By Tim Alper

The coronavirus pandemic has sent the world into unknown territory. This is the information era's first pandemic and the first global outbreak of a contagious airborne killer virus, though not yet scientifically confirmed, since 1918. Because the crisis shows no sign of abating soon, the dust will not settle on COVID-19 until years later.

But one thing is crystal-clear: East Asian nations -- especially Korea -- were far better prepared for this crisis than their counterparts in the West. Why?

This has been a burning question for politicians and public health leaders everywhere. While the pandemic has claimed hundreds of thousands of lives in Europe and the U.S., Korea's death toll has been comparatively low.

In the early stages of the crisis, everyone in my country, the U.K., ranging from politicians, economists and chief medical officers to newspaper editors, has been trying to figure out why Korea appears to be so far ahead when it comes to fighting the virus, treating patients and keeping tabs on the pandemic's spread. Korean politicians say they have been contacted by world leaders, including senior British lawmakers, in search of tips and pointers.

I find myself in a strange predicament in these strange times. Though a resident of Korea for 14 or so years, I have been back in England over the past few months watching the coronavirus spread. I have also reflected on how different things are in Seoul and Busan compared to the rest of the world.

Because people I know in Britain are aware of my connection to Korea, they unfailingly ask me what Korea's secret is and how they can take a leaf out of the Korean book to fight the pandemic. Sadly, the answer is far from simple.

Importance of masks

Many in Britain believe that Korea's relative success in containing the coronavirus is related to smartphone apps or Confucian values that mean the Korean population is more willing to obey government guidelines on social distancing and hygiene.

While almost 90% of Korean adults own a smartphone (as opposed to 79% of those in Britain), IT is only a small, incidental factor. For real answers, digging a little deeper into Korean culture and recent history is needed.

In the U.K., the last thing most people want to wear when sick with nasal blockages and the like is a mask. But many Koreans simply prefer not to leave the house when ill without a facial covering.  

Many Koreans refrain from breathing in cold air when battling a respiratory illness, as they believe that this will aggravate their symptoms. They also think that they need protection from other bacteria when ill. Yet a third reason for Koreans wearing masks when afflicted with an infectious disease is because most don't want their colleagues and friends from catching the bug.

Face masks are common for other reasons, too. Pollution levels can get high at certain times of the year in East Asia due to yellow dust coming from deserts and dry areas in Mongolia and China and the scale of Asian industry. Protective masks can help counter this.

All of these concepts are alien to the U.K., where industry moved abroad decades ago and population density is lower. Even at the peak of the pandemic, many people here felt puzzled or even intimidated when they saw a person wearing a face mask.

Advanced medical system and public readiness 

On the historical reasons for Korea's success versus COVID-19, going back to the start of the millennium provides insight.

SARS affected much of East Asia between November 2002 and July 2003. Though only three Koreans were affected during this outbreak, many of the country's closest geographical neighbors, China and Hong Kong in particular, were badly hit. At the time, Korean health authorities took urgent steps by improving their emergency departments by creating special virus-containing units.

Over a decade later came MERS, which hit Korea much harder. The outbreak of 2015 infected 186 people, leaving 38 dead.

MERS and SARS taught Korea invaluable lessons about epidemics that were put to use in the fight against COVID-19. Crucially, all three are highly infectious coronaviruses that affect the respiratory systems of patients in much the same way.

MERS was a watershed moment for Korean hospitals, which started upping their game by building cutting-edge isolation wards. Authorities also stocked up on protective gear for doctors and nurses and fitted their new units with ventilators, oxygen supplies and other essential equipment.

Highly contagious influenza-like illnesses are considered a persistent threat, and will likely continue to menace humankind for centuries. Korea's recent experience with them means that no Korean takes them lightly, neither medical professionals nor the public. Most Britons simply could not imagine the scale and terror of coronaviruses before the events of the past few months.

As a long-term resident of Seoul, I have lived through most of the aforementioned outbreaks except SARS. I have seen firsthand just how quickly Koreans can adapt to lockdowns and start wearing medical-grade masks, the sophistication of these epidemic wards and the speed at which health care workers move patients to watertight quarantine facilities.

A University of Cambridge survey conducted from March to April this year found that Koreans are the world's least concerned people about the coronavirus threat. Those in the U.K., by contrast, had the highest overall anxiety over the disease. This speaks volumes about the faith of both people in their national health care infrastructure and level of readiness. Preparedness, it seems, trumps panic.

How this coronavirus tale ends is anyone's guess. But for many Britons, key clues to controlling COVID-19 are to be found in Korea.

Tim Alper is a British writer and columnist whose Korean-language book "Bananas and Couscous" was released in 2015. Though a longtime resident of Seoul, he is now based in the U.K.