Sangah Lee at SORI: Fusion Korean Music Show, Toronto, 2025
Dr. Sangah Lee on the Grassroots History of Pansori, the Voices of Disability Activists in Protest, and What Arirang Means for Her
Interview by Harriet Kim
I first met Sangah and learned of her research in the spring of 2025, at a local event organized by the Korean Artists Network. I remember being so thrilled to hear about her pansori singing and her study of voices in protest—it was something I had never really thought about or heard discussed. Immediately, I had an inkling that it might be a good fit for this volume. I then had the pleasure of seeing her perform a few times throughout the second half of 2025. You will see clips of these performances throughout my interview with Sangah. She has a certain presence and power to her singing that you can almost feel in your bones. Interviewing Sangah gave me so much context and perspective on how traditions from generations past—of pansori, yes, but also of resistance and protest—continue today.
Transcript
Harriet: Hi Sangah. Thank you so much for joining us for our Volume 5. To start, can you briefly introduce yourself for our audience?
Sangah: Thank you so much for having me today. My name is Sangah Lee. Or should I say, Dr. Sangah Lee because I just finished my doctoral program in Ethnomusicology at the University of Toronto. I just finished defending my doctoral dissertation under the title, “Peripheral Voices: The Dissensual Collective of the Candlelight Vigils in South Korea.” And I'm also a Toronto-based pansori performer and instructor. So I'm now running this non-profit organization called Canada Pansori Center, which is dedicated to introducing pansori or Korean traditional arts and cultures in general
Harriet: Yeah, I've seen you perform a few times this past year, and I'm so excited that you are joining us for this volume because I mean, the singing itself is just amazing. You are so talented.
Sangah: Thanks.
Harriet: And congratulations on defending your thesis. I know that's quite the milestone to reach. Can you tell us a little bit more about the research that you did?
Sangah: Sure. So my dissertation examines diverse voices in South Korean activism. And I begin by asking this question, why voice matters in this political context. And the reason why, one of the reasons why I got interested in the voice and connecting the theme of voice to Korean activism is that I noticed that collective action in South Korea has long been framed through this particular phrase called, “하나의 목소리,” which translates into one voice or united voice. And this narrative or discourse highlights the theme of unity and consensus, like solidarity. And I also believe that this also carries social and political consequences, which is that the idea of one voice can overshadow any types of disagreement or internal conflicts or differences within a movement. This discourse makes it hard to see.
My focus is on the 2016, 2017 candlelight vigils that demanded the impeachment of then-president Park Geun-hye. And these gatherings, these candlelight vigils, brought together, remarkably wide range of participants, including men and women workers, students, disabled participants or disability rights activists, LGBTQ+ communities, and many others. But as one of the participants in the candlelight vigils, I noticed that their concerns, especially their ideals towards democracy were not necessarily aligned with this dominant central demand to impeach President Park Geun-hye. So, it got me really interested. And I looked at how these various voices actually sounded in the Gwanghwamun Square and how these voices sometimes disrupted or ruptured this dominant narrative that cherished the idea of unity and solidarity and how these voices sometimes were attacked or erased. So, yeah, that's the basic idea of my research.
Harriet: Oh, that's so fascinating. I think that it always seems to be the struggle between how do we have a cohesive way of mobilizing without overstepping on some of the nuances or some of the much needed constructive criticism or feedback in the movement. Since you’re a pansori singer, did you find that played a role at all in creating this collective voice? Because I know that in that particular protest that, I guess in general, more recently, K-pop has been a very big component, and a lot of the major protests that we've seen in Korea, For example like, 소녀시대 or Girls’ Generation, their song “Into the New World” emerged during that protest in 2016 when Ewha University students, and then recently in the protest against President Yoon, we saw K-pop, also play a role in that. I guess, especially given the popularity of Korean music, just globally and in Korea specifically. Just from your perspective, how do you understand the role of contemporary pop and, or pansori in shaping sort of protest culture and creating this sort of collective voice?
Sangah: Great question. I think my answer will be pretty long because we kind of cover traditional vocal practices on the one hand, and something that's called 민중가요 (minjung gayo) in between, And now we are looking at the era where K-pop has been used in protest. And so when it comes to pansori, and since I'm a pansori singer, I really, really focused on and looked into when and where pansori has been used in this particular political context.
So like historically, pansori certainly resonates with these ideas of speaking out, you know, and expressing political concerns because it originated among ordinary people like grassroots people. It was folk entertainment for those who were located at the bottom of social hierarchies, especially in a pre-modern Korean context. And it gradually developed into a professional art form to an extent that now pansori is like a national theatrical form that is supported by the government. But in protest settings, people, I believe, usually gravitate towards chants or songs that are easy to shout, easy to sing together, easy to sing along. In that sense, pansori is not very accessible given the fact that pansori is quite technically demanding. And not many Korean people are very familiar with pansori repertoires themselves. They know the existence of pansori, but if you ask them to sing pansori, I’m sure not many people can sing along with pansori repertoires. I mean, there have been some pansori singers who created politically-engaged repertoires, you know, pansori style, and they presented those works in protest. But these tend to be presentational from pansori professional singers rather than inviting participants to sing along.
But I would say 민요 (minyo), which is another genre of Korean traditional vocal music, on the other hand, is built on everyday singing traditions, especially for older generations. So like “Arirang,” which is one of the most popular folk songs, minyo. It's frequently sung in protest contexts. And when Korean protesters in the diaspora sing Arirang or other minyo, I think it produces a lot more like a lot stronger affect and effects. It can produce a strong sense of solidarity, especially among Korean people. It allows them to not only voice their political concerns while also confirming and affirming their roots. And I think this mix of strong feelings can heighten this emotional atmosphere. So I've seen a lot of cases where minyo has been used in a political context.
When it comes to mean minjung gayo, minjung gayo emerged specifically as a direct mobilizing tool during the democratization movements from the 1960s onward. And for that reason, it has historically been more common to be sung and heard in protest than traditional vocal music like pansori minyo both in Korea and abroad. And now I'm just reminded of this particular song out of minjung gayo repertoires, which is “임을 위한 행진곡,” “March for the Beloved.” And I sang this song with a lot of Torontonians or Koreans who live in Toronto when we gathered together to protest, calling for President Yoon Suk-yeol’s impeachment last December. We gathered at Nathan Phillips Square and at the protest we sang “March for the Beloved” together. And at the same time we also sang “다시 만난 세계,” “Into the New World” by Girls’ Generation that you just mentioned. So, in a nutshell, I think, it's not just about the differences between like, different characteristics among these musical genres, but I think we need to take generational dynamics into discussion when it comes to the sonic, like soundscape of protests of Korea or among Korean people in diaspora, because generational change has been reshaping protest culture in general. And I think especially in these days, many younger activists feel more comfortable when they sing K-pop rather than like older political songs, whether it be minjung gayo.
