The Sad Mixed Korean Narrative
“When it comes to international marriage
(국제결혼), I wouldn’t do it because my kids would be mixed, and I think it would be
too hard for them.”
Some time ago, I watched a youtube video that interviewed Korean men on the street asking them what they thought about getting married with a foreigner. The answers were the usual things you’ll hear when a camera is pointed at a young man who is out playing in Itaewon - “why not?” and “I think Russian girls are gorgeous,” and “Dating, yes. Marriage, not sure.”
But one person’s response stood out to me:
“I wouldn’t do it because my kids would be mixed.
그들은 한국에서 살기가 너무 힘들 것 같아요.
Their lives in Korea would be too hard.”
그 인터뷰를 보고 나서 이런 생각을 했어요.
After watching that, I had this thought.
왜 그 아이들은 힘들게 살아야 하나?
Why must the kids have a hard life?
왜 굳이 힘들어야 하나?
Why do we insist that they struggle?
혼혈인에 대해 무슨 이야기를 들었길래
바로 그렇게 생각했을까? What did he hear about mixed Koreans to make him think that right away?
The Sad Mixed Korean Narrative is something that I’ve encountered over and over again in my life. It’s an odd, implicit belief that is both bolstered and scorned by the other stereotypes that circulate mixed Koreans.
The things that I have heard on repeat, spoken in various degrees of certainty:
혼혈인들은 우리 사회에 어울리기가 힘들다
Mixed Koreans have a hard time being part of our society.
한국 사회는 많이 바뀌고 있으니 혼혈인은 뭔 문제야?
Korean society is changing a lot. What’s the problem with mixed kids?
아빠는 외국인이면 그 아이들도 외국인이다
If dad is a foreigner, so are the kids.
부모 중 어느 한쪽은 한국사람이라면
당연히 아이들도 한국인이다.
If one parent is Korean, of course
the kids are Korean, too.
한국 국적 갖고 있어도 외모는 외국인 같다.
Even though you have Korean citizenship,
your face is a foreigner’s.
너 진짜 한국인 같이 생겼다. 외국인이란거
전혀 몰랐다.
You really look Korean.
I had no idea you were a foreigner.
두 언어를 할 줄 아니까 좋겠다.
You’re lucky to speak two languages.
너 왜 한국말을 못 하니?
Why can’t you speak Korean?
It’s a funny thing, being told in one ear that you have the best of both worlds, while being told in the other that you do not have our face, our culture, our citizenship, our language, our names, so you can’t be one of us.
It’s like having a cultural Angel and Devil on either shoulder, one insisting that I have it good and I should ignore the rest, while the other insisting that it’s going to be hard just because of who I am and refusing to let me figure it out as I go.
The way mixed Koreans have been addressed in Korea has been a curious thing to watch over the years.
When I was old enough to notice the way I stood out, I could feel the spotlight burning upon me wherever I went. I remember the taxi driver who told me that my mother was a traitor to our country because she married a foreigner, my hand clutching the door handle tightly as the taxi weaved all over the road.
Then I bought something at the convenience store and the cashier didn’t give me a second glance. Success -
one point in my “Korean Enough” jar.
But the non-plussed look on the hairdresser’s face as she combed her fingers through my fine ‘외국인 머리’ (foreigner hair) takes me back a few steps.
Back and forth, I collect and lose points as the day goes. My radar is highly attuned to curious looks, double takes, overly excited smiles, carefully enunciated responses and flat out distrust. Sometimes, I lay on my bed thinking about whatever anybody else might think about. Sometimes, I stare at my ceiling and think about the guy who told me fondly, “너는 한국 여자 같지만 한국 사람 아니라서 좋아.’ I like you because you’re like a Korean girl, but not Korean.
I tell myself flippantly, then wearily, and then angrily - Forget it. Those things don’t matter.
But they really, really do.
I wonder what the parents of young mixed Korean children think now. Do they wish older mixed Koreans stopped talking about these things? Do they want us to move on, because they’re afraid their children will struggle, too?
Sometimes, these parents will say, “혼혈인이란 말 쓰지마세요. 우리 아이들은 다문화이죠. Don’t use the word ‘mixed.’ Our children are ‘multi-cultural.”
Can you see my difficulty in discussing our experiences?
I repeat this all the time - Being 혼혈 (honhyeol) is not the bad thing.
In the beginning, after the war, the idea that mixed race kids were a problem
(혼혈인 문제) was prevalent and powerful. Then it changed a little bit, with people like Hines Ward, InSooni, Yoon Mi-Rae - those who captivated Korea with their skill and talent - and in some twist of irony, today, being mixed has become somewhat of a trend. I’ve heard the endless praises of mixed models and idols. Lucky, talented, beautiful mixed people. 혼혈인이라서 좋겠다.
In one of our older interviews, the mother of a young boy told us that people tell her all the time how beautiful her son is, while simultaneously pointing out how different he is from the other children.
“세상에서 가장 못 생긴 아이였다고 해도
우리 나라에 받아들여지고 사랑을
받을 자격이 있어요. He could be the ugliest boy in the world, but he still deserves to be accepted and loved here,” she said with emotion.
I’m happy that there are families with mixed kids growing up in Korea who want to shed the term 혼혈 (honhyoel) - because the population may not be only ethnically Korean for long, and the idea of what constitutes as “Korean” will eventually have to broaden. Mixed kids will become just part of the 우리 (woori) - one of us.
But I do wonder why simply being '혼혈’ (honhyoel) can generate negative feelings.
I suppose it’s all part of the Sad Mixed Korean Narrative. Is there a way to point out the discrimination and trauma that many mixed Koreans faced, while also embracing being mixed and showing the world that it’s a lovely thing to be so?
The way things were and the way we hope for things to be are not so far apart from each other. The stories overlap.
One person tells me off-handedly, “Nobody cares about mixed Korean issues anymore. That was so long ago, it doesn’t matter now.”
Another person whispers to me, “I never spoke about being mixed Korean to anyone because it was too painful.”
While the third declares decidedly, “My baby is not 혼혈 (honhyeol). He is multi-cultural.”
Wishing to forget and wishing to move on can sometimes do the same thing. Outright dislike and pretending to ignore can both cause harm.
Talking about being 혼혈 (honhyeol) and the hardships that came with that does not mean we do not wish for a happier future for the next generation.
Speaking about the discrimination we face in Korea does not mean we do not want to belong there.
Talking about the sad things doesn’t mean we aren’t happy.
When it comes to talking about mixed Koreans and our stories, a less defined, loosely-bound, middle space appears; lucky for me, that’s a space I know how to occupy all too well.
I think there is a Sad Mixed Korean Narrative because so many of the stories are sad.
There’s just no way around that. I know it’s uncomfortable to look at sad things, but there’s beauty in coming to terms with that - it’s sort of like re-setting a broken bone that healed improperly.