When Prejudice Becomes Our Reflection

• The hierarchical sorting hidden behind the question, “What did you do in Korea?” is a chronic disease eating away at our community.
• Learning true dignity from other ethnic communities that respect the value of labor and break down the barriers of occupational prestige.
• A truly proud community can only be built when we discard the prejudice of judging others by their past status and current wealth.

I have heard that immigration is a kind of escape from one's “social class.” The fruits of that “escape” emerge over a considerable period of time, ultimately manifesting in our children. It is seeing them grow into adults who love their work regardless of occupational prestige, and who value a person's character over their background. When that happens, it will be the most precious harvest of our immigrant lives. However, contrary to the ethos of the “true multicultural society” our children are growing up in, the ghosts of the past and strange prejudices are still deeply coiled within our Korean community.

In many Korean immigrant communities, there are certain questions that never fail to arise when making new acquaintances: “What kind of work did you do in Korea?” or “Which university did you graduate from?” At first glance, these seem like ordinary conversational topics, but they are sometimes laced with the intention of sizing up the other person's social background or status. The tendency to subtly ostracize or look down on someone because their past job in Korea wasn't glamorous, or because their educational background isn't so-called “top-tier,” is the biggest obstacle hindering the qualitative growth of our community. Even as we live in Canada's relatively egalitarian social culture, we sometimes reveal that we have not completely let go of the elitist obsession with educational background and the hierarchical mindset we grew accustomed to in Korean society.

This prejudice translates into a hierarchy of professions. In the early days of immigration, some immigrants who took up work in convenience stores, dry cleaners, or the cleaning industry to make a living felt burdened or intimidated when explaining their jobs. This goes beyond the issue of personal self-esteem. When choosing community leaders or making major decisions, it causes us to use past backgrounds or current economic success as the sole yardsticks, rather than practical ability or dedication. As the climate of judging a person's value solely by superficial wealth accumulation while ignoring social contribution became prevalent, there have been instances where economic influence and personal networks received disproportionate attention over public-mindedness or dedication in the Korean community.

In this regard, we should learn from the examples of other ethnic communities that make up mainstream Canadian society. Consider the histories of Italian Canadian and Portuguese Canadian immigrants. In their early immigration days, most of them laid the foundations of this land as construction workers or stonemasons. In these communities, there is a strong tendency to remember the history of their labor itself as a crucial part of their community identity. Rather, they treat their calloused hands like badges of honor and share the pride that they built Canada's cities with their own hands. It is often observed that their community events exhibit a relatively strong culture of respecting labor itself, transcending differences in generation and occupation. They prove through their lives that a job is merely a means of making a living, not a standard that determines human dignity.

The inclusivity of the Jewish community is also worth noting. In some Jewish communities, there is an emphasized tradition of valuing community contribution, education, and service over a member's occupation. The highest respect is paid to those who contribute to “Tikkun Olam” (repairing and improving the world). Whether a scholar, merchant, or technician, someone who does their part for the education and welfare of the community is appointed as a leader. Rather than scrutinizing a person's background, they ask, “What has this person contributed to our community?” Thanks to this openness and respect for diversity, they are recognized for having maintained high community solidarity even in harsh diaspora environments.

On the other hand, what about our Korean community? While closed networks—an open secret to everyone—remain tightly knit, the “ordinary immigrants” who have silently worked in the field, paid their taxes, and raised their children are often marginalized from the mainstream of the community. This can weaken the culture of democratic participation within the community and creates tension with the values of inclusivity and diversity that Canadian society strives for. The true protagonists of our immigration history are not the few with flashy business cards, but the countless ordinary compatriots who bore the brunt of the harsh environment in an unfamiliar land. We must tear down these walls of prejudice by building a “cyber museum that properly records the history of Korean immigration in Canada.” The museum must record not only the stories of successful entrepreneurs but also, with equal weight, the lives of the miners and nurses who headed to work at the crack of dawn, and the merchants who met thousands of neighbors from behind convenience store counters. Only when the sweat-stained records of their lives become the authentic legacy of our community can we finally throw away the outdated yardsticks of “educational background” and “origins.”

The leadership of the immigrant community must also be reformed. When electing leaders, we must consider not their past backgrounds, but how pluralistic their current worldview is and how open they are to mutually beneficial exchanges with other ethnicities. A stern warning is needed for those who try to maintain authority by flaunting their past status or wealth while upholding a closed and unilateral decision-making structure. Authoritarian attitudes and exclusive cultures not only degrade the dignity of the community but also alienate the next generation, who expect just social participation, from the Korean community.

Children in many immigrant families who moved to Canada with their parents naturally learn to respect people of different backgrounds within the Canadian public education system. We see true dignity in the way children greet a cleaner or a mayor equally with a “Good morning,” paying respect to their labor. If our children see the rudeness and subtle glances of disregard that we adults show at community gatherings, what will they possibly learn? The very first legacy we must pass down is an “open mind” that respects all human beings exactly as they are.

If thoughtful individuals were to observe our community through an anthropologist's lens of participant observation, they would not merely get bogged down in demographic statistics, but would observe the underlying psychological mechanisms and cultural habits. And they might discover that our discrimination against each other based on occupation and educational background could be the result of a complex interplay of the instability and desire for recognition unique to immigrant societies. If you are confident that the work you are doing now is valuable, there is no need to pry into the backgrounds of others. We immigrated to live a “new life,” not to transplant our Korean social rankings to Canada.

Now, we must step out of the prison of prejudice. The saying that there is no hierarchy in occupations must become a practice, not just a slogan. A community where a young person serving tables at a Korean restaurant can become a future government minister, and where the owner of a dry cleaner can become the greatest philanthropist in the local society—that is the dignified Korean community we should aim for. We must bring the Canadian value of respecting diversity into the heart of our community.

We all must have a clear critical awareness of a culture that takes prejudice and discrimination for granted. At the same time, however, we must most meticulously record the stories of those who silently walk their paths in humble places to sustain the community. We must erase the sad self-portrait created by strange prejudices and paint a radiant landscape where our differences harmonize. That is the calling we all share—both as the senior generation who first set foot on this land, and as the younger generation who earnestly record history. I sincerely hope that the Korean community of the future will be a place where people are evaluated not by “who they are,” but by “how they live.”