The name "Hankuk University of Foreign Studies" is a mistranslation of what in the original Korean would literally mean "Hankuk University of Foreign Language." Like other universities in the world, and like all historical beings in this and other parts of the globe, Hankuk University is riding the current of change, naturally triggering a dispute between those who wish to resist and those happy to float along the tide. The central point of contention can be summed up rather neatly: should one hold on to the title of a "University of foreign language (or foreign studies)" or not?

What's in a name, though? Does it really matter? With Shakespeare's Juliet we can agree that a name is really nothing, that the fair shape of the person is what matters. Similarly, a university can be designated with whatever collection of words as long as it has a lovely body.
This is all true, no doubt, except that the said Hankuk University, architecturally at least, looks rather shabby. Moreover, to judge from the numerous complaints posted on the school Internet board, many of the university's clients seem to find the "software" side of the university equally meager.
Professors are supposedly not delivering satisfactory goods to their customers, although they gladly receive gifts from them. The administrative staff, boasting their security as permanent fixtures of dingy concrete buildings, are also suspected of being rather too well-paid for whatever labor they're performing. If such is the sorry state of this institution, we can forget about names and attend to the body first.

Yet names count a lot for Koreans in general, and to an exceedingly noisome degree for those Koreans who earn their bread at universities. One shouldn't call a professor "Mr X" but always address the person as "Professor X." Following suit, the administrative workers also insist on being called, in literal translation, "Teacher X." Never mind what they teach. They work at a teaching shop and all shopkeepers are called "Teachers."
There can be no question, then, of altering the sacred name of Hankuk University of Foreign Studies. Nor can one ever dream of changing the ancient titles of its pigeon holes, I mean, its departments. A Department of Finnish or Yiddish, for instance, should always remain a Department of Finnish or Yiddish.
But that's the point where mystery comes in, for this Department of Finnish or Yiddish, in the case of Hankuk University, has two bodies, each residing in two different locations, separated by a vast river and two crowded cities, and divided, for that same reason, by scores of points in the national aptitude test. Now that Hankuk University wishes to slightly change the name of one of the siamese twins, the pundits and mandarins are protesting, for they breathe the air of mystification and drink the nectar of prevarication.

Whatever may be the outcome, I for one see nothing amiss with having departments of foreign studies as well as those of foreign language, at the younger campus of a university nominally devoted to foreign studies. The university can and should keep its renowned title, even despite its physics and computer science departments. Harvard kept the name of the small divinity school from which it evolved, as did Yale and Princeton. Universities of Oxford, Paris, or Bologna simply use the name of the town they have their buildings in.
Hankuk University of Foreign Studies can retain its old name, whatever new academic programs it may add to its menu. But to give solid substance to its official title, or to salvage its identity and tradition from the vicissitudes of time, it should have departments of foreign studies as well as departments of foreign language. Hankuk University of Foreign Studies, perhaps, has not been invented yet.

By Yoon Hye-joon
Associcate Professor of English Division