Grace Cho

“We already know about this too well. Korea’s been destroyed by rampant corruption of high-ranking officials. The people are sick of impeaching psychopathic presidents. The people have had enough of pompous politicians who think they deserve to be treated as kings looking down upon the commoners. The two dominant political parties are unsalvageable at this point. They are riddled with an unprecedented amount of hubris and corruption. We need new faces who will work tirelessly to defend freedom and justice that people have yearned for. The power must belong to those who are committed to devoting their lives to peace and progress, not the ones who abuse their authority to line their pockets.”

I had listened to this speech too many times. When I first found Grace Cho on YouTube, she only had a thousand subscribers. Most of the subscribers were Korean, but she only spoke in English. Her channel didn’t have any clickbait titles or thumbnails. Everything about her videos seemed raw and authentic. Many comments echoed my feelings, saying “I CAN’T BELIEVE THESE LECTURES ARE FREE ON THE INTERNET” and “I WISH I HAD A TEACHER LIKE CHO BACK IN HIGH SCHOOL.”

Inside the frame of a medium shot, she looked and sounded like a young professor of political science or history. Each video lasted for about an hour, and there were no ads in between. She wasn’t selling anything. At the end of the talks, she said “my only goal is to educate you.” Her words made me realize I could be more than a dust particle in this ever-expanding universe.

Two years later, Cho became the first congresswoman in Korea who communicated solely in English. She always provided real-time translations, but the majority of other politicians denounced her effort to sound like “a savior from America.” I often had a hard time understanding her message, but I didn’t really mind her choice of language. I believed she was utilizing English because the Korean language is inherently hierarchical and conservative. Of course she had to use the revolutionary language to upend the system. After all, she had to join the ring full of old Korean men.

Still, too many conspiracy theorists accused her of trying to take over the country as an American spy. What a pity. I followed the news every day and admired Cho’s actions as an elected official. As promised, she refused to hire any assistants with the taxpayers’ money. Other congressmen had five assistants, but she hired one middle-aged assistant with her own money. She didn’t join any political party and created an online dashboard to showcase whatever she was up to that day. “Congresswoman Cho’s schedule is 100% transparent,” the website said.

While other politicians flew first-class and enjoyed the view from the top of administrative buildings, Cho took the subway and lived in a shabby one-bedroom apartment in Nowon-gu. One time she wore a T-shirt that said “death to bureaucracy!” on its back. I teared up while scrolling through the pictures of her wearing the shirt in the congressional building. I was sure the tide was finally shifting to rescue our country from hell.

In the first year, Congresswoman Cho tried to pass several laws including the act to abolish the absurd amount of self-serving privileges given to all the high-ranking politicians and government officials. All around the country, hundreds of thousands of supporters gathered and marched to demand an end to the elitist society ruled by and for the 1%. For about three months, I joined the protest every weekend. I often cried with my head down after shouting “death to bureaucracy!” The energy around me was so intense that it made me dream every night. In these dreams, I floated among the thousands of Cho’s supporters for hours, like ravens circling in my neighborhood.

The law didn’t pass, but Cho was now a primary candidate for the upcoming presidential election. There were so many accusations and rumors about her past. According to the media, her parents were both jailed for beating up a teenager inside a restaurant. Cho acknowledged and apologized for her family’s history of unlawful behavior. She told the press she had cut ties with all her family members. She had millions of fans, but she didn’t seem to have any friends. She was trying her best to remain a lone wolf.

Last month, I had a chance to ask Cho a question. It was before she announced her presidential campaign, and she came to my town to host an event for her young supporters in their 20s and 30s. During the Q&A, I stood up with the mic and took a peek at her glowing eyes. It was time to ask the one question that had always been on my mind. “How can I help you improve our country?” I said in English. She didn’t catch the question at first, but fortunately her translator translated my poor English into proper English. Cho looked at the ceiling for a few seconds, then answered me. “Rebel. Say no to all the authorities who say you can’t do this and you can’t do that. Read books. Never listen to the brainwashing of so-called experts all around the world.”

I went back home that night and searched for the livestream of Cho’s event that day. I downloaded the entire video and clipped the part where I asked the question and Cho answered. The clip was about a minute long. I uploaded the clip onto my YouTube channel with the title “Rebel against the authorities.” Within minutes, a few comments appeared. “HELL YEAH,” one of them said. I refreshed the page and whispered to the screen in front of me, “Hell yeah, my brother.”