controversies we face, such as low birth rates, aging population, population, welfare, the gap between the rich and the poor, and the disappearance of local regions, are linked to the self-employed problem. This is a difficult problem that Korea, mired in a swamp of delay, must overcome if it is to move forward.
The JoongAng Ilbo is commemorating its 59th anniversary by starting a long-term project to solve the problem of self-employed people. First, based on the voices of 51 self-employed people met over the course of two months, we will report their miserable reality as it is over the course of five days.
Through follow-up reports, we plan to uncover hidden issues, examine domestic and international policies, and come up with solutions and alternatives. We ask for the readers and the public’s attention so that we can awaken the political circles and the government.
◆Special Coverage Team = Reporters Jinseok Park, Hyunsook Jo, Junho Ha, Mingu Jeon, Photographer Hyundong Kim kailas@joongang.co.kr