Harriet: Right. Yeah, there's some, so many things to think about from what you just said. I'm so fascinated to hear how singing, whether that's like K-pop or pansori or something more traditional, has been such a unifying thing for you and your peers, like other Korean people here in Toronto to protest what is happening in Korea but the power of pansori and just, not just pansori but just kind of singing together generally, I feel like it's such a powerful tradition that we sort of carry generationally in protest to whatever's happening. This is true of the current day, but it's also true of our ancestors and like past generations. So I'm kind of surprised to hear about the idea that there was enough Korean people in Toronto to come together to sing pansori in protest, because I haven't heard of pansori before I heard you performing, and I'm 34, so that’s like a very long time to go without knowing about pansori or even like the history of pansori and protest.
So I'm curious how you picture bringing the role of pansori for diasporic people. And kind of adapting it to the reality that protesting culture here in Canada is different from protesting in Hawai’i versus protesting in Korea. And it's very specific to the city and the culture that exists in that city. So I'm curious about how you think about bringing pansori to diasporic Koreans who may have never heard of pansori and just kind of using that as like a tool for protest and as a way to bring people together, but also just kind of honouring the differences that exist protesting in different places.
Sangah: I think in terms of bringing this tradition into Korean community in diaspora more generally, or to protest context and more specifically, I think what matters is how we recreate or reimagine the existing pansori repertoires into something that can be relatable to many people, whether they are Korean or those who can understand Korean or non Koreans or those who do not understand Korean, because pansori is a storytelling tradition. So the lyric, the Korean lyric is what really, really matters. So it depends on, I mean, people say music is a universal language, but I think there is a limitation, especially for these kinds of theatrical music traditions. If the audience or participants do not know what the lyrics really, really stand for, then I think there is a certain limitation or language barrier. But also what I felt was that, whenever I perform pansori to the Canadian audiences who identify as, I don't know how to speak Korean, but they always come to me and said, I felt something very strong from your voice.
So I think in that sense, even though there is a language barrier this way of, heart and heart connection and relaying the messages through the emotions rather than the messages, It's not just about recreating pansori into something that can make people surprised, Oh, this is a very interesting tradition, but usually the interest ends here. And to make pansori be more resonating among many people, I think it's really, really important to make it accessible. As I just mentioned in the previous questions, pansori repertoires when they are presented at the protest sites, they are usually presentational. So I think if I or other pansori practitioners can work hard to create some pansori style or pansori-oriented repertoires, they can invite, welcome everyone to join in and sing along and listen to their own experiences and have their own experiences observed into this repertoires. I think pansori has such a potential, in terms of creating a solidarity atmosphere. So I think it's a long shot. I think it requires a lot of collective work and research. But I think since pansori has such an amazing vocal technique and then like traditional symbolic meanings, I think we can harness those traditional and historical nuances and combine them with contemporary political concerns and energies. I think it can have such a powerful repertoire.
Harriet: Yeah. Oh, my gosh, I am, I have so many questions for you. And so I'm trying to decide where to go next. But speaking of the presentational sort of aspect of pansori, and you, as a performer, I know you recently put on a program where you are teaching pansori as well to Korean and non-Korean folks alike. And that was a three-month program, was it? And then you put on a performance recently teaching the sort of history of pansori, also a part of the process. And how do you sort of relay, again, the power and the emotion of performing to other people?
Sangah: Yeah, when it comes to teaching or sharing this tradition, to those who identify as non-Koreans, what really matters is, we have to take a holistic approach to pedagogy or teaching because I've never framed my way of teaching pansori as just simply teaching pansori, you know what I mean? We have to talk about and discuss or teach Korean histories in general, and Korean histories relevant to traditional music, and Korean language, especially for those who do not speak or write Korean, and the general cultural studies. And when all these elements are combined, then we can truly appreciate and learn pansori. That's how I approach my classes. So to be honest, if let's say we have two hour classes per week, then I would spend the first hour just teaching them what these lyrics mean and what kind of historical or cultural references you can take away from, learning or analyzing those lyrics. So I always try to make connections between the overarching culture, history, large picture, and then specifics of the meanings of vocabularies and the lyrics. And then I would move on to teaching how to sing those lyrics, you know, pansori style for the rest of like one hour. So that's how I frame my class.
So it's not the same as how people teach pansori in Korea to pansori practitioners. It takes much more research, lots more effort, for them to truly understand what they are singing about. Especially about the process of this particular project called 소리 (So-ri). And I first designed this program as a three-month program. But three months is a very short period of time for them, to prep them to be able to sing on the stage. So we spent two extra months preparing the show together.
And the one thing that I realized is that regardless of their language, like Korean proficiency or their knowledge in Korean culture, I was amazed by how their diverse experiences from diverse backgrounds can be reflected in the pansori, like Korean songs. So I really liked how sometimes I felt like the class was like a therapy session. So whenever I explained to them, Oh, this, for example, “Arirang.” This means that, that, and it contains the ideas of loss, loss of country, loss of loved ones. And people started sharing about their own experiences of loss or other hardship. And I asked them to, even though we are singing in a foreign language, Korean, asked them to think about those moments when singing this song, and then they're singing not just their techniques, but the way they express themselves express their emotions were significantly improved because we made the song more relatable to each other's stories. So pansori storytelling tradition, and I think it's meaningless for me to teach them just, you know, mimic how we sing. I wanted them to make those pansori songs their own. And the result was amazing, as you witnessed.
Harriet: Yeah.
Sangah: Some of them were crying on stage because they were sincerely singing and expressing themselves. They were not just singing, this distant tradition called pansori.
Harriet: Right.
Sangah: So I just want to say the whole process was powerful.
Harriet: Right, yeah. And I really felt that as someone who was sitting in the audience for that performance. I appreciate the number of hours that they put in. But also just like the heart and soul that kind of went into that. Yeah, I think the sort of ideals that you brought to your teaching practice, just to bring it back to your research for a second. I'm curious what you see and maybe hope for the future of protest in Korea. I know that's a very big question, but just given how bringing our sort of diversity and like our experiences and our sort of identities and how that kind of actually enhances our sort of ability to, be in solidarity with each other as opposed to the other way around. I'm wondering, just knowing that, embodying that in your practice. I'm wondering what you see and hope for the future of Korean protest and how it could change to maybe better sort of encapsulate that, if that makes any sense.
Sangah: So the overarching question for my dissertation, my project, was to problematize this whole collectivist and totalizing ethos that have governed South Korean progressive activism. And as I was more and more diving into interviews and field work, people tend to think that progressive activism should be governed by this idea of cherishing or foregrounding diversity. We decide who we want to be, that kind of rhetoric or discourse. But when it comes to South Korean progressive activism, diversity is just the title itself. It doesn't do anything within the collective protest. So I think what I really, really hope for future protests is that balancing out between working towards solidarity, because this idea of solidarity is really, really important. And it’s really common, not just in Korea but elsewhere. It's really common for protesters to produce one voice. We are talking about the same thing. You have to listen to us because we are demanding this one simple thing, but in reality, no, collective by definition is an aggregate of diverse people. And this is just the process rather than the result of the solidarity.
