“PHILAKOREA 2025 has ended. ‘Never in the field of human conflict was so much owed by so many to so few.’”

— HUR Jin, Ex Commissioner General of PHILAKOREA 2025

PHILAKOREA 2025 was held during September 17–21, but the organizing committee had in fact launched into operations from the 13th–14th, and endured hard labor until the 22nd, when most of the overseas visitors departed. The reception team at the airport was handled by Vice President of the Federation Yoo Yong-Sang’s protocol team, which in effect acted like a de facto ribbon-cutting ceremony at the very start of PhilaKorea. Except for a few exceptional cases, customs clearance did not cause any serious problems. Since the most worrying part went relatively smoothly, this was a sign things might be okay. Still, when doing this kind of work, there are countless moments when you grit your teeth or feel like lashing out at whoever happens to be nearby, and if one wanted to emphasize just how angry one felt, perhaps it would be best to leave nothing at all in writing. Nevertheless, as a record for the Federation’s official magazine, it was unavoidable to set down an account of events. Matters related to individual personalities or details that might affect the very existence of the Federation will not be discussed here. The author has already sought out those he wished to confront and said what needed to be said, and so there is no need to write it again. As someone who does not pretend calmness on the outside while writing anonymous complaints or scribbling on social media, but rather vents his anger on the spot, I believe I did enough of that already, and therefore will only list those things which, in retrospect, might be considered to have gone reasonably well to a certain point.

1.   Was the exhibition a success?

Both yes and no. First of all, the number of visitors exceeded expectations, and the scale of overseas participants and booths was not disappointing. Domestic stamp dealers’ business results were also considered quite good. Since Magok in Gangseo District is quite far from the city center, accessibility could have been the biggest problem, and many had predicted that domestic attendance would be very low, but this proved wrong. The news that “the world’s most expensive piece of paper” was coming was widely covered by major newspapers and lots of mass media, and the fact that limited edition commemorative stamps would only be sold at the exhibition made people line up at the entrance from early morning. I do not know whether the organizing committee kept exact visitor counts, but judging by the crowds each day, it is certain that officials from Korea Post and higher authorities would not have reprimanded us, asking why such a “useless” event had been held.

As for operations, how were they? Eleven years ago, the budget was 3.4 billion won, and this time it remained 3.4 billion. At first glance that may seem acceptable, but considering the rise in labor costs, consumer prices and nationwide inflation in general, in reality this meant the event was held under drastically reduced resources. To put it simply, it was like defending against an enemy corps of three divisions with only a single company. Whenever you asked “Who is in charge of this task?” the same name always came up on the phone. Even with the shortage of English-speaking staff, tasks were often tripled: making a newly landed Marine suddenly serve as airborne troops parachuting from an aircraft, and then also as engineering sappers planting landmines upon landing. One particularly bright staff member was found to be doing the work of 8–9 people alone; rather than admiring the ability, sighs of “How on earth can this be!” were more common. Such absurd task assignments might not cause issues during the early preparation stage, but as D-Day approached, with phone calls and emails pouring in from all directions, staff sank into stress, anxiety, and panic.

As a result, on the opening day, judges could not be paid their daily allowances and the promised refunds of airfares could not be carried out. Thereafter, just a few available staff had to run across the entire exhibition hall in desperate daily struggles. The causes of such an circumstance are endless to list, but the staff, almost foolishly, did not even express anger and only kept working with dogged persistence.

Winston Churchill, in praising the Royal Air Force that withstood German Luftwaffe’s air attacks in 1940, left a famous line: “Never in the field of human conflict was so much owed by so many to so few.” It was in such a battlefield-like situation, almost like Stalingrad, that some members of the committee gave their all to fulfill duties for which they would not even be honored as soldiers after death. They deserve genuine recognition. To them, instead of merely saying “thank you” or buying them a meal while pretending to have special affection, I would rather say: compensate them immediately with money.

2.   Dire Straits Before the Exhibition

In the days leading up to the exhibition, I believed the top priority was ensuring all commissioners entered Korea without trouble. Fortunately, Korea Post, after consultation with the custom authority, decided to treat exhibits as duty-free regardless of market value or appraisal, and by simply filling out three brief documents, everything would be done. Thus the tedious inventory lists requiring counts of each sheet were abolished. This was a system first adopted at the Uruguay exhibition. I wanted to spare commissioners and exhibitors such pointless labor, and had even pre-arranged agreement with the FIP to prevent recurrence.

But problems arose. Even though we explained in the simplest English and even provided samples, some still said they did not understand. I had to contact experts dispatched from the custom authority to correct wrongly filled documents one by one, and get the commissioners’ signatures — a desperate emergency measure. This meant wrestling with commissioners all over the world, across time zones, until the very last moment. Some commissioners even failed to contact us at all right up until the opening day. However, all the commissioners managed to enter Korea anyway thanks to the desperate efforts of the commissioners and my staffs.

