A promise kept

The late Park Geun-sik (1954-2009) is captured in this photo taken in December 1992 in front of Korean-Amerasians Association in Seoul. He was one of the first batch of biracial Koreans born to a Korean mother and a U.S. soldier. / Noonbit Publishing

Photographer chronicles biracial Koreans living as strangers in homeland

By Kang Hyun-kyung

Park Geun-sik, a biracial farmer and human rights activist who died of stomach cancer in 2009, had a dream that remained unfulfilled until his death.

Park, who was called Peter during his childhood for his half-Korean, half-Caucasian appearance, wanted his home country to remember people like him who were born to Korean mothers and American soldiers during and after the 1950-53 Korean War.

They were called "GI babies" when they were young and later "Korean-Amerasians" after they became adults. They were depicted by opinion leaders here as the "tragic outcome" of the war.

GI babies were the first batch of biracial Koreans who lived in this country, decades before the nation saw a surge of biracial children born to Korean fathers and foreign brides from Central and Southeast Asian countries who have been migrating to Korea since the 1990s.

Unlike now, when biracial children are entitled to various types of policy support and protection from the government, back then the GI babies were treated like unwanted children. Without policy support, they were bullied and discriminated against by their classmates in school and racial bias continued even after graduation.

Park's humble dream ― the nation recognizing GI babies as part of Korea's traumatic modern history and admitting the country's mistreatment of them ― came true after his death.

Documentary photographer Lee Jae-gab, 53, chronicled the tragic lives of half-Koreans born during or after the Korean War and published four photo books based on the images he captured over the past 26 years.

His last photo collection was published last year. The book, titled "Billin Park-ssi" which means "Park, The Surname That Was Borrowed," features dozens of images of the late biracial human rights pioneer, his wife and his fellow biracial Koreans to shed light on their struggles in the era of injustice and the culture of ignorance.

The book also captured Park's last days when he was in unspeakable pain at Asan Medical Center in Seoul as cancer cells spread throughout his entire body since he was diagnosed with stomach cancer in 2007. Lee's last encounter with Park came in August 2009 while Park was fighting for life. He passed away two weeks later.

"He literally borrowed his surname from his mother," Lee said during a recent interview with The Korea Times. Koreans usually have their fathers' surname, but Park couldn't have his father's last name because his mother didn't have enough information about his father.

The only thing he knew about his father was he was a white American soldier who was stationed in South Gyeongsang Province in the 1950s.

According to Lee, Park's mother, who was then married but had no children, was raped by the American soldier, and this was how Park was born in 1954. His national ID card read he was born in 1956, but he was actually born in 1954, according to photographer Lee.

His mother later became a monk to cut herself off from her trauma.

"Park needed a surname. So he chose to use his mother's surname. That's why he introduced himself to me as Billin Park-ssi," said Lee. The pedigree of Billin Park-ssi was terminated with Park's death because he had no children to pass his surname on to.

Lee and Park first met in October, 1992 when the photographer visited the Korean-Amerasians Association in Seoul to present his plan to feature biracial Koreans in his photo projects and get their support and approval. Biracial singer Yoon Soo-il then served as president of the organization and Park was an active member. Lee's proposal got the nod from the members and he has since traveled to all cities that had U.S. military bases to trace the lives of Korean-Amerasians.

Lee affectionately called the biracial Koreans "brothers."

"Brother Park lived ahead of his time," said Lee. "He was a pioneer in human rights activism for biracial Koreans. He hated being called a half-Korean because he firmly believed he was 100 percent Korean."

Park was a farmer and human rights pioneer. / Noonbit Publishing

In 1973, Park, then 20, made headlines for a suicidal attempt. He took dozens of sleeping pills in a Seoul-bound train from the southern port city of Busan. An unnamed U.S. missionary discovered the dying young man. Inside the pocket of Park's jacket, there was a suicide note. In the handwritten piece, Park described his "cursed life" in the homogenous Korean society in great detail and urged then President Park Chung-hee to pay attention to improve human rights of biracial Koreans.

"Back in the 1970s, Korean society was very different from today. Terms like biracial or GI babies reminded Koreans of the military brothels that sprang up in the neighborhood of U.S. military bases all across the country," Lee said. "GI babies were bullied and discriminated against at school and many of them dropped out. But discrimination based on race still continued outside school. People taunted them for their appearance."

The tough reality had motivated Park to act to correct the wrong.

In the early 1990s, he teamed up with other biracial Koreans to activate the Korean-Amerasians Association which was established in the 1980s but became inactive with little progress made in their human rights. Park later served as president of the organization.

When Lee met Park in 1992, Lee said he was asked to make a commitment about his photo projects. "Brother Park told me, 'If you are going to work on a photo project about us for fun or curiosity, don't. But if you are really serious about the project, do it for several decades, not a year or so, and chronicle our lives and how we were treated in our home country to let the next generation remember us.' I promised him to do it as long as I could and got the nod from him and his fellow biracial Koreans," Lee said. "With the publications of four photo books about them, I believe I kept my promise."

In December, 2005, Park wrote a letter to then President Roh Moo-hyun, asking for the removal of discrimination Korean-Amerasians had endured all their lives and policy assistance to help them live decently for the rest of their lives. Lee helped Park in writing the letter to the president.

Park didn't hear from the presidential office.

Lee said he was upset.

