When Everyone is Watching: Chemyon, Squid Game, and the Persistence of Digital Surveillance in South Korea

-- By ChloeJo - 01 Dec 2024

• In Episode 3 of Squid Game, a senior worker is monitoring resting workers in their private quarters through CCTV after the workday ends. Netflix screen capture.
  

The second season of "Squid Game" recently premiered, and I watched it over the winter break. As in the first season, the new episodes again depict high-stakes contests carried out under relentless scrutiny, where even a minor infraction can trigger severe consequences. Although this dystopian scenario seems extreme, it sheds light on a genuine aspect of South Korean society: the widespread acceptance of digital surveillance, from omnipresent security cameras (closed-circuit television, CCTV) to the everyday use of dashcams. To understand why this constant oversight provokes relatively little public objection, it is essential to consider the enduring influence of Confucian values– especially the concept of Chemyon (체면)– and how they shape social behavior, attitudes toward authority, and the fear of public shame.

A striking illustration of public surveillance in South Korea is the dash-cam, or "black box," found in almost all vehicles. These small devices constantly record driving footage, capturing traffic violations or collisions. While the reliance on recorded evidence reduces disputes and expedites the insurance process by clarifying liability in accidents, these "black boxes" gather more information than intended, including personal conversations or bystanders' faces. That is, such data collection might lead to civil liberties violations or invasion of personal privacy. Yet, in South Korea, where respect for communal stability outweighs individual misgivings, dash-cams have become almost a default feature of the driving experience.

The relative absence of major outcry regarding these surveillance practices can be traced to deeply rooted Confucian traditions that stress social harmony, deference to authority, and communal well-being. A key element of these traditions is Chemyon, a term that may be translated as "face" or "social reputation." The concept of "maintaining face" involves not only preserving one's individual honor but also safeguarding the reputations of family, friends, and colleagues. Since losing face can reflect poorly on one's entire network, individuals in South Korea often refrain from actions that might invite public scrutiny or judgment. In an age where everything from mundane car rides to social interactions can be recorded and easily discovered, the fear of exposure acts as a powerful motivator to comply with social norms.

This phenomenon also explains why the idea of shared surveillance does not typically clash with Korean cultural values. Indeed, criticisms against these invasive measures are rarely introduced, partly because even challenging them can be perceived as undermining collective goals. When Chemyon is at stake, resisting communal expectations might be deemed selfish, disruptive or suspicious. In other words, it is often easier to acquiesce to universal monitoring than to face potential censure for standing out. Moreover, Confucian respect for hierarchical structures further encourages people to trust that those who manage the surveillance system are doing so for the public good, rather than for personal gain or malicious intent.

"Squid Game," although fictional and exaggerated, captures the essence of this interplay between reputation, group cohesion, and the dread of exposure. Both contestants and workers under constant watch rarely attempt bold subversion, because any misstep results in immediate reprisal. The show essentially amplifies the underlying reality that in a society where one's actions are visibly monitored, people tend to conform to expectations. The threat of losing Chemyon, even in less dire circumstances like "Squid Game," can be a potent driver of social compliance. Instead of challenging laws or norms that might be destructive, individuals may self-censor in order to protect their reputations.

Yet, as we learned throughout the course, the widespread acceptance of surveillance raises concerns. One most obvious issue is potential abuses of data. When collected dashcam footage can be stored, shared, or sold in ways that individuals never intended, the potential data misuse grows. Additionally, there is also a risk that a society focusing on maintaining face can inadvertently stifle creativity and dissent. While the desire for social harmony can sustain public order and reduce interpersonal conflicts, it may also deter individuals from proposing unconventional ideas or exposing systemic injustice. Even though these flaws a recognized, in a society steeped in Chemyon may be reluctant to push for reforms if doing so means openly criticizing established practices as people who deviate from accepted standards risk being seen as troublemakers. This cultural values discourage whistleblowers, protestors, or innovators from making their voice heard, even if their insights might benefit society in the long run.

Balancing the benefits of oversight (such as improved road safety, reduced crime, and conflict resolution) against these ethical concerns requires consistent and nuanced conversation about the scope and purpose of digital surveillance. However, I remain pessimistic about the prospects for significant change. In South Korea, people trust the intentions behind dashcams and CCTVs, regarding them as instruments of fairness rather than oppression. As long as the longstanding Confucian tradition and principle of Chemyon remains intact, it is unlikely that the public will heavily question these monitoring systems or scrutinize their expansion. The deeply rooted cultural preference for social harmony and the corresponding fear of being "cornered stone,"¹ ensures that most South Koreans will continue accepting dashcams and broader networks of digital oversight with little, if any, resistance.

In writing this essay, my aim was to highlight how deeply cultural values can shape public attitudes toward surveillance systems. By looking at the Confucian-rooted concept of Chemyon, I wanted to illustrate why people tend to regard such forms of surveillance as positive, rather than intrusive. If Chemyon continues to hold such influential sway, there may be little impetus to question whether these oversight tools could be misued, or whether they undermine personal autonomy in more subtle ways. Ultimately, I hope for a society in which everyone can live safely in harmony without having constant worry about being monitored. Yet I realize this may be asking for some utopia...

Footnotes

¹ There is a saying in Korea "A cornered stone meets the mason's chisel." It means that it is better to live in harmony with other by living like others.