So I hope that in the future, Korean progressive activism can take form in a way that balances out this idea of solidarity, which is important on its own, but listening to the nuances that are voiced out by diverse people. And I was really glad to see how the very recent candlelight vigils, anti-martial law vigil, was looking like a meaningful process, like stepping forward toward listening to diverse voices. And I don't know if that's because of the generational shift or shift in gender dynamics. Because of the recent protests, the majority of participants were women in their 20s and 30s, and they not only problematized Yoon Suk-yeol and his political wrongdoings, but they tried to listen carefully to diverse other voices, like farmers and irregular workers and LGBTQ people. So in that sense, their slogan as a solidarity was in as opposed to muting the diverse voices. No, they showed us how solidarity and diversity can go hand in hand. So it's not like solidarity is not the opposition of diverse voices. I saw a bright future in the recent protests in that sense.
Harriet: This is very encouraging to hear. And I think it took us a long time to get to this place. I will say, I don't have a lot of experience in sort of protest and protest culture in Korea specifically, just because I've never lived there. So but I know that's also very true of, you know, just being in protest here in Toronto. And so I know how hard it is to get to this place. And I want to bring this back to our theme of i-byeol. We're thinking about the ideals around i-byeol, where we’re moving away from something ending and then moving forward to something maybe new or different.
As you are giving your answer, I was thinking a lot about how that feels like it embodies so much of what we’re trying to explore in this volume with this theme. So much about protest is about putting your faith into something better for the future that you might not actually see for yourself and might only come like generations from now. And I think that is a kind of hope and optimism that is actually very hard to hold on to. It can be very painful, to let go of something in the past or the way that things were in order to move towards something better. And so it feels very aligned and very reflective of what we're trying to explore in this volume. And so I'm wondering what i-byeol means for you.
Sangah: I totally agree with what you just said. I believe the theme of i-byeol is not just saying goodbye to the past or to, like your loved ones, but i-byeol is also very much intertwined with hope, especially when it comes to protests. People are protesting something because for them, the present or the situation in reality is experienced as incomplete or insufficient. So people gather whether in grief or anger, in frustration, you know, to protest with hope that something will be changed in the future. That said, I also think that, as you mentioned, this kind of idea of hope can be painful because I didn't talk a lot about this separation or i-byeol in my research, but I do talk about the distance between the present and the future. So I believe that the distance between now and the future can be really, really painful.
So people with disabilities, like how they are forced to change, how they are forced to try to cure themselves, and those kinds of hope or I will say, imposed hope for a better future or a normal future can be felt as violent for some people who do not want to change. So I think this theme of i-byeol can be explored from both ends. You know, it can be framed as something towards a hopeful, better future. But on the other hand, it can be felt as imposed. It can be felt as very violent. Dr. Eunjung Kim, in her book, there is this concept of obligation of cure. It’s when the government or the society, the people in general who are considered as abled, put pressure on disability people or their families, to work toward cure rehabilitation. As if disabled lives in the present are not that meaningful and thus, either cured or erased. So this also brings us back to this idea of separation. They are constantly forced to separate their now, their present, from their future. They are forced to hope for a better or no more future.
So in a nutshell, this whole idea like stream of hope can impose violence on some people, especially when institutional or government enforcement. So yeah, sorry, but when you mentioned this theme of i-byeol and separation and how it's relevant to this idea of both, and that reminds me of this idea of enforced cure or obligation of cure in my disability chapter.
Harriet: I'm so glad that you brought that up, because I think for me, there is such, I don’t want to say incorrect because I don't want to put a judgment word on it. But for me, I just kind of have this assumption when I think about protest, I just kind of default into this idea that it's like inherently hopeful. It's inherently good. It's inherently x, y, z.
But you're right in that, especially thinking about our systems and what's institutionalized. And in this case, we're talking about a system that doesn't really serve people who have disabilities. Like what I don't want to say that protest doesn't have any value, but it does kind of impose a certain kind of violence on them. If we're just always assuming that there is like, this is purely good or can only be purely something good that comes out of this when we do need to consider what does that actually mean and what does that actually look like in the context of these bigger structures that don't actually serve everyone? So I'm really glad that you brought that up. And so, as much as we wanted to kind of break away from this idea that i-byeol is only sad and violent, the truth is that i-byeol can often be actually very forceful and displace a lot of people, whether that's literally or figuratively. So I'm glad you brought that up.
I’m struggling to actually kind of close out this question because I'm like, Oh, like, yeah, I think it's important for us to kind of, or us as me, to sit in this kind of discomfort that this is the reality of it. And I'm like, Oh, it feels weird to just kind of pivot to a different question, but if you don't mind, I'm going to pivot into a different question unless you'd like to add something before I do that.
Sangah: Oh, yeah. Just one more thing since we are on this idea of violence. This is something that I really wanted to argue in my dissertation, in my doctoral project. So candlelight vigils have been celebrated as a protest of non-violence. So compared to other typical types of protest that usually involve violent acts. Korean people have been bragging about how candlelight vigils, I mean, the title itself sounds so peaceful. They are just carrying candlelights without any act of violence involved So candlelight vigils, in general, have been framed in that way as if there is no such thing as violence found in the candlelight vigils. But since we've been talking about this i-byeol and how something that can be very hopeful or positive can turn into something very bad or violent for some people. And what I've realized while researching the whole candlelight collective, the whole candlelight participants saw their most pending and urgent demand was based on this narrow definition of politics, as if everything comes down to, the Republicans vs Democratic parties.
But if you carefully listen to the diverse voices that emanated from the Gwanghwamun Square, the majority of them really wanted to see the impeachment of Park Geun-hye. But some of them were very concerned with their lives at the time. They were less interested in party politics, but more interested in their own life struggles, which are mostly systematic problems. And when it comes to participants or activists with disabilities, They were not just talking about the impeachment of Park Geun-hye because they knew that this change in regime wouldn't affect their lives at all, because they wanted the whole society and the attitude of Korean people in general to be changed in order for them to live like people, you know. They have their rights to live. They have the right to move somewhere they want to go. For the span of 6 or 7 months of protests. There were only two individuals with disabilities who were able to hold the microphone and went onto the stage to say something that's really relevant to their own lives and demands. And even when they got a chance to speak about their realities, the reactions of the candlelight participants were not as passionate, as when they heard other speakers.
So candlelight collective participants were the main subjects of my analysis and research, and I realized that under the title of non-violent protest under the title of democracy, we’re voicing together for a better future, which is a more democratic society. But they didn't really care about the voices that were coming from inside of those Korean protesting groups. So I found that very ironic. As we discussed, I really, really hope that the future of protests to become something that, not just demanding systematic change or change in regime or change in power, I really hope that in the future, progressive activism to become a space where each and every participant has an opportunity to speak out and express themselves, and each and every participant, become ready to listen to each other.
