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IN this world of inequality and the lack of opportunity, street crime is an inevitable part of life in any big city. The frequency at which people are held up and their belongings snatched or stolen from them in Karachi is much discussed.
And it’s not just valuables the petty criminals are after; some friends who were held up near a busy main road in Clifton were told to hand over the box of doughnuts too, while others accosted near the Mauripur police station, on the way to the beach, lost the fresh pineapple they had with them in addition to their cash and credit cards. The city where I live has so far, mercifully, left me alone; but I have been mugged in London and New York.
Recently, in a sprawling city of 10 million people, I found myself at a fast food joint. The restaurant was enjoying rapid turnover as people emerged from the nearby subway station and picked up dinner before heading home.
Koreans take their honour seriously; they will not besmirch it.
My host related an anecdote that involved our group pausing during our meal and exiting the building for 10 or 15 minutes. As we rose, I was the only one to pick up their phone. The others left all their belongings there on the table.
Noting my surprise, they explained that in this city, no one would disturb them. And, indeed, I started noticing, here and at other public places, that everybody operated with the confidence that their belongings would not be touched in their absence.
Suspicion of one’s fellow creatures is a hard habit to let go of; I chose to take my things with me — after all, in most cities I have been to, even unattended jackets or gloves can have vanished by the time you get back to your table after washing your hands.
But not here, apparently. My companions told me stories of how they themselves, or people they knew, had had items returned to them, having given them up for good after forgetting them on commuter trains or at restaurant tables.
The city I was in was Seoul, and it is indeed a remarkably honest place. The crime rates are in general very low, especially in terms of petty and street crime, vandalism and theft etc.
One reason for this could be because it is amongst those cities in the world that are most monitored electronically; law enforcement is barely visible on the streets, but cameras are everywhere. It could be argued that people don’t steal because they’re afraid of being caught.
It’s more than just that. Maybe no one needs to steal. But the Republic of Korea is no land of milk and honey. It is generally a rich country with a population well taken care of. But there are sections of society that live in poverty, in some cases distressingly so.
The older generation of people, the one that lived through the war and was instrumental in pulling the country up by its bootstraps, is in many cases not covered by social welfare or health insurance.
The country is doing well, but last year it posted the highest household debt-to-GDP ratio among emerging market economies: 84pc of GDP.
Competition is cutthroat, with a recent Washington Post article quoting young people talking of 16-hour workdays, and how they couldn’t see themselves ever being able to afford to move out of their parents’ home, or marry and have children. There are people who live out on the streets, collect garbage in handcarts to sell for scrap; but they don’t beg.
It was explained to me that a culture of honesty prevails here, a belief in right and wrong, and what is beneath a person’s dignity. Why else would someone like myself — not a Korean speaker, obviously a tourist, and clearly unfamiliar with the currency — be able to hold out a fistful of notes at a street food stall and have only the exact amount required extracted?
A Pakistani who has lived there for several years told me that Koreans take their honour seriously; they will not do anything to besmirch it. As social structures change, an emerging problem is that some aged people, feeling they are unwanted or a burden on their children, have tried to starve themselves to death rather than bring the dishonour of suicide to the very families that rejected them.
My world is Pakistan, also a country where people take their honour very seriously indeed. Sadly, though, it seems to somehow not cover the basics such as honesty or even, increasingly, common courtesy; instead, notions of honour have become warped to the extent that they are used to justify even cold-blooded murder. Everywhere in Pakistan, overt religiosity is on the rise; if only that could translate to decency, scrupulousness and uprightness. In fact, I’d probably settle for mere cleanliness!
The writer is a member of staff.
Published in Dawn, February 15th, 2016
