[SPECIAL REPORT] Koryoin feel at home in Gwangju

A building with Cyrillic signs is seen in at "Koryoin Village" in Gwangsan District, Gwangju, March 29. Korea Times photo by Choi Won-suk

This is the first in a series of articles to shed light on various ethnic groups living in Korea and have more of their voices heard. ― ED.

'We are Koreans, just like you,' says godmother of Koryoin

By Lee Hyo-jin

GWANGJU ― Cyrillic signboards line the streets of a residential area in Gwangsan District in the city of Gwangju, some 300 kilometers south of Seoul.

Referred to by its residents as "Koryoin Village," the peaceful yet unique neighborhood encompasses restaurants, groceries, cafes, bakeries and hair salons that are owned by Koryoin residents, or ethnic Koreans from Russia and Central Asian countries.

The restaurants serve authentic Russian and Central Asian dishes such as shashlik (meat skewers), borscht (soup made from beetroot) and plov (steamed rice with meat and vegetables). Bakeries offer tandoor-baked somsa (pastry stuffed with meat or potatoes), while supermarkets stock bottles of Russian vodkas.

Seen in this photo are a bowl of borscht (beetroot soup) and a loaf of lepyoshka, a Central Asian bread that was served at an Uzbekistani restaurant in Wolgok-dong, Gwangsan District, in Gwangju, March 29. Korea Times photo by Choi Won-suk

This neighborhood in Wolgok-dong is home to about 7,000 Koryoin who migrated from Russia and post-Soviet Union countries such as Uzbekistan, Kazakhstan, Kyrgyzstan and Ukraine. It is the second-largest Koryoin community in Korea after Ansan in Gyeonggi Province.

In the late 1930s, nearly 200,000 Koreans living in the Russian Far East were forcibly moved to Central Asia by former Soviet dictator Joseph Stalin. Tens of thousands died during the 6,000-kilometer journey by cattle train. Others who survived were "dumped" across Central Asia in the middle of nowhere.

These migrants and their descendants are called "Koryoin" or "Koryo-saram" after the Goryeo Dynasty (918-1392).

Their tragic tales were little known in Korea until this century, after the government began to issue working visit visas (H-2) exclusively to post-Soviet and Chinese ethnic Koreans in 2007, leading to an increasing influx of Koryoin who sought a new life in the homeland of their ancestors.

Currently, there are an estimated 80,000 Koryoin residents living in the country, according to government data, and the number continues to grow.

Shin Jo-ya, head of "Korean cooperative," a support center for Koryoin residents in Gwangju, poses during an interview with The Korea Times at her office, March 29. Korea Times photo by Choi Won-suk

Those who may wonder what has made Wolgok-dong a magnet for thousands of Koryoin people can find the answer from Shin Jo-ya, 64, who heads the "Korean cooperative," a support center for ethnic Koreans there.

It is not an exaggeration to say that Shin, a third-generation Koryoin and Uzbekistani by birth, is the founder of the village.

But when she first landed on Korean soil in 2001 to visit her daughter who was married to a Korean citizen, she could not have imagined that she would later become the "godmother" of Koryoin residents.

"To be honest, I stayed illegally in Korea at that time. I chose not to go back to Uzbekistan although my visiting visa had expired. For me, life in Korea as an undocumented resident seemed better compared to life in Uzbekistan," she told The Korea Times.

Speaking fluently in Korean, Shin recalled how terrible it was for ethnic Koreans living in Uzbekistan in the 1990s after the collapse of the Soviet Union in 1991.

"As we don't speak their native (Uzbek) language, we were looked down upon everywhere we go. Even merchants at markets ignored me because I spoke in Russian. There was no place in the society for us," she said.

In 2002, she moved to Gwangju's industrial district of Gwangsan and worked at factories for several years. She was then employed at a migrant worker support center, where she began to offer help to Koryoin workers in the town.

Shin Jo-ya offers tea during an interview with The Korea Times. Everyone who visits her office, including this reporter, were offered a cup of tea and Uzbek snacks. Korea Times photo by Choi Won-suk

"Back then, there were only about 20 of us. But we began to invite to Gwangju our friends and relatives who were living overseas or in other parts of the country," she said.

The newcomers soon felt quite at home thanks to their neighbors who helped them rent houses and find jobs. Over the past decade, many families have reunited here and generations have extended, according to Shin.

As the number of Koryoin residents surged to several thousand in 2013, Gwangju Metropolitan City enacted the so-called "Koryoin resident support ordinance," creating a legal basis to use government financial resources to support these ethnic Koreans.

In 2015, Shin opened the Korean cooperative to better help those in need.

"Here, we help anyone with anything: sick people who cannot go to the hospital alone, those seeking to register their children at schools or kindergartens, people struggling with visa issues, as well as those facing difficulties in the workplace due to delayed payments," she explained.

Children at a kindergarten in Gwangju's Koryoin Village eat lunch, March 29. About 40 children are enrolled at the center. Korea Times photo by Choi Won-suk

"We feel grateful for the help from Korean residents and the local government, who have accepted us as members of society," Shin said. "As you can see, we are Koreans, just like you. We share the same ethnic backgrounds and ancestors."

The village now has about 40 facilities including a kindergarten, alternative school, medical center, radio studio, Korean language center and a museum.

Shin Jo-ya prepares kuksi, an Uzbek variation of Korean noodles. Korea Times photo by Choi Won-suk

On the third floor of the Korean cooperative is the studio of Korea FM, a radio channel established in 2016 by ethnic Koreans in Gwangju, where Vladimir Kim, 65, a former professor of Russian literature at Tashkent State University, hosts a program about Russian literature every Tuesday.

Vladimir Kim speaks during an interview with The Korea Times in a studio of the "Korean cooperative" in Gwangju, March 29. Korea Times

Sense of non-belonging

Kim, a third-generation Koryoin, grew up aware of his Korean roots. His parents, who in 1937 were moved forcibly to Kazakhstan from the city of Ussuriysk in the Russian Far East, later settled in Tashkent, the capital of Uzbekistan, where Kim was born.

He has vivid childhood memories of his parents and relatives singing Korean songs and cooking Korean meals.

"I remember their tears while singing the Korean songs. I was very young, but I could feel their sense of longing for home," he said. "My parents told me a lot about Korea, about its beautiful nature and scenery. It was my father's will that I must return to his home country."

After Kim retired from teaching at the age of 55, he came to Korea in 2012, leaving behind his home and friends in Tashkent.

But life in Korea wasn't as beautiful as his father had described. For several years, Kim worked in factories, but had to quit after being diagnosed with liver cancer. After receiving multiple surgeries and treatments, he worked on farms picking berries and apples.

Vladimir Kim speaks during an interview with The Korea Times, March 29. Korea Times photo by Choi Won-suk

Even though he has been living in Korea for a decade, Kim finds it hard to feel a sense of belonging here.

"Many of us who don't speak fluently in Korean face unfair treatment at work. They cheat us, and sometimes refuse to pay us. It's heartbreaking to be treated this way by the people who you've thought were 'our people,'" he said.

"Also, it is sad that many of us, who used to have professional jobs in our home countries such as doctors, professors or teachers, have no choice but to become low-skilled laborers here. No matter how hard we struggle to adapt here, by learning the language and obtaining citizenship, we are still perceived as foreigners."

But Kim expressed hopes that the situation will improve for the young generation of Koryoin, who were born and raised here, as they are more easily adapting to Korean society than their parents.

When asked whether he has ever regretted moving to Korea, after a short pause, Kim answered, "No, I don't regret it. Korea is the homeland of my father, where I belong. And it has become my home country now, too."