Harriet: Yeah, that is such a good point that I didn't actually think about the image of the protest from that time, it seemed so safe and peaceful. And it's so interesting to hear you talk about how the reality of it is that culturally sort of inside protest, it wasn't actually safe for everyone. If we're talking about the point of view from people who are disabled and whatnot. So it's really fascinating. I think it's actually quite, I mean, excuse my ignorance. I'm not fully aware of a lot of the nuances in the culture in Korea around this. But it does seem like quite a big departure from the images that we have of protests from Korea in the 60s, 70s, 80s. And I'm curious if it was kind of like an intentional thing to have this image of like, Hey, we're safe, we’re peaceful, and hey, we won because, you know, she I eventually did get, impeached and all of these things.
It's interesting because I don't think I really heard anything like, We want her out but what happens after that? I don't think I heard a lot about what people wanted outside of her being outed from office. And I don't want to say that the image of it being a peaceful thing was purely manufactured, but maybe it was just an unintentional thing? but I'm curious if that's like something that came up in your research as you were kind of comparing the imagery of this protest compared to the past, given our history?
Sangah: Yeah, I don't think this whole image is the work of some groups’ intention, but I think there's definitely a media involved in the curation of this image, especially the image of peaceful protest, to be seen from outside of Korea. So it also has to do with this theme of 국뽕 (gukppong). You know, Korean people tend to feel very proudful, feel pride when foreigners or people outside of Korea praise their cultural stuff. And what happened was that after the 2016, 2017 candlelight vigils, this idea of peaceful protest, I mean, it's quite intense. It's really rare to see millions of people gather together to protest. And they voice in a very united way, without a single reported occasion of violence. That's something remarkable. I agree with that. And so this image of one voice or non-violent protest has been sold or celebrated to foreign media, and it became a source of global exportation. So, yeah, it became a new brand like K-democracy. They even put a name on it. And yeah, it became branded as a source of pride for many Koreans.
So I think there's definitely major media working to create this image of peaceful protest. And what it did was to mute or silence all other voices. I just said there was none of the single reported occasional violence, but there were many violent acts that were reported. So, for example, I talk about how women who felt discomfort while being within the collective group because there were so many occasions of sexual violence, inflicted on women’s body, because some men in their 50s or 40s, they took advantage of this crowd. So there were several reports of such sexual violation and in harassment and on a major media, you couldn't find those report of the real occasions of sexual harassment. So I think there is definitely a media working towards creating this external image of non-violence, because we all know that there were some incidents of violence on the protest side.
Harriet: Right. Oh, my gosh. That is wild to think about. I feel like someone who doesn't… I'm not very fluent in Korean, so I don't like, really consume a lot of news from Korea in Korean. So I find this actually very easy to sort of brush off what's happening in Korea, as like, Oh, I don’t understand, so I'll just read the headlines in English. But it's very different when you're just hearing the headlines, especially ones in English vs hearing what is actually happening on the ground. But yeah, I'm curious if there’s anything else about your research that you'd like to tell us about.
Sangah: I also talk about the relations between voice and power dynamics, because voice is the central theme of my dissertation and in Korean studies in academia, there is ample amount of research that has been done on Korean activism, especially candlelight vigils. And in those studies, voice has been frequently used as a metaphor for solidarity and unity. And it's really interesting and troubling for me to see how the term voice has been foregrounded to signify this idea of consensus and solidarity, while not necessarily talking about people's voices. So I used my space in my dissertation writing as a way to bring back the people's voices, both literally and figuratively. So what I did was listen to the voices of who were actually there, or who participated in the candlelight vigils. And I analyze their voices and how they change or use or manipulate their vocal pitch timbre with rhythm, the sonic aspects of their voice, in order to argue against this idea of one voice.
So this is my way of, since I'm a singer, I've been very interested in voice and listening to voices. So this was my way of problematizing the figurative or metaphoric sense of voice. There are so many researchers who talk about voice without really listening into their voices. So this is my dissertation, including a lot of real sounding voices or gestured voices, especially for those who are deaf. They used their gestures or their bodies and other types of movements as their voices. So I use a material embodied sense of voices to disrupt this idea of one voice. So, yeah, I just wanted to add that.
Harriet: Yeah. Thank you for adding that. I didn't actually fully appreciate how you literally analyzed the sort of sonic metrics of the person's voice or sometimes the physical sort of gestures that kind of embody this idea of a voice. Because I think I kind of also kind of defaulted into this idea of like voice as in like the figurative sense of unity or maybe not unity
Sangah: Yeah. Power.
Harriet: Yeah, all of these things. So I didn't actually appreciate that you there was like a literal sort of sense to that. And that's so fascinating. I wonder if there is anything that you have plans for in terms of talking more about your research that people can maybe attend in terms of events or look into more about your research because there's so much to it that and we have very limited time today, so I’m wondering if people are curious to learn more about your research and what you studied, how can people sort of access that information?
Sangah: Now I'm trying to focus my time and energy into expanding this pansori community in Toronto. Yeah, but I will let you know and your audience, if any talk relevant to my research is arranged.
Harriet: Maybe one last question that we could end off on is that, just kind of maybe as a way to bring in your research and your performance together. I know we've talked about “Arirang” a few times. And I think every performance I've seen you at, you've performed some version of it. And as you mentioned, it is one of the most popular, if not the most popular Korean folk songs. And it holds so much meaning for us as Koreans. You know, especially with the symbolism of resistance and liberation. And again, it just feels very relevant to our theme. I'm wondering if you could tell us about what kind of meaning this particular song holds for you.
Sangah: Great question to wrap up the interview.
For me, I did “Arirang” is really, really special. This is something that I teach in the very first session whenever I have a new student. Not just because “Arirang” is quite easy or easier to follow and learn compared to other pansori or folk songs, but also, it holds such a powerful, special meaning for many Koreans. And for me, “Arirang,” not always, but quite often brings me to tears, like either on stage while singing or off the stage listening to various words of “Arirang.” Because “Arirang” so much reminds me of the hardship our ancestors had to go through. Poverty, war, colonial times, like all different types of war crimes, loss, displacement, separation from their families and loved ones. I mean, I'm not a big fan of romanticizing roots or traditional legacies or heritage, but “Arirang” does really hold special power for me because it’s just a constant reminder of where I came from as a person, as an activist, I’m especially interested in the, comfort woman issue. That can be another talk for the future.
Anyway, yeah, every time I sing “Arirang,” there is this painful imagery of people's ancestors' faces who suffered a lot. And I get really emotional, especially when I get to sing this song with diverse people, not just Koreans, but from diverse race ethnicities and nationalities. I feel a deep sense of connection. As I briefly mentioned before, whenever I do that, whenever I create a stage for various people to sing along with “Arirang,” I am always struck by how people with very different experiences can still feel connected, through its themes. I think I also mentioned this on stage, when you came to my concert and, to a certain extent, I really believe that we all share any type of experience of losing someone, losing something special to me. The central theme of “Arirang” is not just about hoping for a better future, but it's also a Korean way of remembering the painful past. So yeah, in that sense, “Arirang” holds a very special place for me.