Another headache was the sloppy work of many commissioners. We had sent them Excel lists of their country’s exhibits five months in advance, hoping they would correct typos. But as the opening drew near, when catalog production was already underway, only then did they request corrections. By mid-August, one list had undergone cell division into multiple versions, and even a single letter change meant correcting 5–7 different lists. After corrections, these had to be sent to the FIP, who then used them to upload or publish their documents. Given the varied backgrounds of commissioners, expecting discipline like that of military officers or diplomats was unrealistic. Even after catalog printing was finished, demands for small corrections and additions for the Palmares catalogue kept coming.

Then there were bizarre accidents. A British exhibitor I knew lost all files when his computer completely crashed, leaving him unable to exhibit, so five frames were left empty. From Peru, 13 frames had been submitted, but because one exhibit of 8 frames was suddenly designated a national cultural treasure, the commissioner could not leave the country. As a result, the entire 13 frames could not be shown and had to be replaced with promotional posters — an unthinkable black comedy. Another sad story: the Mexican commissioner, who had brought along his adorable daughter, found that his country’s digital files would not open on Korean systems. His crestfallen expression, on realizing his friend’s entry was lost, was so painful that I wished to help, but there was no way to open the files.

3.   Tensions at Opening and Closing

Above all, safety is the most important issue in a stamp exhibition. Visitor numbers, exhibition setup, excellent management, etc — these are secondary. What matters is that exhibits are displayed properly and safely returned.

Thankfully, except for one mishap, all exhibits returned safely. That mishap was a newly built frame, made poorly, which collapsed under the weight of the acrylic covering, damaging one stamp. Fortunately it was not a major rarity, and the exhibitor accepted it with full generosity.

On September 16, mounting the exhibits into frames was feared to cause chaos due to the limited manpower. But Korean exhibits, with its 259 frames, were preemptively mounted all on the 15th, showing quick judgment. On the 16th, other large exhibitors such as China, Japan, the U.S., and India were handled separately, avoiding long queues for commissioners from smaller countries.

Given the high age of many daily volunteers, this was in fact an impressively efficient performance. To these elderly volunteers who did not hesitate to give their time, I offer sincere thanks.

In truth, mounting and dismounting exhibits is always the most sensitive and critical part of any exhibition, but fortunately no serious accidents occurred. Thanks to the strenuous dedication and careful measure of Director Song Il-ho,, who had gained experience from the New Zealand exhibition and chaired the committee in charge, meticulous checks were carried out, ensuring success.

Since most incidents usually happen here, I judge it was very well done. I also thank the committee members, who had the tough task of sometimes responding gently, sometimes firmly rejecting unreasonable demands, all while running around with long poles.

The most nerve-wracking moment came at the very end, on the 21st, when dismantling began. The Indian commissioner reported that one of his four frames was missing. Just when I thought everything was finished, this felt like disaster. I worried it might have been mistakenly taken down early and mingled up with the exhibits from the Middle East countries. We dismounted those exhibits by our hands due to late arrivals at the exhibition hall for dismounting from Middle Eastern countries. But soon the Indian commissioner corrected himself, saying it had indeed been three frames all along, and the tension eased.

4.   Awards

Since there were only 2,000 frames, not 3,000 as before, medals below Vermeil were largely eliminated. But developing countries that could only bring one or two entries were still accommodated even if they did not qualify for Vermeil.

Naturally, the results show many high scores: 32 Large Golds and 86 Golds.

Japan had the most with 3 Large Golds and 6 Golds. China had 3 Large Golds and 5 Golds. The U.S. had 2 Large Golds and 6 Golds. The U.K., though with fewer exhibits, scored 2 Large Golds and 5 Golds. India, despite being 5th in frame numbers with 21 exhibits, earned only one Gold. India must have many world-class exhibits, but it seems to me that India on purpose proposed lots of pioneering exhibits for Philakorea 2025 in particular. Korea, the hosting country, with its unusually many participants, had 3 Large Golds and 6 Golds.

The highlight: Kim Young-gil, won the Grand Prix National with his exhibit on old Korean postal history. After 11 years of effort, humbly accepting criticism and advice, he had completely transformed the structure of his pages, explanatory texts, and English quality. Without a vote, he won the Grand Prix alone.

The Grand Prix International went to Japan’s Saito Toru (斎享) with his 1873–74 Classic Stationery. The World Stamp Champion went to Charnchai Karnasuta, President of the Thai Philatelic Association, for his exhibit on the Early Postal History of Siam, 1880–1900, defeating Alfred Schmidt of Germany and Knut Heister of Venezuela.

The revised edition of the Korean Specialized Stamp Catalogue and the History of Postal Offices (1876–1945), published by the Federation and entered in Literature, won Large Vermeil and Vermeil respectively. The monthly “Woopyo” again stayed at Large Silver, showing once more that journals lacking sufficient English insertion find it hard to win higher awards.

