Family roots, search for identity

Cover of "The Blue Mosque of Singapore and a Peek into the Migrant Muslim Community from Kerala" / Courtesy of Mohamed Nasim

It was a reunion with an old friend in a foreign land that brought back memories of the late 1970s. Perhaps it was the weather. Sometimes, when winter turns icy and frosty, it recalled the old days, back when the cold seemed far harsher. Families would gather in the main bedroom and share a blanket over a heated floor while sharing old tales. In the houses back then, there was a wall closet with a partition-like door that opened to reveal blankets and valuables. The valuables would include family documents like the family tree, and we would talk about how high or low my family was along the family tree, and whether women would also be registered on it.

What reminded me of those days was meeting the friend, Mohamed Nasim, who lives in Singapore and who I have not met in 35 years. When we caught up in December, he presented me with a book he wrote in 2022 about his roots as a Malayalee and Malabari Muslim in Singapore. His father and mother arrived in the city-state from Kerala, India. His community was Malayalee, but they were largely identified as "Indian Muslims" in Singapore, a nation of multiethnic groups that exist together in a vibrant economy. As a child, the writer used to accompany his father to the community mosque, and his active membership in the community spurred him to trace the roots of the Malayalee community through figures mentioned in newspapers and in historical records.

As a Korean growing up in a country where regionalism dominated politics, with detrimental side effects including grave ones in the late 20th century, it seemed tricky tracing one's roots down such a narrow trail. However, Nasim's thorough and industrious work in "The Blue Mosque of Singapore and a Peek into the Migrant Muslim Community from Kerala" put those concerns to rest. With extensive research of news and other documents, he reveals an active commitment to keep the community's ingenuity intact through public figures such as the CH Brothers, VP Abdullah and PMS Thangal. The book is a 17-year labor of laser-focused attention — of love for and acknowledgement of one's self, roots and identity, both native and adopted. As the writer is a friend, my take on the book carries the possibility of bias.

What struck a chord was the need to know one's roots, a desire that easily transcends cultures and methods.

Refocusing back on Korea, the family tree, called "jokbo," in Korean, had at times seemed outdated and anachronistic in the era of the country's modernization. The jokbo was a document of genealogical tables for family clans — for example, Kim, Kwon or Shim — with base hometown prefixes such as Andong Kim, Andong Kwon or Cheongsong Shim. It was a rigidly written document that placed people within a certain order of family and social classes, which could either bring instant familiarity to people sharing the same surname or become a cause for division.

A 17th-century jokbo or famiy tree of Seongju Lee family donated to the Academy of Korean Studies shows not only males and its direct heirs but even married-out duaghters in this September 2009 file photo. Courtesy of the Academy of Korean Studies

One of our columnists for The Korea Times, Mark Peterson, who did his Ph.D. dissertation on the creation of the patrilineal system in 17th century Korea, notes that prior to the 17th century, the jokbo had women holding equal status in the family even though they did not hold political office. He notes how history demonstrates the shift toward a patrilineal system as the jokbo document began to change. Peterson also calls for an update to the jokbo to reflect the current social movement toward more balance between men and women in Korean society.

Setting aside these details, the jokbo rests on the premise that people need and want to know their roots. They want explanations, even in archaic form, to define and even evolve their sense of identity.

These days, as the growing wealth gap and rapid technological changes increasingly erode our sense of self, there is a pressing need to understand who we truly are. In Korea, the jokbo could serve this purpose if updated to address the long-standing gender imbalance in its family records. Can this traditional document reflect the broader fabric of society, rather than merely tracing lineage?

Peterson will lead a seminar on the jokbo, in association with The Korea Times, on March 3.

On a related note, in July 2025, an association of Korean families established a committee to have the jokbo recognized as a UNESCO Heritage. While forms of lineage documentation vary across cultures, one theme is universal: People have a deep need to understand themselves and their ancestors.