Harriet: Thank you so much for sharing that and for joining us
Harriet: Hi Sangah. Thank you so much for joining us for our Volume 5. To start, can you briefly introduce yourself for our audience?
Sangah: Thank you so much for having me today. My name is Sangah Lee. Or should I say, Dr. Sangah Lee because I just finished my doctoral program in Ethnomusicology at the University of Toronto. I just finished defending my doctoral dissertation under the title, “Peripheral Voices: The Dissensual Collective of the Candlelight Vigils in South Korea.” And I'm also a Toronto-based pansori performer and instructor. So I'm now running this non-profit organization called Canada Pansori Center, which is dedicated to introducing pansori or Korean traditional arts and cultures in general
Harriet: Yeah, I've seen you perform a few times this past year, and I'm so excited that you are joining us for this volume because I mean, the singing itself is just amazing. You are so talented.
Sangah: Thanks.
Harriet: And congratulations on defending your thesis. I know that's quite the milestone to reach. Can you tell us a little bit more about the research that you did?
Sangah: Sure. So my dissertation examines diverse voices in South Korean activism. And I begin by asking this question, why voice matters in this political context. And the reason why, one of the reasons why I got interested in the voice and connecting the theme of voice to Korean activism is that I noticed that collective action in South Korea has long been framed through this particular phrase called, “하나의 목소리,” which translates into one voice or united voice. And this narrative or discourse highlights the theme of unity and consensus, like solidarity. And I also believe that this also carries social and political consequences, which is that the idea of one voice can overshadow any types of disagreement or internal conflicts or differences within a movement. This discourse makes it hard to see.
My focus is on the 2016, 2017 candlelight vigils that demanded the impeachment of then-president Park Geun-hye. And these gatherings, these candlelight vigils, brought together, remarkably wide range of participants, including men and women workers, students, disabled participants or disability rights activists, LGBTQ+ communities, and many others. But as one of the participants in the candlelight vigils, I noticed that their concerns, especially their ideals towards democracy were not necessarily aligned with this dominant central demand to impeach President Park Geun-hye. So, it got me really interested. And I looked at how these various voices actually sounded in the Gwanghwamun Square and how these voices sometimes disrupted or ruptured this dominant narrative that cherished the idea of unity and solidarity and how these voices sometimes were attacked or erased. So, yeah, that's the basic idea of my research.
Harriet: Oh, that's so fascinating. I think that it always seems to be the struggle between how do we have a cohesive way of mobilizing without overstepping on some of the nuances or some of the much needed constructive criticism or feedback in the movement. Since you’re a pansori singer, did you find that played a role at all in creating this collective voice? Because I know that in that particular protest that, I guess in general, more recently, K-pop has been a very big component, and a lot of the major protests that we've seen in Korea, For example like, 소녀시대 or Girls’ Generation, their song “Into the New World” emerged during that protest in 2016 when Ewha University students, and then recently in the protest against President Yoon, we saw K-pop, also play a role in that. I guess, especially given the popularity of Korean music, just globally and in Korea specifically. Just from your perspective, how do you understand the role of contemporary pop and, or pansori in shaping sort of protest culture and creating this sort of collective voice?
Sangah: Great question. I think my answer will be pretty long because we kind of cover traditional vocal practices on the one hand, and something that's called 민중가요 (minjung gayo) in between, And now we are looking at the era where K-pop has been used in protest. And so when it comes to pansori, and since I'm a pansori singer, I really, really focused on and looked into when and where pansori has been used in this particular political context.
So like historically, pansori certainly resonates with these ideas of speaking out, you know, and expressing political concerns because it originated among ordinary people like grassroots people. It was folk entertainment for those who were located at the bottom of social hierarchies, especially in a pre-modern Korean context. And it gradually developed into a professional art form to an extent that now pansori is like a national theatrical form that is supported by the government. But in protest settings, people, I believe, usually gravitate towards chants or songs that are easy to shout, easy to sing together, easy to sing along. In that sense, pansori is not very accessible given the fact that pansori is quite technically demanding. And not many Korean people are very familiar with pansori repertoires themselves. They know the existence of pansori, but if you ask them to sing pansori, I’m sure not many people can sing along with pansori repertoires. I mean, there have been some pansori singers who created politically-engaged repertoires, you know, pansori style, and they presented those works in protest. But these tend to be presentational from pansori professional singers rather than inviting participants to sing along.
But I would say 민요 (minyo), which is another genre of Korean traditional vocal music, on the other hand, is built on everyday singing traditions, especially for older generations. So like “Arirang,” which is one of the most popular folk songs, minyo. It's frequently sung in protest contexts. And when Korean protesters in the diaspora sing Arirang or other minyo, I think it produces a lot more like a lot stronger affect and effects. It can produce a strong sense of solidarity, especially among Korean people. It allows them to not only voice their political concerns while also confirming and affirming their roots. And I think this mix of strong feelings can heighten this emotional atmosphere. So I've seen a lot of cases where minyo has been used in a political context.
When it comes to mean minjung gayo, minjung gayo emerged specifically as a direct mobilizing tool during the democratization movements from the 1960s onward. And for that reason, it has historically been more common to be sung and heard in protest than traditional vocal music like pansori minyo both in Korea and abroad. And now I'm just reminded of this particular song out of minjung gayo repertoires, which is “임을 위한 행진곡,” “March for the Beloved.” And I sang this song with a lot of Torontonians or Koreans who live in Toronto when we gathered together to protest, calling for President Yoon Suk-yeol’s impeachment last December. We gathered at Nathan Phillips Square and at the protest we sang “March for the Beloved” together. And at the same time we also sang “다시 만난 세계,” “Into the New World” by Girls’ Generation that you just mentioned. So, in a nutshell, I think, it's not just about the differences between like, different characteristics among these musical genres, but I think we need to take generational dynamics into discussion when it comes to the sonic, like soundscape of protests of Korea or among Korean people in diaspora, because generational change has been reshaping protest culture in general. And I think especially in these days, many younger activists feel more comfortable when they sing K-pop rather than like older political songs, whether it be minjung gayo.
Harriet: Right. Yeah, there's some, so many things to think about from what you just said. I'm so fascinated to hear how singing, whether that's like K-pop or pansori or something more traditional, has been such a unifying thing for you and your peers, like other Korean people here in Toronto to protest what is happening in Korea but the power of pansori and just, not just pansori but just kind of singing together generally, I feel like it's such a powerful tradition that we sort of carry generationally in protest to whatever's happening. This is true of the current day, but it's also true of our ancestors and like past generations. So I'm kind of surprised to hear about the idea that there was enough Korean people in Toronto to come together to sing pansori in protest, because I haven't heard of pansori before I heard you performing, and I'm 34, so that’s like a very long time to go without knowing about pansori or even like the history of pansori and protest.
