Deep-Rooted Evils

The atmosphere turned ice-cold.

Sora had every right to look that serious.

"Young couple on a trip?"

"Yes, Grandpa."

"Aigoo~ You've come a long way. Go eat something delicious before you leave! This old man's recommendation—Kim's seafood kalguksu over that way—is so good you won't believe it!"

"Understood. We'll be sure to try it."

So we got out of the car, and a local walking past struck up a conversation.

Work vest, arm warmers, a towel around his neck. One look and you could tell he farmed for a living. The moment he spotted me and Sora, he greeted us like old friends.

Legendary timing.

Talking a little too much was his only flaw. Still, we listened to the end with smiling faces.

The second the old man was gone, the mood flipped. Sora froze solid.

"Does that grandpa look like a parasite to you too, Senior?"

"No, that's not—"

"I see. I really misjudged you."

"I said no!"

She was taking it the wrong way. Or rather—I'd been way too blunt about it.

Parasite. Even ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠I had to admit the word was a little extreme.

"I already know you run your mouth and that all you care about is money. But there are still things a person should and shouldn't say, aren't there?"

"W-well, yeah."

"If you want to be treated like a human being."

"……."

Just like that, we were back to the day we first met. When she decided to get properly angry, she was terrifying.

She does have that kind of face.

Scary unnie. I'd called her a private-room ace before, but people who do that sort of thing always look like they've got a temper.

"Just hear me out. This is a systemic problem—"

"Apologize first."

"I'm sorry."

She was furious. Up until a moment ago she'd been draining the water and giving me the full service treatment.

I slid a hand around Sora's waist. She smacked the back of my hand hard enough to sting.

No choice but to show her in person.

There was a reason I'd used such a harsh word. One look at the actual fields and you'd understand immediately.

"Pretty fields. So what?"

"You don't feel what's wrong?"

"I didn't major in agriculture."

"They're too small."

"?!"

February. The season when new seedlings push up their first sprouts. The broad fields were already painted green.

A sight that shows you exactly why the earth is called the mother of life.

To ordinary people who'd lived their whole lives in the city, it looked impressive. That a human being could work land this big.

"You're saying this is small?"

"Yeah."

"I've heard places like America are enormous, but I think this is plenty wide enough."

And yet I was calling it small? She had every reason not to buy it. America was America and Korea was Korea.

The truth is, America's the normal one.

Korea's the weird one. Surprisingly many people still don't know that.

"You've heard the story, right? If you get lost in an American cornfield, you stay put."

"Why?"

"Because waiting for rescue is the only way you survive."

"……."

You end up trapped in a cornfield with no end in sight no matter how far you walk. Corn in every direction—there's no way to find the path out.

Signs like that actually exist. The area is so vast you can't search it on foot—you have to put helicopters in the air.

It's an exaggerated story, sure.

Internet urban legend territory. In reality there's a farm-equipment path every mile; follow that and you can get out.

"Still, having to walk a full mile before you even see an exit is pretty real."

"Right."

"Then the harvest must be insane."

"Getting it now?"

Nothing sells the scale better than that. Even people who've never set foot in an American cornfield can picture it.

They don't use pyeong or square meters. The basic unit is the acre.

About 1,224 pyeong. Or they use hectares—3,025 pyeong. Calling them the same kind of farm is almost a joke.

"You know why our country can't do it like America?"

"Because the land is small."

"No. Because the government won't give permission."

"?!"

They stamp out produce on land that size. Not individuals—corporations.

In Korea, it's impossible. The people upstairs blocked it with the Constitution itself.

Any market only develops when competition exists.

Here, only individuals are left to scrap among themselves. They have neither the capital nor the capacity to bring in new technology. That's why Korean farming is still stuck in the old ways. Productivity never has a chance.

"If you farmed American-style the way we do it here, you'd make less than a part-time job. Hell, not even half."

"Then how do our farmers make money?"

"You already know better than I do."

