Writings of K.W. Lee



 (1178 words)

By K. W. Lee

IN SOBERING AFTERTHOUGHT, I dare say, however belatedly, that our Sa-i-gu (Korean for 4-2-9) didn’t explode on that date, April 29, almost 20 years ago.

Long before the 1992 L.A Riots, hardy Korean mom and pop storekeepers, along with long-suffering and stoic neighbors, had been living dangerously every waking hour, seven days a week, all year round in the seething inner-cities of America.

 Only God knows how many of these bedraggled newcomers from Korea --- some call them wannabe Kamikazes ---have been mugged, robbed, maimed and slain in their dogged pursuit of an elusive dream in America’s own killing fields.

And how many widows and kids had to carry on with their existential days and nights and yonder.

 The figures may easily run into thousands and even more. The open season on these mute and impassive merchants seemed without an end.

As the editor of their lone English voice –first the Koreatown Weekly, 1979-1982, and Korea Times Weekly, 1990-1993, both based in LA Koreatown –I’ve covered too many hourly shootings and robberies and attended too many funerals not to be

touched, outraged, awed and, above all, renewed by these newcomers from the war-ravaged peninsular who seemed to thrive on adversity even in defeat or death.

A couple years before Sa-i-gu, I remember, Rosemead grocery store owner Hong Sik Shin, 44-year-old father of two, was gun down by two robbers during the Christmas holiday season.

But sill I can hear him admonish his younger son, Simon, then 13, over and over again: “I’m not telling you to study hard for my benefit, but for your benefit so you won’t end up like me.”

The elder Hong was working alone that fateful night when the gunmen entered his L.A. store to rob. He resisted their demands for money, police said. In moments he lay on the floor mortally wounded.

 However inconsolable, his widow would take charge of the family’s future. She told friends she intended to reopen the store and run it herself. No doubt, Simon and his older brother, Frank, then 16, would be right by side.

It’s been a decade since Christine Choe’s brother was robbed and killed in the family’s hamburger stand in Southern L. A. I still remember what she told a local reporter after she returned to work, after burying her brother only to find that their store had been burglarized again. “People don’t care,’’ she said. “They think we got money from God or something. My mom worked so hard for this.”

No matter.

Within a span of a month, not only her brother but three other fellow Korean grocers in L.A. were blown away during holdups. Only two weeks earlier, another Koreatown shopkeeper killed the same gunman who had robbed him six times in just 12 days.

As every Korean daughter would, Christine only thought of her mom. “The poor Korean lady who lost her only son, her first son, the one who is supposed to grow up to take care of her someday.

Come what may, the Choe sisters were going to take care of their mom. Drying her tears, as she excused herself from the newspaper interview to return to her battle station, Christine swore as a-matter-of-factly:

          “We are going to make it. I know that.”

 I knew that too.

How can I ever forget one spunky grocery lady named Ihn Kang Kim in Chicago. She survived the March 25, 1979 nightmare in which she watched her husband murdered in the cold-blooded robbery of their Broadway store.

This story, as she told to a local reporter, ran in the April 28, 1979 edition of Koreatown Weekly, the first homicide article in the English weekly

I and teammates Steve Chanecka and Randy Hagihara had founded in LA Koreatown.

The couple had bought the store after six years of slave labor and penny-pinching, when a gunman came to rob and kill. The killer took $250 cash and watches from her husband, led them both into the store’s dank basement, shot him and then fired the gun twice more and stabbed her.

The killer turned out the light and climbed the stairs and nailed the basement door shut.

Her husband lay next to her, near death, gasping. Her hands reached out to cover his wound and stop the bleeding.

“Must we die like this? Must our dream end like this in ashes? I will not let my husband’s dream be broken for nothing. I will not.”

Step by step, she crawled up the stairs, to the door that was shut. She began to tear at the wall with her bare hands, scratching and ripping. Her skin came off her fingers, as she opened a hole and squeezed herself through it, to seek help from a passing car.

She lay in shock for weeks in the hospital. A month and a half later, she returned to reopen the store. “I will not go back to Korea,” she said. “I will not move away from here. This store was my husband’s dream. I will not let the dream be broken.”

In the beginning it was hard: “I was crying inside, but I sing song every morning to myself. One is a Korean hymn that says, ‘Soon the dark of night will come, while there is still light; don’t waste time, work hard and good things will come.’

“That makes me strong, and I say, all night, I am young. I am in America, and I am on my way.”

The survivors like Simon, Christine and Ihn Knag have given life and substance to that elusive thing called the Koreans-never-give-up Spirit, which seems to endure even in defeat and death.

In their darkest hours they have shown us that luminous gift from the Land of Morning Calm.

As we silently grieve for our fallen dongpo (fellow countrymen) on this 19th anniversary of Sa-i-gu, we die a little but carry on with our daily life the only way we, the people of Hahn, know by soul.


For millenniums, Jewish people have wandered this earth as pariahs, but those who left Russia and East Europe to escape pogroms in the middle 19th century have achieved the normalcy of life in the new world they had yearned for centuries.

It’s a beautiful ending to an ancient story --- an epic with a great ending.

At the risk of being presumptuous or overly romantic, I’m tempted to envision the beginning of a tribe of the latter-day Diaspora wandering this vast continent --- the Koreans.

 It matters little that ours is only a century old.  What matters is that it’s a biblical journey in so many ways.

Maybe God has chosen us to suffer --- to redeem ourselves. He knew our collective wretchedness --- almost pathological divisiveness, stubborn individualism, gleeful indifference to civil rules and common goals and ancient curse of self-loathing and mutual distrust ---so He endowed us with a gift for our survival on earth: that Koreans-never-give-up spirit called Stamina.


"Individually we are powerless and dysfunctional. YOU must be the generation to create a new value system -- one of community consciousness -- to break away from the past." -K.W. Lee


K.W. Lee Writings

By K. W. Lee

A TRIBE, A PEOPLE OR A NATION is likely known or judged by its heroes by whom it reveres above all others.
Such is Abraham Lincoln, an icon of all humanity beyond borders.
So are Korean diaspora pioneers Dosan Ahn Chang Ho (Island Mountain) and Charles Ho (Nobody) Kim who are now among the pantheons of not only Korean but American heroes.
These towering figures from our American heritage share one common trait: They couldn’t afford attending a day in college.

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