"Brother Park, however, was different. He was calm and said he knew he wouldn't hear from the president because he was all too familiar with the ways of the country when it came to attitudes toward biracial Koreans like him," Lee said. "He said he would continue to put pressure on the government until it comes up with policy measures for biracial people. He knew a change wouldn't come without such continued efforts."

Documentary photographer Lee Jae-gab / Korea Times

Lee said the late Park was an inspiring man.

"When I visited him at the hospital in August 2009, he was very sick. When I took photos of him to capture him fighting cancer, he had a pained expression on his face and told me to stop it. He said 'enough is enough,'" Lee said. "I told him that what I was doing at that moment was not a personal photo project for Park Geun-sik, but a photo project for a racial minority of his time who lived in trauma throughout their lives. So please allow me to keep doing what I do. He didn't say a word and turned over on his side. I was sad but kept taking photos of him to record his last moments."

Park passed away two weeks after a minor argument with Lee in his sick bed. He was 56. His body was cremated and his ashes were buried under a tree near a temple in the midwestern city of Cheongju in North Chungcheong Province.
"Someday I would like to erect a wooden altar in front of the tree under which his ashes were buried, to mark that he rests in peace here. If I make enough money, I will do it," Lee said.

While photographing biracial Koreans for nearly three decades, Lee Jae-gab came to realize that their families ―- particularly their mothers and children ― were off limits.

If they disclose their family ties, they fear their loved ones could suffer. This mentality played a major part in delaying Lee's photo project of the mother of Lee James Edward Shaboo who was born to a Korean mother and an African-American soldier in 1966.

The biracial Korean's name on his national ID card follows the order of Korean names ― his Korean surname comes first followed by his English first name, middle name and his late American father's surname ― and this makes his full name sounds unique.

Lee James Edward Shaboo, left, speaks to his weary mother in this photo taken in September 2018 at a nursing home in Gyeonggi Province. / Courtesy of Lee Jae-gab

It took 26 years for photographer Lee to capture the biracial Korean's mother in his photo project.

"I've known brother Shaboo for 27 years. He's one of the early biracial Koreans I met through the Korean-Amerasians Association back in 1992," the photographer said. "Whenever I asked him if I could photograph his mother, brother Shaboo hesitated and answered 'not this time,' or 'later.' I knew why he said that. He didn't want his mother to be hurt by some judgmental people."

In September last year, Shaboo finally allowed the photographer to take photos of his weary mother at a nursing home in Gyeonggi Province.

"Brother Shaboo is an outgoing man and unlike other biracial Koreans that I met, he gets along with other people. He played football and dreamed of being a football player until his leg was seriously injured. The injury cut his athletic career short," Lee said. "Even for this carefree man, disclosing his mother to others was tough."

Biracial Koreans have lived as strangers in a familiar land. The 2003 survey taken by the state-run Human Rights Commission found two-thirds of biracial Koreans experienced bullying from their classmates when they attended school and over 60 percent experienced unfair treatment from their teachers because of their racial backgrounds.

Bullying and discrimination caused them to quit school. Four out of every 10 biracial people dropped out of school.

Together with bias against ethnic minorities, half-Koreans' relatively low education level made them less competitive in the job market, leaving two-thirds of them jobless. Even those employed suffer job instability. Many of them were employed in manufacturing, construction or service sectors as blue-collar workers, laborers or food servers.

Only 17 percent of biracial Koreans are home owners.

What's more alarming is that 40 percent of them have attempted suicide at one point in their lives.

Members of the Korean-Amerasians Association pose after a get-together in Seoul in March 2007. / Courtesy of Lee Jae-gab

Korean society has turned a blind eye to ethnic minorities' cries for help. There has been virtually no policy assistance for biracial Koreans in place.

In the 1970s, the government pushed for overseas adoption for children born to Korean mothers and American soldiers. Adults with a biracial background were encouraged to find jobs in America. In the late 1970s, the government set aside financial resources collected from year-end donations to provide financial support for biracial Koreans preparing for migration to the United States or vocational training. But there was no official policy support for Korean-Amerasians.

U.S. Super Bowl star Hines Ward's visit to Korea in April 2006 was a watershed event that triggered a policy shift toward biracial people.

The star athlete, who was born to a Korean mother and an African-American father in 1976, had been in the spotlight all during his visit to Korea. His mother accompanied him on the trip.

Media outlets covered the mother and her proud son and her upbringing of her half-Korean son.

Their visit caused Korean society to ruefully look back on its discriminative practices.

A memo compiled on April 4, 2006, by the Presidential Committee on Social Inclusion shows "a repentant Korea."

The three-page memo, available on the internet, includes talking points for the chairperson of the committee during a meeting with the Korean-American Super Bowl star and his sacrificing mother.

According to the document, the chairperson would laud Ward's mother for her sacrifice and upbringing of her son against all odds and then deliver apologies to the mother and the son that Korea was not there when they went through a myriad of social and economic challenges. The chairperson would express regret that Korean society was not tolerant of racial diversity.

Since 2000, the government has adopted a flurry of policy support for ethnic minorities as international marriages have increased rapidly which led to an increase in biracial children.

But such policy measures illustrate a double standard on ethnic minorities. Policy assistance was focused on foreign mothers and their biracial children born after they married Korean men, and there was no particular policy assistance for Korean-Amerasians.