So I'm curious how you picture bringing the role of pansori for diasporic people. And kind of adapting it to the reality that protesting culture here in Canada is different from protesting in Hawai’i versus protesting in Korea. And it's very specific to the city and the culture that exists in that city. So I'm curious about how you think about bringing pansori to diasporic Koreans who may have never heard of pansori and just kind of using that as like a tool for protest and as a way to bring people together, but also just kind of honouring the differences that exist protesting in different places.
Sangah: I think in terms of bringing this tradition into Korean community in diaspora more generally, or to protest context and more specifically, I think what matters is how we recreate or reimagine the existing pansori repertoires into something that can be relatable to many people, whether they are Korean or those who can understand Korean or non Koreans or those who do not understand Korean, because pansori is a storytelling tradition. So the lyric, the Korean lyric is what really, really matters. So it depends on, I mean, people say music is a universal language, but I think there is a limitation, especially for these kinds of theatrical music traditions. If the audience or participants do not know what the lyrics really, really stand for, then I think there is a certain limitation or language barrier. But also what I felt was that, whenever I perform pansori to the Canadian audiences who identify as, I don't know how to speak Korean, but they always come to me and said, I felt something very strong from your voice.
So I think in that sense, even though there is a language barrier this way of, heart and heart connection and relaying the messages through the emotions rather than the messages, It's not just about recreating pansori into something that can make people surprised, Oh, this is a very interesting tradition, but usually the interest ends here. And to make pansori be more resonating among many people, I think it's really, really important to make it accessible. As I just mentioned in the previous questions, pansori repertoires when they are presented at the protest sites, they are usually presentational. So I think if I or other pansori practitioners can work hard to create some pansori style or pansori-oriented repertoires, they can invite, welcome everyone to join in and sing along and listen to their own experiences and have their own experiences observed into this repertoires. I think pansori has such a potential, in terms of creating a solidarity atmosphere. So I think it's a long shot. I think it requires a lot of collective work and research. But I think since pansori has such an amazing vocal technique and then like traditional symbolic meanings, I think we can harness those traditional and historical nuances and combine them with contemporary political concerns and energies. I think it can have such a powerful repertoire.
Harriet: Yeah. Oh, my gosh, I am, I have so many questions for you. And so I'm trying to decide where to go next. But speaking of the presentational sort of aspect of pansori, and you, as a performer, I know you recently put on a program where you are teaching pansori as well to Korean and non-Korean folks alike. And that was a three-month program, was it? And then you put on a performance recently teaching the sort of history of pansori, also a part of the process. And how do you sort of relay, again, the power and the emotion of performing to other people?
Sangah: Yeah, when it comes to teaching or sharing this tradition, to those who identify as non-Koreans, what really matters is, we have to take a holistic approach to pedagogy or teaching because I've never framed my way of teaching pansori as just simply teaching pansori, you know what I mean? We have to talk about and discuss or teach Korean histories in general, and Korean histories relevant to traditional music, and Korean language, especially for those who do not speak or write Korean, and the general cultural studies. And when all these elements are combined, then we can truly appreciate and learn pansori. That's how I approach my classes. So to be honest, if let's say we have two hour classes per week, then I would spend the first hour just teaching them what these lyrics mean and what kind of historical or cultural references you can take away from, learning or analyzing those lyrics. So I always try to make connections between the overarching culture, history, large picture, and then specifics of the meanings of vocabularies and the lyrics. And then I would move on to teaching how to sing those lyrics, you know, pansori style for the rest of like one hour. So that's how I frame my class.
So it's not the same as how people teach pansori in Korea to pansori practitioners. It takes much more research, lots more effort, for them to truly understand what they are singing about. Especially about the process of this particular project called 소리 (So-ri). And I first designed this program as a three-month program. But three months is a very short period of time for them, to prep them to be able to sing on the stage. So we spent two extra months preparing the show together.
And the one thing that I realized is that regardless of their language, like Korean proficiency or their knowledge in Korean culture, I was amazed by how their diverse experiences from diverse backgrounds can be reflected in the pansori, like Korean songs. So I really liked how sometimes I felt like the class was like a therapy session. So whenever I explained to them, Oh, this, for example, “Arirang.” This means that, that, and it contains the ideas of loss, loss of country, loss of loved ones. And people started sharing about their own experiences of loss or other hardship. And I asked them to, even though we are singing in a foreign language, Korean, asked them to think about those moments when singing this song, and then they're singing not just their techniques, but the way they express themselves express their emotions were significantly improved because we made the song more relatable to each other's stories. So pansori storytelling tradition, and I think it's meaningless for me to teach them just, you know, mimic how we sing. I wanted them to make those pansori songs their own. And the result was amazing, as you witnessed.
Harriet: Yeah.
Sangah: Some of them were crying on stage because they were sincerely singing and expressing themselves. They were not just singing, this distant tradition called pansori.
Harriet: Right.
Sangah: So I just want to say the whole process was powerful.
Harriet: Right, yeah. And I really felt that as someone who was sitting in the audience for that performance. I appreciate the number of hours that they put in. But also just like the heart and soul that kind of went into that. Yeah, I think the sort of ideals that you brought to your teaching practice, just to bring it back to your research for a second. I'm curious what you see and maybe hope for the future of protest in Korea. I know that's a very big question, but just given how bringing our sort of diversity and like our experiences and our sort of identities and how that kind of actually enhances our sort of ability to, be in solidarity with each other as opposed to the other way around. I'm wondering, just knowing that, embodying that in your practice. I'm wondering what you see and hope for the future of Korean protest and how it could change to maybe better sort of encapsulate that, if that makes any sense.
Sangah: So the overarching question for my dissertation, my project, was to problematize this whole collectivist and totalizing ethos that have governed South Korean progressive activism. And as I was more and more diving into interviews and field work, people tend to think that progressive activism should be governed by this idea of cherishing or foregrounding diversity. We decide who we want to be, that kind of rhetoric or discourse. But when it comes to South Korean progressive activism, diversity is just the title itself. It doesn't do anything within the collective protest. So I think what I really, really hope for future protests is that balancing out between working towards solidarity, because this idea of solidarity is really, really important. And it’s really common, not just in Korea but elsewhere. It's really common for protesters to produce one voice. We are talking about the same thing. You have to listen to us because we are demanding this one simple thing, but in reality, no, collective by definition is an aggregate of diverse people. And this is just the process rather than the result of the solidarity.
So I hope that in the future, Korean progressive activism can take form in a way that balances out this idea of solidarity, which is important on its own, but listening to the nuances that are voiced out by diverse people. And I was really glad to see how the very recent candlelight vigils, anti-martial law vigil, was looking like a meaningful process, like stepping forward toward listening to diverse voices. And I don't know if that's because of the generational shift or shift in gender dynamics. Because of the recent protests, the majority of participants were women in their 20s and 30s, and they not only problematized Yoon Suk-yeol and his political wrongdoings, but they tried to listen carefully to diverse other voices, like farmers and irregular workers and LGBTQ people. So in that sense, their slogan as a solidarity was in as opposed to muting the diverse voices. No, they showed us how solidarity and diversity can go hand in hand. So it's not like solidarity is not the opposition of diverse voices. I saw a bright future in the recent protests in that sense.
