To Pledge Allegiance : A difficult exam. A loss of identity. For some immigrants, U.S. citizenship leaves them torn.

When Hahn W. Lee first came to the United States in 1980, the college student had some reservations about becoming a U.S. citizen. The reasons were rooted in his perceptions of American society, which were less than glowing.

Racism, corruption, garish crimes, a breakdown of family values--these were some of the social ills that caused the thoughtful young man, now a 29-year-old Hollywood resident, to question whether joining the club would be worth the cost of membership.

Like Lee, many immigrants in Los Angeles find it’s not easy to make up their minds about becoming citizens for a variety of reasons.

According to Latino politicians, when Latinos hesitate often it is because they believe there are no real benefits to citizenship and that the exam will be too difficult. Chinese are given pause by emotional ties to China and by tax considerations, community leaders say.

And the most daunting barrier for Russian immigrants, many of whom are elderly, is the difficulty of learning English, say social-service providers.

In the Korean community in Los Angeles County, which numbered 145,000 people in 1990, 50% to 60% have chosen to remain Korean citizens--according to estimates of the Korean American Coalition--even though some have lived here as long as 20 years.

That has changed sharply in recent years, with droves of Koreans applying for citizenship in the wake of the riots, Proposition 187, and proposals to bar legal immigrants from receiving federal benefits. Still, the question remains: Why haven’t more Koreans jumped at the chance to become Americans?

For many, especially senior citizens, it’s not that they don’t want to become a citizen, it’s that they find it difficult to pass the naturalization agency’s test, which includes questions about American government and history and is given only in English. But others are reluctant to commit to a society that may discriminate against them, something Lee had feared.

Others don’t want to give up their property in Korea, which they would have to do if they became U.S. citizens under South Korean law. China also forbids foreigners from owning land, while Mexico places certain restrictions on their property rights. Foreigners are also barred from doing business in certain fields, such as law in Korea, telecommunications in China and the oil business in Mexico.

Other Koreans are less concerned about losing their property rights than they are about losing their sense of identity.

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Lee said the bleak living situation in which he found himself when he first came to this country contributed to his doubts. He divided his first four years between Korea and the United States, finishing his education at the prestigious Yonsei University in Seoul and working in the States to earn his tuition. Lee, who spoke little English when he arrived, worked on the assembly line in meat-packing and car-parts factories, and also tried his hand at butchery and carpentry.

“I thought of myself as a top-class candidate for a job in Korea, but after a 14-hour plane ride [to the United States], I couldn’t get a job,” Hahn said, smiling ruefully.

Ironically, it was the negative aspects of American society that finally ended up persuading Lee to become a citizen, a process that concluded last fall. As a reporter for the Korea Times in New York and later Los Angeles, he became profoundly affected by the issues that he covered--including the Los Angeles riots--and came to feel he could make a greater difference in this country than in Korea.

“There are ways I can serve the people of this country, including Korean Americans, with my talent, that is, promoting understanding among different racial groups,” Lee said. “To do that job, one necessary thing was getting U.S. citizenship.”

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Unlike Lee, Jung Sung Kim, a 70-year-old retiree, always dreamed of U.S. citizenship. There is one problem. He only recently passed the five-year residency requirement for citizenship, and at his advanced age he is finding it difficult to learn enough English to pass the citizenship test.

Five days a week, the Downtown resident and avid hiker attends free English classes at Ardmore Park in Koreatown, attempting to spoon vocabulary and grammar into his head faster than the amazing rate at which it seems to disappear. Nights, Kim studies at his desk with the words to the “Star-Spangled Banner” secured under its glass top.

“I’ve studied English for three years and forgotten three years’ worth of English,” he said through an interpreter, laughing and shaking his head.

According to Dan Park, coordinator of the Korean American Coalition’s citizenship project, some Korean seniors want to become citizens primarily so as not to lose their benefits, while others also want to participate in American political life.

Kim belongs to the latter group.

“If I’m going to live here, I want to live here as an American and be a citizen,” said Kim, who filed for citizenship in February. “I want to be able to vote and be a part of the political process.”

That’s not to say he doesn’t sometimes feel the tugs on his heartstrings for Korea, where his three grown sons and their families live, and where his wife, Sook Ja Kim, spends three months of every year. And he will admit to worrying that pursuing U.S. citizenship might cause him to lose a sense of identity.

But, he says, “when you’re living in a foreign country, you need to assimilate in that country.”

Korean seniors like Kim stand to lose the lion’s share of their monthly income if the Republican welfare reform proposals are adopted by Congress. The Korean community has mobilized against the proposed measures, forming a committee to deal with the issue and helping to organize petition drives to U.S. legislators.

Bong Hwan Kim of the Korean Youth and Community Center said that community organizations such as his could face budget cuts of from 50% to 70% if the proposed legislation passes. That’s because such organizations get federal funding proportionate to the number of clients whom they can legally serve.

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Perhaps even more than Kim and Lee, Jinney Bae, a Granada Hills homemaker, is typical of Koreans who are weighing the pros and cons of citizenship.

By all appearances, Bae, 40, has reaped the rewards of the American Dream. Her husband, Yong, 44, has earned enough from his Downtown Los Angeles garment factory to ensconce his wife and two daughters in a large home in an affluent San Fernando Valley neighborhood.

Sitting back in a French Rococo-style armchair, her manicured hands glittering with diamonds, Bae explained that she would like to become a U.S. citizen, but has not because she owns land in Korea.

Under that country’s law, Bae would be forced to sell her property, were she to become naturalized. The mother of two balks at doing that because the land she owns is ancestral burial grounds given her by her parents.

Bae said she wants to respect the Korean tradition of honoring one’s ancestors and maintaining one’s connection with them. In Korea, ancestor worship is something of a religion. People visit their ancestors’ graves on holidays, tend the grave site and “talk” with their forebears about future plans for the future.

She said she would like to someday pass on the land, and the cultural values that go with it, to her own children, Lisa, 15, and Sally, 9.

“There are a lot of good values that I learned in Korea that I’d like to preserve,” Bae said through an interpreter.

Bae could benefit from a proposed change in Korean law that would allow first-generation emigrants who are foreign citizens to own land. Several Korean governmental agencies have formed a committee to iron out the details of the proposal, which is considered to have a good chance for passage.

In the meantime, Bae, who has been living in the United States for 12 years, said she is leaning toward U.S. citizenship. But no matter what decision she makes, it appears there will be a twinge of regret either way.