Youth: OPINION : Koreans and African-Americans: ‘A Better Understanding’

I am human, therefore I am guilty. Guilty of hatred, bigotry, and prejudice. It did not take a psychologist to figure this out. It took me being a Christian to self-reflect and recognize my faults. It did not take a philosopher to solve my problems. My faith in God and the Christian acts of Koreans shed light upon the darkness of my mind.

I can admit that I wasn’t too fond of Korean-Americans in my community. I felt like a criminal when they followed me in swap meets, liquor stores and beauty shops. I did not appreciate their cold, harsh treatment. It was hard for me to understand their English. Regardless of the high unemployment in my community, very few African-Americans and Latinos were hired. Many Korean merchants refused to return the support given to them by the patrons in the community--a community in which they rarely resided. The merchants acted overprotective and scared when I entered their stores. These reactions to my presence made me think about how my community is labeled a slum or war zone. It made me feel like a prisoner in my own home.

Gradually, my attitude manifested itself in anger. An anger that boiled inside my head like the hot rocks and lava in a volcanic mountain. I had no place to vent my anger or express my feelings. Then it happened. LaTasha Harlins was brutally murdered in South-Central Los Angeles. My anger spewed out in all directions. This destroyed any understanding I had for Koreans. I now blamed the actions of one individual on a whole race. Koreans became the bad guys in my community. They were uninvited guests.

But after my exposure to Korean culture, my perception of Koreans changed dramatically.

In the spring of 1992, I represented African-American Catholic youth in a Korean/African-American dialogue sponsored by the Los Angeles Archdiocese. In these dialogues I felt bitterness and tension. We were a group bonded by a religion, yet separated by a color. These emotional dialogues only cracked the doors of understanding. Fortunately, that winter, I was invited to represent South-Central Los Angeles youth as an ambassador to South Korea.

The moment I stepped off of the plane, my life was altered. For two weeks I lived, breathed and ate every part of Korean culture. The old folk villages and museums, the thousands of school children running around in colorful uniforms; fancy, traditional restaurants with Korean foods. Oh yes, how could I forget the kim chi. At night, the hundreds of red crosses glowing on top of tall buildings; the Lotto World Mall, the last emperor’s palace, the 1988 Olympic Coliseum; the traditional dancing, the opera, the gorgeous scenery. The women who screamed in fear, laughed in embarrassment or touched my braided hair in curiosity; the autographs and photos taken by excited little kids; the shops, the traffic, but most of all the beautiful people.

It was the people’s friendly attitude that played the most important part in my dramatic change. I now understood that the problem was lack of communication and cultural ignorance. Koreans are not mean and nasty, and African-Americans are not criminals. It was the misunderstanding of both groups that widened the gap between us.

There are a multitude of similarities between Koreans and African-Americans. We both stress the importance of education, because we realize that is the foundation for succeeding. We have been oppressed for long periods of time: the Koreans by Japanese and African-Americans by Europeans. The enslavement of Koreans and blacks caused the loss of our religions, language, and other customs. From our losses we recognized new traditions, plus held onto the culture we remembered. We have worked diligently for our survival, believing that hard work conquers all obstacles. We work for the provision of better lives for our children. Most important, we possess a strong faith and are very spiritual. Our differences only come from the separation of color.

I can truly say I have moved toward a better understanding. This is a product of my whole experience, the good and the bad--my unfortunate early encounters with Koreans as well as the fellowship to Korea, and the chance I had there to recognize the similarities between my culture and theirs.

This sort of reformation is very rare in my community. There are many of my peers who retain the same spite that I once felt toward Koreans. There are millions of people who will never see Seoul, Korea, or have never even been to Los Angeles’ Koreatown. There are Koreans who are too apprehensive to walk into the neighborhoods of South-Central Los Angeles. These attitudes must be removed by all-out efforts toward cultural enlightenment by exchanging information. I may not be able to change the opinions of others through my efforts. I may not be able to see perfect multiculturalism in America in my lifetime, but I can say I have changed. I have changed, therefore the door has been opened.

It did not take a locksmith to give me the key. The key was my heart and mind.