Absurdly high prices. That's why Korean produce has to be expensive. Citizens pay several times more for it. Even that isn't enough, so the government pours tax money on top.

And we take diplomatic hits for it too.

Why won't you open your agricultural market? They slap hundreds of percent in tariffs on foreign produce—numbers that blow past what international law allows. We end up bleeding somewhere else to make up for it.

"And that's not all. Farmers don't change, so distributors don't change either."

"I've heard our distribution structure is a problem."

"It's not just 'a problem.'"

Producer → local collector → wholesale market → intermediate wholesaler → retailer → consumer. Five to seven stages.

Along the way the price balloons two or three times.

And it was already expensive. Even then, neither the farmers nor the distributors are getting rich off it.

"So who is making money?"

"Nobody."

"?????"

"We're just throwing money into the dirt."

Consumers pay through the nose. Farmers can't turn a profit. Distributors worry about making ends meet day after day.

Running this kind of idiocy at national scale isn't a comedy—it's a farce.

An industrial structure that should have died a hundred years ago is still limping along. Under normal capitalist principles it would have been selected out long ago.

"But why……"

"Why do you think? Didn't you see it at the shareholders' meeting?"

"Ah!"

"They protest every damn day, so nobody can touch them."

You can't mess with them casually. The "socially vulnerable" frame means anyone who does becomes the villain.

Classic gaslighting. Whether a farmer sweats or a machine drips oil, it's the same rice.

All of it is just to protect their own vested interests.

Corporations are bastards—that's true. But looking at the country as a whole, the interest ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠groups aren't far behind.

"This isn't someone else's problem. From a consumer's point of view, those people can look like real parasites."

"We're the consumers."

"Exactly."

Why the hell do I have to pay several times more? Even people with plenty of money feel the sting.

And from a structural economic view, it's even worse.

It's also why our food self-sufficiency rate is so low. Expensive and low-productivity. A threat to food security itself. And the solution is actually simple.

"How?"

"I told you from the start. Do it like America."

"Like America?"

"Even globally, individuals farming is the rarer case."

Corporate Farming.

The produce we import, even the salmon we eat every day—all of it is produced by corporations.

Market principles say that's the right way.

When corporations do it, they drag productivity up by any means necessary. Money's on the line, so they throw themselves at it like their lives depend on it. That's how innovation happens. Individuals get pulled along and overall productivity rises. Korea has none of that competition. Even if they fail, the state bails them out, so they just keep doing what they've always done.

"What do I gain by badmouthing those people?"

"……."

"They probably don't want to be deep-rooted evils. But systemically speaking, that's exactly what they are."

The entire nation pays the price. It's calcified so thoroughly that people treat it as normal.

Honestly, that's the biggest problem.

If people know something is broken, it eventually gets fixed. Almost nobody even knows it's a problem. Even Sora, who usually has a decent head on her shoulders, was left blank. Her expression had gone back to that vacant look.

"You could've just said it that way from the beginning."

"You didn't give me a chance to talk."

"I'm not…… apologizing."

She puffed out her cheeks. Honestly, I felt like dumping her in some Gangwon mountain valley and leaving.

Sora would hitchhike her way out no problem.

One shake of that ass and most cars would stop.

"An ordinary Citizen A can prioritize feelings."

"Ugh."

"But you're an investor. You're not ordinary Citizen A."

Still undercooked. Her chest had ripened beautifully; her head was still green.

She's allowed to feel that way.

It's the kind of issue that splits people. There are things more precious than making money—that's real. Even so, I had to say it. It's one of the reasons I'm investing in Korea in the first place.

"I wish the companies and the system would change. Then stocks could rise a lot more."

"Trying to escape your underwater positions?"

"You little—!"

"Yeah. Someday it has to happen."

People say Korea has low growth potential. Some of them, anyway. The opposite is true.

Just catch all the thieves in the country.

We could achieve breakthrough growth. The fact that the current structure is even functioning is a miracle. And what makes that possible isn't corporations or politics.

Only money is free from everything.