Korea’s Terra Nullius: Why You Shouldn’t Watch Arthdal Chronicles

The desire for progressive advancement and substantial prosperity is, after all, stronger than sentimental dislike to the extinction of a savage and useless race

Queenslander 7 October 1876, page 12

It is a fact that shouldn’t need repeating but Australia is founded on stolen land. It requires the barest application of logic to see that Terra Nullius is a fiction so bald in its dishonesty that it almost beggars belief that generations of Australians could quote it without embarrassment.

There have been human beings in Australia for 60,000 years.

This was their land. These were their Nations. 

This is their land. This is their Nations.

They were here. They are here. Despite the best efforts both of so-called “settlers” and an explicit government policy of genocide.

The colonies may have come together in 1901 to form a nation called Australia but this fails to mean anything when and if it excludes, marginalises and steals from the Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander people whose assets – land, resources, and culture – were used to build it.

The narrative that only Europeans could bring civilisation and productivity to this land  is a foundation myth as wrong as it is damaging. Australia is only truly Australia when it is honest about its past and brings everyone together in a vision of its future.

Spinning mythical foundation tales of empty lands conquered by brave men and of the odd righteous skirmish with the violent Noble Savages does no one – even ourselves – any favours.

So imagine my feelings of disquiet when I pressed play on Netflix’s latest big budget Korea purchase, the misnamed Arthdal Chronicles, to see a generic – even banal – colonising foundation myth. The Arthdal Chronicles could have been written by an Australian child in 1850 after their latest Australian history lesson that whitewashed the Blackfella out of it.

From its first scene, the Arthdal Chronicles is rife with colonising symbolism and narratives that, unfortunately, are somewhat too close to home for me and, I suspect, for my country’s First Nation’s People still dealing with the fallout of colonisation and all the horrors it brought (and is still bringing). 

Culturally speaking, as someone who was born on, and has benefited from the theft of, somebody else’s land and who is surrounded daily by the post-hoc justifications of that (they’re animals, we won a war, we brought civilisation, our atrocities were justified or exaggerated or never happened), this whole thing left a bad taste in my mouth from scene 1.

From the minute the Saram (literally ‘The People’ and speaking a recognisable version of modern and ancient Korean) met with the Neanthals (wearing animal skins and bones and speaking some kind of made-up Indo-European language), the linguistic and cultural coding was around the vicious but clever People wanting to Bring Civilisation to the Noble Savages.

The Saram has agriculture and civilisation to offer but they can’t dream. The Neanthals are beast-like, blue-blooded and blue-eyed, in tune with Mother Nature and have the power of dreams. An entire lengthy scene is devoted to a large band of Saram (men, of course) taking down one Neanthal as though he’s some kind of wild blue-blooded animal. Just before death, he imparts the Dream he had of their destruction. The Neanthal are, of course, spiritual and mystic while the Saram are technological and cunning. 

The Saram defeat the Neanthal by giving them a gift containing a disease and attacking while they’re weak. They then burn them out in an attempt to destroy every last one of them. They need their land and the Neanthal gave them no choice.

At this point in the text, the Saram leader delivers a monologue that weighs up the brutality against the group’s supposed cunning: it’s sad, of course, and the Saram feel bad about it. But what else could they do? The Neanthals are stronger but the Saram are smarter. So they won; their nation founded upon an atrocity but one that was gravely necessary for a civilisation to be built.

Now, to those of us who have the misfortune to live in a culture that still refuses to be honest about its past, this is clear coloniser language; the kind used to justify the theft of natural and cultural assets. The fact that one Neanthal child is left alive that a Saram woman saves to raise as her own just punctuates this problem. It has Stolen Generation overtones that, for me particularly, was really uncomfortable.

Unfortunately the entire notion of the Neanthal’s being able to dream while the Saram cannot is part of this Noble Savage narrative. There is a cultural dichotomy here (a false one by the way) between Nature (Dreaming/Foraging/Tribes) and Civilisation (No dream/Cultivation/Nation Building) that is at the core of colonising language.

It only makes it worse that the Saram manage to gain the gift of dreaming by assimilating the stolen Neanthal children into their culture; essentially appropriating it. The Saram are stronger because of what they stole from the Neanthal. And thankfully there’s no living Neanthal around to make them feel guilty about it.

Humankind that descended from the trees held knives upon controlling fire, opened roads by creating wheels, and settled on land after planting seeds. This is an ancient time before a nation and king, before homo sapiens could dream, before nature’s great pyramids were summitted. The grand lands of our ancient mothers — this place, Arth.

Arthdal Chronicle’s opening monologue makes it clear what the show is attempting to establish. The show may be high fantasy but it’s also a myth about the founding of Goguryeo in approximately 2333 BCE – the original kingdom on the Korean peninsula of which there are few written records.

It’s no surprise that Goguryeo’s history is shrouded in myth and legend. The few texts that refer to it are mythologies more than histories and none of them are from Goguryeo itself.

I gather a foundation myth about people migrating into a region due to climate change or war and settling down without conflict would not make a good television show. But it’s possible it also makes a dissatisfying foundation myth.

Wresting land from savages incapable of using it to fulfil its potential and then building a civilisation is a story that seems to resonate with modern-day Korea and, as we know, ourselves.

But as a nation that has seen its fair share of brutal occupation, colonisation and war, Korea might want to ask itself why it felt the need to craft a foundation myth that involves colonisation, enslavement and genocide.

Those who have watched the show beyond the first episode assure me these cultural framings get worse, not better. The Saram invade Stone Age people and enslave them. All the tribes represented are mere caricatures of different periods of time (one enslaved group even speaks Tagalog, a decision with which I’m sure the show’s Filipino viewers are thrilled).

The Saram may be cursed but I’m sure it’s a curse that will eventually be overcome by the heroic Neanthal child raised by the kind Saram mother who refused to let him be killed during the Purge.

It’s not surprising I dropped this show after a whole 20 or so minutes of watching. On a shallower note, I fast forwarded to the beginning of episode 2 out of curiosity and, as we moved into the main story, everyone was suddenly young, hot and looked like Kpop idols doing a Tribal Centrefold. 

So, as well as being offensive, show is also pretty bad in other ways.

With the recent high-profile SongSong divorce, it’s possible a large group of the curious may tune in to see its high-profile – and now somewhat controversial – star Song Joong-ki, whose recent divorce from even biggest star, Song Hye-kyo, has shocked Korea and spawned a ridiculous volume of speculation and rumour.

But aside from a spookily youthful Song Joong-ki looking like he’s gracing the Centrefold of an Idol magazine in the theme of Tribal Chic, there’s not much to see here.

The Arthdal Chronicles are a White Elephant at best and a disturbing apologia for colonisation at worst.