Beyond 'Half': Korean-Japanese identity explored through language and art

The author, a filmmaker and writer, reflects on the multifaceted identities of children with Korean heritage living in Japan, challenging the reductive label of 'half.' This term, commonly used in Japan for individuals of mixed race, implies a lack of completeness. The author proposes 'double' or 'triple' as more fitting descriptors, acknowledging the richness and complexity of inheriting multiple cultural backgrounds.

During a recent experience as a judge for a Korean language speech contest for students in Japan, the author gained a deeper appreciation for the diverse ways these young individuals express their Korean identity. The contest, held virtually due to the pandemic, showcased students writing and speaking in Korean, prompting the author to broaden her definition of 'Korean language' beyond its use within Korea's borders.

Students participating came from various backgrounds: both parents Korean, one parent Korean, or from Zainichi Korean (long-term Korean residents in Japan) or Joseon (North Korean) families. Their educational paths also varied, attending Korean schools, Japanese schools with supplementary Korean language programs, or solely Japanese schools. Some expressed a desire to learn Korean diligently for their parents, highlighting a conscious effort to connect with their heritage.

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People call us half, but I am double.

The author found resonance between her own experience growing up with Korean Sign Language (KSL) and the students' efforts to maintain Korean language proficiency outside of Korea. This led her to realize that her understanding of 'Korean language' had been limited by her experiences within Korea itself. Witnessing these individuals navigate their identities as linguistic and cultural minorities fostered a sense of empathy and solidarity.

One student's assertion, 'People call us half, but I am double,' particularly struck the author. This sentiment encapsulates the idea that these individuals are not diminished by their mixed heritage but are instead enriched by it. Their struggles and reflections on language and identity, the author argues, expand and deepen the very meaning of 'Korean language' and 'Koreanness,' embodying the essence of diaspora literature and art. This perspective aligns with the author's own experience as a CODA (Child of Deaf Adults) and her anticipation of her own child's 'double' or 'triple' identity development.

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Perhaps the language they use is more authentically Korean, and their identity is more Korean.