5.   Palmares: The Good, The Bad and The Ugly

The Palmares, combining awards ceremony and banquet, was in great demand. Tickets were expensive — 150,000 KRW. Eleven years ago only 20 tickets were sold outside those entitled to free entry, but this time all 45 tickets were sold out. Complaints came especially from Southeast Asian participants, but with only about 400–405 seats, there was no space to accommodate more.

The organizing committee had asked commissioners to report in advance which Gold and above winners would come on stage. Some failed to do so, and at the ceremony some winners asked why their names were not called. Fearing this would ruin the mood, I spontaneously climbed onto the stage. Taking the microphone, I shouted that anyone who had won Gold or higher but had not been called should come up. To my surprise, instead of sitting cynically, many came forward smiling. Though unplanned, I distributed medals myself, urged on by FIP Consultant Richard Tan. Everyone seemed pleased.

Then came an urgent message that one more Large Gold winner remained. I urged him to hurry up as the last subway was near, and to my amusement it was Bill Barrell, a British dealer I knew, who came running with a broad grin. I do not know how he balances his desire to keep for his collection and to sell stamps for customers, but I was not unhappy to see a familiar face win. Amid laughter, I handed medals to him and another Large Gold winner, and the commotion ended by my improvisation.

As a closing remark, I quoted Russell Crowe’s clip in the movie “Gladiator” twice: “Are you (not) entertained!!” The audience chuckled and answered “Yes,” to which I replied “Thank you,” and left the stage. Some later said this was the most fun part, and the latecomers were very happy. But one must not take such praise at face value — often people just say “Great job” as a courtesy.

Still, I hope that through this impromptu act, commissioners will be more diligent in the future. Perhaps future exhibitors will pay more attention to ensure they are called, and commissioners will do better pre-checks. Whether positive or negative, some people — a Dutch juror, a Japanese exhibitor, a German commissioner — told me, “Tonight, everyone here will remember you forever.” Well, such things happen in life.

6.   Unsung Heroes

Even while wealthy collectors enjoyed over Gold and Large Gold medals, we must not forget the workers who labored behind the scenes. At the Federation booth, volunteers worked diligently. Compared to the empty feel of 11 years ago, this booth was the busiest. This time we could sell first day covers and publications. Some items nearly sold out — an incredible sight. Many aging female collectors volunteered, and many long-absent familiar faces visited. The booth also served as a resting place for tired visitors.

Among them, Moon Ji-ho of the Busan Philatelic Society, a young man fluent in English, was active from airport reception, and later served almost like staff at the UPU/UNPA booth. He also gave crucial support to Martin Mörck, the Norwegian engraver from Sweden, considered the world’s best today. Mörck, embarrassed by the lack of autograph requests, asked Moon to promote him via SNS, and soon many visitors came for autographs. Moon went around almost every booth, translating in English, helping foreign dealers and government booths, and even took photos with commissioners and jurors — seemingly conversing with everyone. He even set aside his own job to volunteer here, expecting no reward.

Another, Ahn Chang-ho of the Deogyang Postal Culture Research Society, was asked by the Federation to record the entire exhibition in photographs. Unlike our mobile phone snapshots, his professional work will remain as historical relics. Already of advanced age, he still worked with intimidating dedication.

Surely there were others unseen who did unpleasant tasks. Their names cannot all be mentioned one by one, but behind the glittering awards ceremony, such altruistic workers always exist.

7.   A Few Unforgettable Incidents and “The Seven of PhilaKorea”

This report must end, lest it grow tiresome, but some things must be recorded. On the last day, Singapore’s apprentice juror Yan Choy Yang fell out of bed turning off his alarm, splitting his ear. The OC staffs struggled to find a hospital with a specialist, but finally surgery was performed. One staff even accompanied him at the hospital, and he expressed heartfelt thanks.

Meanwhile, some individuals, both domestic and foreign, disrupted the event with unasked meddling, creating confusion. Doing nothing at all would have helped us more. Some heated arguments also arose among familiar collectors, but later both admitted they had overreacted and apologized — the proper conduct of civilized people.

Finally, I will conclude by naming the employees of the Korea Post Service Agency, who truly managed the whole event. Only seven in number, they accomplished work that would overwhelm even twenty. Of course mistakes happened, and at times I nearly shouted in exasperation at unpreparedness. But now all is over. Under such poor and desperate conditions, they ended the event without any failure or major accidents. They were the real warriors like “Seven Samurai,” or the “Magnificent Seven,” and I would like to name them, the “Seven of PhilaKorea 2025.” Against all odds, enduring conditions harsher than the Battle of Stalingrad, I pay my final respects to them.

Their names are:

1. JEON Mi-Rim(team leader)
2. KIM Bom
3. KIM Da-Eun
4. WOO Ji-Hoon
5. KIM Min-Hyeok
6. NAM Yeo-Hyeon
7. KIM Rebecca

“Never in the field of human conflict was so much owed by so many to so few.”

 

— Winston Spencer Churchill