Harriet: This is very encouraging to hear. And I think it took us a long time to get to this place. I will say, I don't have a lot of experience in sort of protest and protest culture in Korea specifically, just because I've never lived there. So but I know that's also very true of, you know, just being in protest here in Toronto. And so I know how hard it is to get to this place. And I want to bring this back to our theme of i-byeol. We're thinking about the ideals around i-byeol, where we’re moving away from something ending and then moving forward to something maybe new or different.
As you are giving your answer, I was thinking a lot about how that feels like it embodies so much of what we’re trying to explore in this volume with this theme. So much about protest is about putting your faith into something better for the future that you might not actually see for yourself and might only come like generations from now. And I think that is a kind of hope and optimism that is actually very hard to hold on to. It can be very painful, to let go of something in the past or the way that things were in order to move towards something better. And so it feels very aligned and very reflective of what we're trying to explore in this volume. And so I'm wondering what i-byeol means for you.
Sangah: I totally agree with what you just said. I believe the theme of i-byeol is not just saying goodbye to the past or to, like your loved ones, but i-byeol is also very much intertwined with hope, especially when it comes to protests. People are protesting something because for them, the present or the situation in reality is experienced as incomplete or insufficient. So people gather whether in grief or anger, in frustration, you know, to protest with hope that something will be changed in the future. That said, I also think that, as you mentioned, this kind of idea of hope can be painful because I didn't talk a lot about this separation or i-byeol in my research, but I do talk about the distance between the present and the future. So I believe that the distance between now and the future can be really, really painful.
So people with disabilities, like how they are forced to change, how they are forced to try to cure themselves, and those kinds of hope or I will say, imposed hope for a better future or a normal future can be felt as violent for some people who do not want to change. So I think this theme of i-byeol can be explored from both ends. You know, it can be framed as something towards a hopeful, better future. But on the other hand, it can be felt as imposed. It can be felt as very violent. Dr. Eunjung Kim, in her book, there is this concept of obligation of cure. It’s when the government or the society, the people in general who are considered as abled, put pressure on disability people or their families, to work toward cure rehabilitation. As if disabled lives in the present are not that meaningful and thus, either cured or erased. So this also brings us back to this idea of separation. They are constantly forced to separate their now, their present, from their future. They are forced to hope for a better or no more future.
So in a nutshell, this whole idea like stream of hope can impose violence on some people, especially when institutional or government enforcement. So yeah, sorry, but when you mentioned this theme of i-byeol and separation and how it's relevant to this idea of both, and that reminds me of this idea of enforced cure or obligation of cure in my disability chapter.
Harriet: I'm so glad that you brought that up, because I think for me, there is such, I don’t want to say incorrect because I don't want to put a judgment word on it. But for me, I just kind of have this assumption when I think about protest, I just kind of default into this idea that it's like inherently hopeful. It's inherently good. It's inherently x, y, z.
But you're right in that, especially thinking about our systems and what's institutionalized. And in this case, we're talking about a system that doesn't really serve people who have disabilities. Like what I don't want to say that protest doesn't have any value, but it does kind of impose a certain kind of violence on them. If we're just always assuming that there is like, this is purely good or can only be purely something good that comes out of this when we do need to consider what does that actually mean and what does that actually look like in the context of these bigger structures that don't actually serve everyone? So I'm really glad that you brought that up. And so, as much as we wanted to kind of break away from this idea that i-byeol is only sad and violent, the truth is that i-byeol can often be actually very forceful and displace a lot of people, whether that's literally or figuratively. So I'm glad you brought that up.
I’m struggling to actually kind of close out this question because I'm like, Oh, like, yeah, I think it's important for us to kind of, or us as me, to sit in this kind of discomfort that this is the reality of it. And I'm like, Oh, it feels weird to just kind of pivot to a different question, but if you don't mind, I'm going to pivot into a different question unless you'd like to add something before I do that.
Sangah: Oh, yeah. Just one more thing since we are on this idea of violence. This is something that I really wanted to argue in my dissertation, in my doctoral project. So candlelight vigils have been celebrated as a protest of non-violence. So compared to other typical types of protest that usually involve violent acts. Korean people have been bragging about how candlelight vigils, I mean, the title itself sounds so peaceful. They are just carrying candlelights without any act of violence involved So candlelight vigils, in general, have been framed in that way as if there is no such thing as violence found in the candlelight vigils. But since we've been talking about this i-byeol and how something that can be very hopeful or positive can turn into something very bad or violent for some people. And what I've realized while researching the whole candlelight collective, the whole candlelight participants saw their most pending and urgent demand was based on this narrow definition of politics, as if everything comes down to, the Republicans vs Democratic parties.
But if you carefully listen to the diverse voices that emanated from the Gwanghwamun Square, the majority of them really wanted to see the impeachment of Park Geun-hye. But some of them were very concerned with their lives at the time. They were less interested in party politics, but more interested in their own life struggles, which are mostly systematic problems. And when it comes to participants or activists with disabilities, They were not just talking about the impeachment of Park Geun-hye because they knew that this change in regime wouldn't affect their lives at all, because they wanted the whole society and the attitude of Korean people in general to be changed in order for them to live like people, you know. They have their rights to live. They have the right to move somewhere they want to go. For the span of 6 or 7 months of protests. There were only two individuals with disabilities who were able to hold the microphone and went onto the stage to say something that's really relevant to their own lives and demands. And even when they got a chance to speak about their realities, the reactions of the candlelight participants were not as passionate, as when they heard other speakers.
So candlelight collective participants were the main subjects of my analysis and research, and I realized that under the title of non-violent protest under the title of democracy, we’re voicing together for a better future, which is a more democratic society. But they didn't really care about the voices that were coming from inside of those Korean protesting groups. So I found that very ironic. As we discussed, I really, really hope that the future of protests to become something that, not just demanding systematic change or change in regime or change in power, I really hope that in the future, progressive activism to become a space where each and every participant has an opportunity to speak out and express themselves, and each and every participant, become ready to listen to each other.
Harriet: Yeah, that is such a good point that I didn't actually think about the image of the protest from that time, it seemed so safe and peaceful. And it's so interesting to hear you talk about how the reality of it is that culturally sort of inside protest, it wasn't actually safe for everyone. If we're talking about the point of view from people who are disabled and whatnot. So it's really fascinating. I think it's actually quite, I mean, excuse my ignorance. I'm not fully aware of a lot of the nuances in the culture in Korea around this. But it does seem like quite a big departure from the images that we have of protests from Korea in the 60s, 70s, 80s. And I'm curious if it was kind of like an intentional thing to have this image of like, Hey, we're safe, we’re peaceful, and hey, we won because, you know, she I eventually did get, impeached and all of these things.
It's interesting because I don't think I really heard anything like, We want her out but what happens after that? I don't think I heard a lot about what people wanted outside of her being outed from office. And I don't want to say that the image of it being a peaceful thing was purely manufactured, but maybe it was just an unintentional thing? but I'm curious if that's like something that came up in your research as you were kind of comparing the imagery of this protest compared to the past, given our history?
