South Korea's stock frenzy fueled by reform stagnation

South Korea's stock market is experiencing extreme volatility, a phenomenon dubbed 'rollercoaster-spy' (rollercoaster + KOSPI), prompting reflection on the meaning of individual stock investment in the neoliberal era. Historically, stock markets were the domain of the upper and upper-middle classes. When the author first arrived in Korea in 1991, about 10% of the population were investors. This figure later decreased as many small investors, lacking the time and resources to wait out market fluctuations, were forced out.

Today, however, the landscape has dramatically shifted. With 14.42 million stock owners, roughly half of the economically active population participates in the market. This popularization of stock trading in Korea more closely resembles the U.S. model, where over half of households own stocks through retirement funds, rather than the European approach, where the average is around 20%. In Norway, where the author resides, only about 13% of individuals operate personal stock accounts. This difference is understandable: in a country like Norway, where 92% of workers have permanent contracts and homeownership is achievable by age 28, there is little incentive to risk fortunes on volatile stock markets.

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Rollercoaster-spy (rollercoaster + KOSPI) like new words are being created, and seeing the domestic stock market index repeatedly plummet and soar, I kept thinking about the meaning of individual stock investment in the neoliberal era.

Korea presents a stark contrast. With 43% of those in their 20s on non-regular contracts and the average age for first-time home buyers at 46, young Koreans increasingly see trading 'rollercoaster-spy' or foreign stocks as their last hope against the harsh realities of 'Hell Joseon.' This desperation persists despite the current liberal government's perceived inaction on these issues. Consequently, millions are turning to stock markets, becoming 'Donghak ants' or 'Seohak ants' (retail investors), as a form of individual survival.

Research in Western countries suggests a link between stock trading and political conservatism. Beyond the lower likelihood of left-wing supporters investing in stocks, those who do invest tend to focus on corporate profitability and stock prices, potentially distancing themselves from concerns about the environment and labor. While 'progressive investing' in eco-friendly or ethical companies is possible, it remains a niche practice. The author points to the recent Samsung Electronics strike, where union members engaging in legal action faced widespread animosity and demonization, as evidence of this phenomenon. Small-time investors, even with their limited capital, can easily abandon basic respect for workers' rights and the right to strike once they perceive themselves as 'capitalists.'

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In Korea, 43% of those in their 20s are on non-regular contracts, and the average age for first-time home buyers is 46. Ultimately, what makes young Koreans pin their last hopes on 'rollercoaster-spy' or foreign stocks is the reality of 'Hell Joseon.'

However, the author cautions against demonizing these small investors, just as it is wrong to demonize striking workers. Those clinging to stocks as a last resort in a society lacking future prospects may become perpetrators against striking workers, but they too are ultimately victims. The author recounts witnessing 'ant investors' in the U.S. daily lives consumed by checking stock prices, taking sedatives for losses, and suffering from insomnia and panic attacks. The article questions how different the situation is in Korea.

Beyond anxiety, the relentless pursuit of profit through investment can profoundly affect an individual's character. When time and resources are continuously channeled into 'investment,' one's social existence as an investor begins to dictate consciousness. Relationships may be viewed through a transactional lens, leading to the discarding of old friends deemed no longer beneficial. Such 'calculation-based' relationships, the author questions, can they be truly satisfying or long-lasting? A 'small capitalist' who loses money may be seen as no longer useful to their peers, leading to social isolation. If one's time becomes a subject of 'investment,' how can one truly focus on and enjoy activities like attending concerts or reading, which offer no direct financial return?

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The 'stock era' is not just about anxiety that torments investors minute by minute. If things go wrong, investment can significantly affect the investor's basic personality.

Individuals dependent on and addicted to 'investment' ultimately lose their freedom. They miss out on life's most important aspects, often without even achieving wealth. The author notes that while it's easy to blame the 'ants' flocking to stocks, the government has also encouraged small-scale investment through various policies aimed at revitalizing the stock market. Meanwhile, reforms for a welfare state are largely absent. Apartment prices in Seoul and the metropolitan area continue to rise, yet the supply of permanent rental housing remains insufficient. Health insurance coverage has stagnated around 65%, despite rising premiums. The critical issue of non-regular employment for young people remains unresolved, with the ratio of non-regular to regular worker wages falling from 72.9% five years ago to 65.2% now, indicating a worsening situation for non-regular workers.

In a context where even reform-minded administrations fail to implement tangible reforms for the majority, it is hardly surprising that millions, including young people, turn to 'stocks' as an individual escape route. The author concludes that the stagnation of reformist politics fuels the stock market frenzy, which causes immense damage to many.

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When my time and resources are continuously invested in generating profit, my social existence as an investor ultimately determines my consciousness. It means I increasingly see everything from the perspective of 'investment.'