Bridging the Gap Between Old-Timers and Newcomers

• Let's put away the "back in my day" lectures and set a "table of coexistence" that fills in each other's gaps.
• The waterways of our immigration history will only open up when the survival instincts of the 1970s meet the rationality of the 2020s.
• True succession lies in installing the newcomers' software onto the hardware laid down by the old-timers.

There is an invisible clock in the immigrant society. It is often said that "an immigrant’s clock stops at the exact moment they left their homeland." The clock of the "old-timers," who settled in Canada in the 1970s after working as miners and nurses in Germany, is set to the Korean "hungry spirit" and the Saemaul (New Community) Movement-style solidarity of that era. On the other hand, the clock of the "newcomers," who arrived since the 2000s or more recently through study abroad or employment, is set to the present—reflecting Korea’s highly developed digital civilization, rational individualism, and an emphasis on "work-life balance." When these two clocks meet in a single space, their cogs often clash and creak rather than interlocking smoothly.

In a way, all of us who are the "bridge generation" caught between the old-timers and the newcomers have witnessed this conflict as observers listening to both sides. At Korean association events or community gatherings, the atmosphere often feels strangely divided. The first-generation seniors click their tongues, saying, "Young people these days lack perseverance and don't know how to serve the community." Their repertoire always starts with "When I first immigrated..." and ends with heroic tales of building dry cleaners and convenience stores with their bare hands. Conversely, young newcomers distance themselves, labeling these seniors as Kkondae (condescending boomers). To them, the old-timers' methods seem irrational, authoritarian, and overly emotional—mere "relics of the past."

However, this is not a matter of right or wrong. It is simply a matter of "difference" and a variation in "survival methods" dictated by the era of their immigration. For old-timers, survival meant "solidarity" and "sacrifice." They had to stick together to survive, giving up what was theirs to support one another. But for newcomers, survival is about "information" and "capability." They are already fluent in English, possess impressive resumes from Korea, and have the confidence to survive in mainstream society without needing to lean heavily on the Korean community. If we fail to understand this gap, the Korean community is bound to be isolated into two separate islands.

We need to borrow the wisdom of other ethnic groups in Canada. The example of the Jewish community offers profound implications. They, too, experienced conflict between conservative old-timers—centered around Holocaust survivors—and secular, modern newcomers. However, they chose "investment" over "lectures." The old-timers generously used their accumulated capital and networking to help newcomers launch startups or enter the legal and medical fields. Instead of preaching, "I suffered like this back in my day," they asked, "What can I do to help you succeed?" As a result, the younger generation naturally returned to the community, respecting their seniors and modernizing their legacy. Through mentorship programs, they transformed a generational disconnect into a "transfer of knowledge."

The Chinese community is no different. The early immigrant groups who arrived as railway workers in the late 19th century, the wealthy class who immigrated ahead of the 1997 Hong Kong handover, and the recent international students from the mainland all have completely different languages, political leanings, and backgrounds. Yet, they unite with strict practicality based on the common denominator of "business." They combined the hardware—Chinatown buildings and traditional Benevolent Associations owned by the old-timers—with the software of the newcomers' capital and cutting-edge management techniques. Instead of wasting energy criticizing each other's differences, they joined forces to move the real estate markets in Vancouver and Toronto and to exercise political power.

What about our Korean community? The various organizations painstakingly built by the first generation are aging, lacking an infusion of young blood. Newcomers hide within their own online communities or social media group chats to exchange information. To bridge this disconnect, a shift in the old-timers' mindset must come first. Let's be honest: while the old-timers' experiences are precious, they might be an outdated compass in the Canada of 2026. Their role should not be holding the steering wheel and micromanaging; rather, they should act as "facilitators"—fueling up the newcomers' cars so they can drive freely, and yielding the roads they paved so long ago.

Newcomers, too, must not dismiss old-timers as "stubborn old people." It is because of the history of discrimination and hardship they endured that we can now live in Canada without being disrespected for being Korean. Their rugged wisdom and patience, tucked away in an old wardrobe, are often life's answer keys that can never be found through a smartphone search. The "diligence" and "responsibility" of enduring 30 years behind a convenience store counter or an ironing board at a dry cleaner is a great legacy that no AI can ever replace.

Here is a proposal. Instead of one-sided lectures or ceremonies with a "back in my day" vibe, let's create a "marketplace of exchange" that fulfills each other's needs. We need mutual mentorship: old-timers can treat newcomers to a warm meal along with wisdom to reduce their trial-and-error in immigrant life, while newcomers can teach old-timers the grammar and latest trends of the rapidly changing digital world. A virtuous cycle where the 2nd and 3rd generations run startups in buildings built by the 1st generation, and use the profits to care for the 1st generation in their old age—this is the "table of coexistence" we all dream of.

Every immigrant is lonely. People who share the inherent, almost original sin-like loneliness of having left their homeland should not be territorial just because they arrived earlier, nor should they ignore one another because they arrived later. Although the old-timer's clock and the newcomer's clock may point to different times, they share the same direction toward a "better life." Rather than forcing the clocks to match, we must combine our experiences from different time zones to create a dynamic Korean community where the lights never go out, 24 hours a day. That is the "aesthetics of coexistence" our immigration history must pursue. The moment we acknowledge our differences, conflict turns into synergy. When the sweat of the 1970s meets the ideas of 2026, the Korean community in Canada will finally be reborn—not as strangers stuck in the past, but as masters leading the future.

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Founded in 1917, the UJA (United Jewish Appeal) Federation of Greater Toronto is North America's largest organization overseeing charitable fundraising and distribution for the Jewish community in Toronto. The photo shows an anti-antisemitism campaign poster by the UJA Federation of Greater Toronto. Under the slogan "Stand up to Antisemitism," the campaign conveys the message that "This is not just a Jewish issue, but a problem for all of Canada." The UJA has invested in allyship for a stronger Canada, growing to include 10,000 non-Jewish allies across 231 electoral ridings. By making the fight against antisemitism a national priority, they are building a stronger, safer Canada. This is known as an effective system that the Toronto Korean community could look to as a reference.