Ssireum | North Korea and South Korea: Martial arts as hope for rapprochement

When the champion is declared, the entire arena cheers. In a close fight, the man with the blue cloth belt knocks his opponent in red off his feet, thus deciding the duel. Shortly afterwards, spotlights swing through the arena, followed by fireworks. And now the winner, clad in an elegant cloak, rides through the arena on a kind of throne with wheels. Jubilation, pride, ecstasy. What just happened here in the South Korean city of Mungyeong is something hardly anyone in the world would immediately understand. But in Korea , there is no one who doesn't understand it. A national tournament in the Ssireum , which lasted several days, has just come to an end; the television, of course, broadcast it live.

Ssireum, a kind of Korean version of wrestling, is the national sport here. No sport is as quintessentially Korean as this, and hardly any has a longer history here. This millennia-old martial art is full of ancient national symbolism: The two half-naked wrestlers, who face off on a circular sand field, wear red and blue fabric belts—like those seen in the flags of North Korea and South Korea , respectively. The sides of the ring from which the wrestlers start are named after Korean mountains. The referees wear traditional costumes reminiscent of old Korean paintings or historical dramas.

Among the wrestlers, the cheering crowd, and the handshaking officials in Mungyeong, there are only people from South Korea. There aren't even any references to the North, which shares the same tradition. When asked whether there are any matches involving athletes from North Korea , the response is dismissive. The topic is "sensitive," they say. Talking about North Korea is taboo.

Ongoing war

"The political circumstances are too difficult at the moment," a stocky older man who calls himself Brian whispers. He's responsible for international affairs in the South Korean Ssireum association. It's pointless anyway, he explains. There's the North Korean nuclear program , which is also directed against the South. And here, the military exercises are taking place jointly with the US, which maintains numerous military bases in South Korea. How are we supposed to communicate in such a situation?

It has been 75 years since war broke out between the two states north and south of the inter-Korean border, a war that, strictly speaking, continues to this day. On June 25, 1950, soldiers of the Democratic People's Republic of Korea, or North Korea for short, stormed across the border into the Republic of Korea. Three years later, after millions had died, a ceasefire was agreed upon that remains in effect today.

The former sense of shared suffering under Japanese rule had given way to a deep mutual antipathy, even hatred. Reconciliation has eluded the fact that since the end of the war, people have virtually never been able to cross the inter-Korean border. The border region along the 38th parallel is called the demilitarized zone, but it is arguably the most heavily armed border in the world. Contact with people from the other Korea is generally forbidden for people on both sides.

In recent years , sport has repeatedly been able to bring the warring brother states on the Korean peninsula together , at least to talks. This most recently happened around the 2018 Winter Olympics in Pyeongchang, South Korea: In a highly tense situation, South Korean President Moon Jae-in managed to invite a delegation from North Korea. And suddenly everything happened very quickly: At the opening ceremony of the games, both delegations walked into the Olympic arena together – and under a light blue reunification flag that showed the silhouette of the entire peninsula. A pan-Korean team even competed in the women's ice hockey tournament.

As early as 1991, at the end of the Cold War, North and South Korea competed together at the World Table Tennis Championships, as well as at a youth soccer tournament. Twenty years later, a mixed table tennis doubles team won an international invitational tournament. Athletes from both countries have also competed together at international tournaments several times.

"Ssireum would truly be a particularly symbolic event for exchange," says Yoon Mee-hyang, a left-liberal politician and activist, in her office in the South Korean capital, Seoul. "It would demonstrate on both sides of the border that we in the North and South have the same origins, traditions, and interests!" Yoon, who enjoys watching Ssireum on television, would certainly welcome tournaments between athletes from the North and South. Similar sentiments can be heard in Mungyeong. "It would be good for us if Ssireum could become more international," shouts 29-year-old wrestler Kim Duck-il over the noise of the arena. Even though the atmosphere in the arena is electric, there aren't more than a few hundred people present.

No internationalization

The days when ssireum was Korea's most popular sport before World War II are long gone. Many believe that sporting comparisons with the North could provide a new boost. However, this is more difficult than ever today. This is not only due to the political situation, including a national security law in South Korea that criminalizes "propaganda" for the enemy, which can even apply to positive statements about North Korea. This explains why representatives of the Ssireum Association are tight-lipped when it comes to possible exchanges with the North.

What makes matters worse is that Ssireum hasn't yet become internationalized: There's no world governing body, nor a World Cup. This makes it more difficult for representatives from North and South to communicate with each other. Almost always, when sport has served as a platform for exchange, such meetings have taken place on the sidelines of international events on the soil of third countries.

Perhaps the biggest obstacle is due to the decades-long division. "Our athletes couldn't compete against each other," says association representative Brian. "Our weight class divisions are different. The ring in the North is also a bit different." And those who don't play by the same rules can't compete against each other in sport – which, precisely because of its universally applicable rules, can often override political differences. Or are different ring proportions and weight classes just excuses? In the hall in Mungyeong, there are silent shrugs. And nods. Since June, South Korea has been governed by the liberal Lee Jae-myung, who has announced that after years of confrontation, he will seek renewed dialogue with North Korea. Sports could also help, we hear.