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by Jennifer Ryu, Starr King Divinity School Student The name I was given at birth (Yoo Youngsun) in Taegu South Korea, 1964, was changed to Jennifer
Ryu when I emigrated to the United States 6 years later. Jennifer—after my mother’s favorite actress
at the time, Jennifer Jones. By
the time I became a naturalized US citizen at age 10, I had entirely lost
my native language and spoke English with a perfect northwest Ohio accent. I was an American—I had been successfully assimilated
into the collective. Or so I thought.
Growing into my young adulthood, I realized that that kind of straight
line assimilation actually only happens to white-looking immigrants, and
the color-blind fiction of my integration into American society began
to unravel. Religious convictions are easy to hide—you
don’t have to reveal your beliefs about the nature of God or the Universe
to anyone until you’re good and ready.
But for some of us, racial
identity is a little harder to hide.
As soon as someone sees me, they have some ideas about Korean folks
as they flip through their mental rolodex, Margaret Cho TaeKwonDo, Axis
of Evil, Hyundai. But there are some Americans for whom Koreans
are an entirely unknown quantity. China,
yeah.. Japan? ok. But Korea?
No clue. So as an American of Korean descent, or
a 1.5 generation Korean hyphen American, I would like you to know me. And I realize that with that desire comes a responsibility. It is my responsibility to speak up, show up
and express myself honestly. I’d like you to know that I come from
an extremely homogeneous ancestry; I can trace my family’s clan back a
thousand years. I want you to know the word ”Jung” which refers
to an unbreakable bond between humans.
I want you to understand that our society is entrenched in Confucian
conventions that elevate men, elders, and the educated class. And I want you to know that in our collective
hearts we carry a deep inconsolable sadness (called Han) that comes from
centuries of foreign domination. I want you to know that members of family
participated in the Japanese Resistance movement in the 30’s and
later, others went to jail for protesting the military dictatorship in
the 70’s. I want you to know that when my father was
14 years old, he witnessed the brutal shooting of his father during the
Korean War. And that my mother’s
oldest sister was killed when an American bomber mistook her office for
a North Korean target. Flowing
in my blood is blood that seeks justice; it is the same blood that flows
in you--the revolutionaries of this UU movement. We are one in the struggle for peace; we are one in the voice that cries with the oppressed; we are one in the Love will liberate all beings.
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