Sangah: Yeah, I don't think this whole image is the work of some groups’ intention, but I think there's definitely a media involved in the curation of this image, especially the image of peaceful protest, to be seen from outside of Korea. So it also has to do with this theme of 국뽕 (gukppong). You know, Korean people tend to feel very proudful, feel pride when foreigners or people outside of Korea praise their cultural stuff. And what happened was that after the 2016, 2017 candlelight vigils, this idea of peaceful protest, I mean, it's quite intense. It's really rare to see millions of people gather together to protest. And they voice in a very united way, without a single reported occasion of violence. That's something remarkable. I agree with that. And so this image of one voice or non-violent protest has been sold or celebrated to foreign media, and it became a source of global exportation. So, yeah, it became a new brand like K-democracy. They even put a name on it. And yeah, it became branded as a source of pride for many Koreans.
So I think there's definitely major media working to create this image of peaceful protest. And what it did was to mute or silence all other voices. I just said there was none of the single reported occasional violence, but there were many violent acts that were reported. So, for example, I talk about how women who felt discomfort while being within the collective group because there were so many occasions of sexual violence, inflicted on women’s body, because some men in their 50s or 40s, they took advantage of this crowd. So there were several reports of such sexual violation and in harassment and on a major media, you couldn't find those report of the real occasions of sexual harassment. So I think there is definitely a media working towards creating this external image of non-violence, because we all know that there were some incidents of violence on the protest side.
Harriet: Right. Oh, my gosh. That is wild to think about. I feel like someone who doesn't… I'm not very fluent in Korean, so I don't like, really consume a lot of news from Korea in Korean. So I find this actually very easy to sort of brush off what's happening in Korea, as like, Oh, I don’t understand, so I'll just read the headlines in English. But it's very different when you're just hearing the headlines, especially ones in English vs hearing what is actually happening on the ground. But yeah, I'm curious if there’s anything else about your research that you'd like to tell us about.
Sangah: I also talk about the relations between voice and power dynamics, because voice is the central theme of my dissertation and in Korean studies in academia, there is ample amount of research that has been done on Korean activism, especially candlelight vigils. And in those studies, voice has been frequently used as a metaphor for solidarity and unity. And it's really interesting and troubling for me to see how the term voice has been foregrounded to signify this idea of consensus and solidarity, while not necessarily talking about people's voices. So I used my space in my dissertation writing as a way to bring back the people's voices, both literally and figuratively. So what I did was listen to the voices of who were actually there, or who participated in the candlelight vigils. And I analyze their voices and how they change or use or manipulate their vocal pitch timbre with rhythm, the sonic aspects of their voice, in order to argue against this idea of one voice.
So this is my way of, since I'm a singer, I've been very interested in voice and listening to voices. So this was my way of problematizing the figurative or metaphoric sense of voice. There are so many researchers who talk about voice without really listening into their voices. So this is my dissertation, including a lot of real sounding voices or gestured voices, especially for those who are deaf. They used their gestures or their bodies and other types of movements as their voices. So I use a material embodied sense of voices to disrupt this idea of one voice. So, yeah, I just wanted to add that.
Harriet: Yeah. Thank you for adding that. I didn't actually fully appreciate how you literally analyzed the sort of sonic metrics of the person's voice or sometimes the physical sort of gestures that kind of embody this idea of a voice. Because I think I kind of also kind of defaulted into this idea of like voice as in like the figurative sense of unity or maybe not unity
Sangah: Yeah. Power.
Harriet: Yeah, all of these things. So I didn't actually appreciate that you there was like a literal sort of sense to that. And that's so fascinating. I wonder if there is anything that you have plans for in terms of talking more about your research that people can maybe attend in terms of events or look into more about your research because there's so much to it that and we have very limited time today, so I’m wondering if people are curious to learn more about your research and what you studied, how can people sort of access that information?
Sangah: Now I'm trying to focus my time and energy into expanding this pansori community in Toronto. Yeah, but I will let you know and your audience, if any talk relevant to my research is arranged.
Harriet: Maybe one last question that we could end off on is that, just kind of maybe as a way to bring in your research and your performance together. I know we've talked about “Arirang” a few times. And I think every performance I've seen you at, you've performed some version of it. And as you mentioned, it is one of the most popular, if not the most popular Korean folk songs. And it holds so much meaning for us as Koreans. You know, especially with the symbolism of resistance and liberation. And again, it just feels very relevant to our theme. I'm wondering if you could tell us about what kind of meaning this particular song holds for you.
Sangah: Great question to wrap up the interview.
For me, I did “Arirang” is really, really special. This is something that I teach in the very first session whenever I have a new student. Not just because “Arirang” is quite easy or easier to follow and learn compared to other pansori or folk songs, but also, it holds such a powerful, special meaning for many Koreans. And for me, “Arirang,” not always, but quite often brings me to tears, like either on stage while singing or off the stage listening to various words of “Arirang.” Because “Arirang” so much reminds me of the hardship our ancestors had to go through. Poverty, war, colonial times, like all different types of war crimes, loss, displacement, separation from their families and loved ones. I mean, I'm not a big fan of romanticizing roots or traditional legacies or heritage, but “Arirang” does really hold special power for me because it’s just a constant reminder of where I came from as a person, as an activist, I’m especially interested in the, comfort woman issue. That can be another talk for the future.
Anyway, yeah, every time I sing “Arirang,” there is this painful imagery of people's ancestors' faces who suffered a lot. And I get really emotional, especially when I get to sing this song with diverse people, not just Koreans, but from diverse race ethnicities and nationalities. I feel a deep sense of connection. As I briefly mentioned before, whenever I do that, whenever I create a stage for various people to sing along with “Arirang,” I am always struck by how people with very different experiences can still feel connected, through its themes. I think I also mentioned this on stage, when you came to my concert and, to a certain extent, I really believe that we all share any type of experience of losing someone, losing something special to me. The central theme of “Arirang” is not just about hoping for a better future, but it's also a Korean way of remembering the painful past. So yeah, in that sense, “Arirang” holds a very special place for me.
Harriet: Thank you so much for sharing that and for joining us
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Dr. Sangah Lee is a Canada-based pansori performer. She holds a degree in Korean music from Ewha Womans University and received the Minister’s Award at the National Pansori Competition in South Korea. After immigrating to Canada in 2017 to pursue doctoral studies in Ethnomusicology at the University of Toronto, she completed her Ph.D. with a dissertation examining music and voice in South Korean activism.
She has been an active performer in concerts, events, and festivals, appearing as a solo artist and as a member of several ensembles, including Haneum, Baejjang-e, and Ongi. As the founder and artistic director of the Canada Pansori Center, she advances Korean cultural traditions through educational initiatives and community-based programs. She also serves as a lecturer and workshop coordinator at the University of Toronto’s Faculty of Music. | IG @pansori_into |
