
The notes stay with a 2017 documentary that walks, quietly, beside a farmer in Cheongju and a couple in Ulsan, and asks how a myth takes root in a generation.
The notes stay with Miss President, a documentary by Kim Jae-hwan that opened in October 2017. They refuse to treat it as a simple political film. It follows, they say, the lives and feelings of an older generation that still holds Park Chung-hee with a deep affection, and it asks, quietly, why some people still believe in him.
In front of the impeachment of Park Geun-hye, the film shows people thrown into confusion. What the notes want to watch is how a ‘myth’ had taken root in a generation’s identity.
In Cheongju, a farmer the notes name Jo Yuk-hyeong recites the National Education Charter every day and bows before a photograph of Park Chung-hee. For him, Park is the leader who raised the country, and the figure who proved his own existence.
For a couple in Ulsan, the Kim Jong-hyo couple, Park is a symbol of life that helped them endure a time of hunger. Others remember the sacrifice of Yuk Young-soo and are moved to tears. The notes also mention people around a memorial group they call Baksa-mo, followed without mockery.
The affection, as the notes read it, is not a political calculation but a memory of survival. Park is remembered as someone who made childhood hunger recede, who changed village roofs through the Saemaul movement, and who gave a life a goal. Park Geun-hye stands, here, as a symbol for a generation that shared that faith.
The notes quote her: “I can feel in my bones how devoted the people’s hearts are in mourning father and mother.” They take the sentence as a cross-section of modern Korean history, and they leave the film there. The same Korean report, at fuller length, is on CampusDown.
Last updated: 15 November 2026
They are a student reading of Miss President, a documentary by Kim Jae-hwan that opened in October 2017. The notes call it not a simple political documentary but a film about people: it follows, without mockery, the lives and feelings of an older generation that still remembers Park Chung-hee with deep affection, and asks why some people still believe in him. In front of the impeachment of Park Geun-hye, they write, the film shows people thrown into confusion, and how a ‘myth’ had taken root in a generation’s identity.
In Cheongju, a farmer the notes name Jo Yuk-hyeong recites the National Education Charter every day and bows to a photograph of Park Chung-hee. For him, Park is the leader who raised the country and the figure who proved his own existence. For a couple in Ulsan, the Kim Jong-hyo couple, Park is a symbol of life that helped them endure a time of hunger. Others, the notes say, remember the sacrifice of Yuk Young-soo and are moved to tears. The filmmaker, they add, also follows people associated with a Park Chung-hee memorial group the notes call Baksa-mo.
The feeling is not, the notes say, a political calculation, but a memory of survival. In the film, Park is remembered as someone who made childhood hunger recede, who changed village roofs through the Saemaul movement, and who gave a life a goal. Park Geun-hye stands, in this reading, not merely in a father’s shadow but as a symbol for a generation that shared a faith in the father. The notes quote her: “I can feel in my bones how devoted the people’s hearts are in mourning father and mother.” They take the short sentence as a cross-section of modern Korean history, and they close by saying that, for some, Park Chung-hee remains a person who changed a life before he remains a president.
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