Community Essay : ‘Each Night I Asked That God Send Peace’ : A future mother writes of April 29 to her unborn children, hoping the events of a year ago will not be repeated.

To my children:

One year ago, I felt as though my world was falling apart. Tuning into the ubiquitous television news coverage, I was horrified and thought, “This can’t be happening in America, in the Los Angeles that I was born and raised in!” Yet, it did happen, and the effects are still reverberating throughout our city.

I was driving through Koreatown on April 29 and inevitably came across several burned-out buildings. But even when I haven’t been confronting these very sobering reminders, I have often found myself reflecting back upon the Los Angeles riots over this past year. Whenever I pick up a magazine or newspaper or switch on the TV to come across the latest updates on the Rodney King and Reginald Denny trials, or on the scarring and rebuilding of Los Angeles, I remember. Whenever I see African-Americans and Koreans waiting at the same bus stop, I remember. Whenever I perceive myself to be the target of racial discrimination, I remember.

I have saved newspaper and magazine clippings that cover the riots, but I really need no reminders--for me, the countless tragedies that provoked and comprised these riots can never be forgotten. I have kept these clippings for you, my children. Although you don’t even exist yet, I know that someday you will, and it is important for you to know and comprehend what happened here one year ago. The only way I can begin to resolve these riots in my heart is if they can result in positive changes in our society. For that to happen, we must explore the precipitating events and attempt to prevent anything like this from occurring again.

I pray that you will never experience the despair and hopelessness I felt during those dark days. For several nights after the April 29 explosion, I tossed and turned in my bed as sleep eluded me. At the time, I lived across the street from Harbor-UCLA Medical Center. I was within the border of the dawn-to-dusk curfew zone, so darkness was more or less accompanied by quiet. But every time I heard the ambulance sirens or the blades of the medical helicopters cut through the eerie silence of the night, I soberly thought, “There’s another person suffering the consequences of this senseless violence.” Each night, I asked that God send peace with the morning sun.

One thought recurred over and over in my mind: There is so much hatred in this world. What hurt even more was the fact that so much of this animosity seemed to be directed at Koreans.

As you will read, many events fueled this fire: African-American-led boycotts of Korean grocery stores in the Bedford-Stuyvesant area of New York in 1988 and in the Flatbush section of Brooklyn in 1990, among others; the shooting death of Latasha Harlins by Soon Ja Du in South-Central L.A., and subsequent sentence of five years probation; the videotaped beating of Rodney King, and the acquittal of four police officers; and on a larger scale, the prejudice that still exists toward minorities; and the economic troubles in the United States.

So much of the above can be attributed to negative experiences, which range from irritating to outrageous to tragic, which have become symbols of interactions in our society. The persecution accurately or inaccurately perceived as a result of these experiences led to a severe lack of communication and subsequent failure to understand each other.

This realization hit home a few days after the riots when I sat down to watch “The Oprah Winfrey Show”--her two-day special from L.A., which I had videotaped. Inevitably, the focus narrowed to the tensions between African-Americans and Koreans. I found myself incredibly frustrated that so few Koreans could adequately express themselves. By this, I am not referring necessarily to grammar or pronunciation or vocabulary, because even American-born Koreans were mumbling and stumbling over their words. I thought disappointedly, “Here is the result of our culture, which emphasizes studying over socialization, absolute obedience rather than communication, and conformity over individualization.” (Although my mother has her doubts, I plan to impart to you that there has to be a balance.) We need to encourage thought, creativity and expression in order to have appropriately eloquent spokesmen for our community. Moreover, I was frustrated that nobody was expressing what I wanted to say.

Nobody was explaining just how it was that so many Koreans are able to own their own businesses. One African-American man implied that some sort of business funding is provided to Koreans but denied African-Americans. I sat dumbfounded. No one expounded upon the sacrifice and dedication required for a non-fluent but university-educated Korean to work at two or even three menial, minimum-wage jobs, scrounging and doing without vacations or luxuries for many years, then finally saving enough to buy a small business, often in a low socioeconomic area because that is all he or she can afford. The work ethic--which takes precedence over leisure, pleasure and, sadly enough, sometimes even family--is the bane of many a Korean’s existence. And what about the countless number of Korean merchants who, having subjected themselves to this lifestyle in hopes of a better future for themselves and their children, are rewarded with murder and armed robbery?

As I watched, my initial reaction was, “The audacity of that man! To imply that Koreans are handed a comfortable life on a silver platter! Is he saying that it’s right for the accomplishments of Korean blood, sweat, and tears to go up in smoke?” Eventually, I simmered down to realize, “How would he know, if nobody ever expended the time or energy to tell him what it’s like for many Koreans?”

This only re-emphasized for me how crucial it is to communicate. As they say, “Hate is born of ignorance.” Unless we make exchanging opinions, feelings, personal background and cultures a priority, we will go on existing in mutual ignorance. And what a tragedy that would be.