Rewriting the History of Korean Immigration to Canada

• We are all "authors of history," and the records we create in this very moment will become the paths our children will walk in the future.
• Capturing the living present, rather than just a fossilized past, is the sharpest weapon we have to shatter "strange prejudices."
• A community that records its history will never perish, and our narrative has only just begun.

Many will agree that immigration to Canada was never merely a physical relocation of one's home. Rather, it was an existential declaration of how we, while holding fast to our "Korean" identity, would contribute as members of Canada's vast multicultural mosaic. As I conclude this 30-part column series, I would like to write down this preface to 'Rewriting the History of Korean Immigration to Canada' today on behalf of us all.

Immigration history is not a fossilized past, but a vibrant, ongoing process. Just as my first footprint upon landing at the airport became a record, the agonies and joys of settlement that someone is experiencing at this very moment, along with the major and minor events unfolding within our community, will all serve as the historical archives of tomorrow. We often think of history as the exclusive domain of great heroes. Yet, the history of the diaspora begins with the calloused hands of an old-timer opening a convenience store at the break of dawn, and the hot tears of a newcomer wrestling with an unfamiliar technological landscape. We must not forget that we are all co-authors of this great journey.

At this juncture, we must objectively examine how other ethnic communities in Canada have constructed their narratives and transformed them into power. Take the Jewish community in Canada. Various Jewish institutions and archives have documented and preserved a diverse range of experiences—from the testimonies of Holocaust survivors to immigration, settlement, and the growth of their community. The archives they built are not mere repositories of nostalgia; they have become crucial historical and educational resources demonstrating how the Jewish community has contributed to Canadian society. Such records served as a vital foundation for educating the Canadian public about their history and experiences.

The case of Japanese Canadians is even more dramatic. To confront the historical injustices of forced relocation, internment, and property confiscation during World War II, they persisted in historical research, data collection, personal testimonies and memoirs, publishing and education, as well as sustained organizational activities and political persuasion. These records and research became crucial evidence for searing the damages of that era into public memory and raising awareness across Canadian society. Ultimately, their organized redress movement in the 1980s led to negotiations with the government, culminating in the Canadian government's 1988 announcement of a settlement that included an official apology and compensation.

The case of Ukrainian Canadians is equally noteworthy. Through long-standing efforts in commemoration, education, research, and documentation, they worked tirelessly to bring the memory of the 1932–1933 Great Famine (Holodomor) to the attention of Canadian society. As a result, in 2008, the Canadian Parliament recognized this famine as an act of genocide against the Ukrainian people and established a national memorial day.

In contrast, what is the reality of our Korean community? We are too busy congratulating ourselves on our superficial economic success under the dazzling spotlight of 'K-culture.' But I must ask: Does this strange prejudice of judging our fellow Koreans solely by 'who is wealthier'—while entirely disregarding social contributions—truly make us a respected people? The irrational and undemocratic disruptions repeated in every community election, and the rude shouting and discourteous decisions by leaders drowning in a thirst for prestige, are the shameful, bare faces of our immigrant history that diminish us all. What goes unrecorded does not simply disappear; it survives in a distorted form. If we do not properly and accurately record our history, our descendants may one day only remember the 'vulgar authoritarianism' of their parents' generation.

This is why many conscientious individuals have proposed the establishment of a 'Cyber Museum that properly documents the history of Korean immigration to Canada.' A Cyber Museum is not merely a space for exhibiting artifacts. It is a public square for dialogue where the sacrifices of old-timers meet the dynamism of newcomers, and an archive that testifies to the mutually beneficial exchanges between our motherland and our country of residence. Furthermore, it must serve as a public forum to reflect on our internal undemocratic behaviors and to cultivate a dignified community culture. Statistical figures on a desk can hardly capture the qualitative depth of an immigrant's life. Only when vivid materials accumulated through oral histories, life narratives, personal records, and field observations are added can we reveal the living reality of immigration to both the government and academia.

Throughout this series, we have taken on the difficult task of rebuking the festering wounds within our community. A leadership steeped in authoritarianism, a discourteous culture of debate, prejudice against other ethnicities, and a materialistic view of success are cancer cells we must surgically remove. However, the purpose of this rebuke is not destruction, but recovery. New flesh can only grow when we confront our wounds head-on. When we shatter these 'strange prejudices' and both document and practice a 'dignified community,' we will be able to forge a more equal and responsible partnership with Canadian society.

I also urge the home government and its policy-enforcing agencies that formulate diaspora policies: Instead of funding showy events, invest in research that grasps the qualitative changes within the diaspora community, and allocate substantial budgets to immigration history archiving projects. That is the path to building genuine trust between the motherland and its overseas compatriots, rather than a one-sided unrequited love. Support business models that generate mutual benefits by combining Canadian technology with Korean culture, and innovate systems—such as expanding dual citizenship—from the perspective of strengthening human resource networks.

We want our sons and daughters, and the countless children of immigrants, to take pride in the Korean community and willingly become its members. Children pay less attention to what their parents did back in Korea and more to the values their parents practice and live by in Canada. The true inheritance we leave behind is not just real estate or savings accounts. A dignified reputation demonstrating the values we have lived by, backed by a proud and confident historical record—this is the most precious legacy we can pass down to the next generation.

Now, as we open the doors of the Cyber Museum, we declare once again: Immigration history is not in the past perfect tense, but the present progressive. Just as the hands of the children we held tightly in unfamiliar airports have grown into the great hands that now move the world, our records must also move beyond our own narrow wells and out into the vast oceans of the world. Let us establish our stature as a people who stand in solidarity with other ethnicities, practice universal justice, and generate value.

Our calling as record-keepers does not stop here. Moving forward, we will continue to document our community's rudeness with sharp rebukes, while preserving the noble sacrifices of unnamed volunteers as the clearest inscriptions on stone. Only when we take up our pens with the awakening that we are all authors of history will the history of Korean immigration to Canada finally turn its proper first page. In this great journey, let us now proudly present our dignified story to the world. As long as we record, we will be remembered forever; and as long as we are remembered, our history will never cease.

The rebukes may have been painful, but I hope the reflection will be sweet. Until the day our footprints become a path, my documentation will continue. This is the original intention that we, living as Koreans in this land of Canada, must collectively remember, and the pride we wish to pass down to the next generation.