On being Korean-American: The ever undefined.

Originally written January 21, 2019. Published January 8, 2021. // I went on a solo walking tour of our nation’s monuments during my trip to D.C. I have a complicated relationship with the only country I’ve known, but I had decided the night before that I needed to at least do the tourist thing and try to be a “good American”. Ever since I was young, I had an acute awareness that no country is “mine” and that I don’t fully belong to one. Sure, my papers say I’m fully American because I was born here, but I think all children born in the U.S. to first generation immigrant families identify with this experience. I can only speak from my own life growing up as a “Korean-American” or an “American with Korean heritage” or “Asian-American” or whatever the newest iteration of self-identification is used today. Every Asian-American knows the feeling of not being “enough”. Of course, there are the stereotypes of Asian-American kids having to live up to the lofty expectations of their “tiger” parents. A lot of those stereotypes are true. After all, not all of us are CRAs (@crazyrichasians) - most of our parents came to this country with nothing and busted their asses to make it here. Of course they want better for us than what they had to endure to make a life for themselves and their families here. It’s why they want us all to be doctors or lawyers – or at least marry one.

Lots of second generation Asian-American kids feel the weight of those expectations and that contributes to the feeling of “not enough”. But, then there’s the other sense of being stuck in a perpetual state of “not enough” – the not “Asian” – or in my case, not “Korean” enough and definitely not “American” enough. If you’re like me, you know what I’m talking about. As kids, we asked our parents to pack us all-American PB&J sandwiches on that all-American white Wonder Bread so we could get through the lunch hour without the other kids making a scene out of what weird, “smelly”, non-White-American thing that was hiding in our lunch boxes. Or the times we sat in class feeling like everyone else was smarter and cooler than us as they sat around and discussed some American cultural reference that you had zero clue about. They knew all the words to songs you had never heard before and did things like Girl Scouts and “cotillion” (I still don’t know what the hell that is). Those kids never let you forget you weren’t American like them and thus, you were not cool. Being Korean was not cool. It’s weird to me now that it’s become “cool” to be Korean. Everyone likes Korean food, skincare products, technology, and music. I mean, you can even find gentrified, flavorless kimchi (which, for the record, I only tried because it was an emergency and I ran out of actual Korean kimchi that day) and frozen bulgogi at Trader Joes now. This was not the case back in the day.

Then, on the flipside if you’re like me, you went to church on Sunday and the Korean kids there let you know that you were not like them either. They were born here, but they were *way more legit Korean* than you. They owned Korean culture. They spoke Korean at home and with their friends. Your name was not “Esther” or “Grace” (come on my Korean folks, y’all know you have at least 5 friends named “Grace Lee” and “Esther Kim”). They listened to Korean pop before it became a “thing”. But you – you were inferior because you spoke differently from them. You had broken Korean, went to a different school, were not part of their crowd. You were not enough. Neither American nor Korean. To them, you’re “Americanized”, “white-washed”, “hah-yang-bbang” or “white bread” – a banana: yellow on the outside, white on the inside. You certainly didn’t feel American when kids were using their grubby, little fingers to poke and prod at your lunch in the school yard. Still, you’re not “one of us” anywhere you go.

But, I digress; coming back to why I’m writing this. As I walked through the park of monuments in D.C., I was walking toward the MLK Memorial when I heard a song being played. My ears perked up and I was drawn into it. It was the Korean National Anthem. I was surprised that I recognized it so quickly. I have never sung it and couldn’t even if I wanted to because I don’t know the words. I can probably count the

few times in life I’ve heard it and most of those times, it was during the Olympic medal ceremonies. I walked toward the music and I stumbled upon a little service in progress in front of the Korean War Memorial. I hadn’t intended to visit it; I know so little about it beyond what I’ve learned in school. But, there I was. A small group of Korean folks were gathered in military regalia. They were standing before a flower arrangement with an American flag and a Korean flag on either side. What a coincidence to have stumbled upon the visual representation of the very conversation that had been happening in my brain for the past hour. I watched the ceremony for a few minutes. Some tourists gathered and watched respectfully as the ceremony continued. I kind of wanted the Korean in the ceremony to notice I was there. I wanted them to pick me out of the crowd of onlookers. In any other situation, I would have simply gone up and introduced myself. But, I was too self-conscious about how I would even approach them. My Korean sucks and I thought I would just end up embarrassing myself. I was thinking of why I wanted them to see me and I realized that I wanted them to acknowledge that I was one of them – Korean. The ceremony finished and the group stayed a few minutes for photos and then quickly dispersed. I just stood there lost in my own thoughts about where and who I was. I just stared at the two flags and thought, “maybe I’m the flower arrangement in the middle”. I’d be lying if I said that the whole scene didn’t make me feel a bit emotional. After they all left, I stood there for a while longer and watched the American flag waving softly over the memorial site.

I’m not sure what I feel when I hear the American anthem or see the American flag, especially now. Lately, I feel pissed off at the state of this country. I can’t count how many “WTF AMERICA?!” moments I’ve had in my conscious memory. I feel disappointment – a lot. But, disappointment, unlike apathy, is a lover’s word. Disappointment exists only when there is a deep-rooted sense of caring. I can’t say definitively that I “love” this country. Love is a strong word and I’m not sure that’s the emotion I feel. I do have to say that I’m grateful for opportunities this country made possible for my family, particularly my mom, to come and succeed here. I guess I love it? I don’t really know. But, I do care a great deal about it.

I often reflect on what role I should play to help make this country, this world a more just and equal place to live. But, I’m not sure that’s tied to a sense of love for this country more so than my passions for equity and social justice. I am a realist, but an optimistic one. A lot of things are shitty, but I feel a strong “pull” to be a part of making things better. Maybe it’s the aspirations and ideals of this country, as far off as it is from them, that inspire me. Maybe that’s why I felt most moved and inspired while I was walking around the Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. and Lincoln Memorial sites. We are not there yet, but like my favorite quote by Dr. King says, “We shall overcome because the arc of the moral universe is long, but it bends toward justice”. When I reflect upon what it means to be “American”, I think of people like him. I believe strongly that people like President Lincoln and Dr. King were true Americans. They gave their lives in pursuit of a vision of freedom and equality for all. They were trying to build the America that I believe in; an America I actually do love.

But then, there’s the even more confusing sentiment I feel when I see the Korean flag and hear the Korean anthem. In fact, me not knowing the Korean anthem is the perfect example. I 100% know it is the Korean anthem when I hear it. But, ask me if I know the words. Nope. Sometimes, my husband asks me what something is in Korean and sometimes, I don’t know (though, I have to say I often surprise myself with how much I actually do know...). I feel embarrassed by this, but honestly, how the hell am I supposed to know? I didn’t grow up in Korea. We mostly spoke English (and Spanish) at home. Korean school sucked because those kids (same ones from church) were so mean and I never wanted to be

there. Yea, I am Korean, but am I actually a “real Korean”? I don’t know. It feels like I need to find the answer to these questions. What am I? Who am I? What does my identity even mean to me? What will my eventual kids (not happening yet, so everyone relax) be? Are they going to be as confused as me? Are kids going to make fun of them as being banana-flavored pochos? Let’s not forget that they are also going to have the added confusion that their dad is a first generation Mexican immigrant. What boxes are they going to check off when they are asked to indicate their ethnicity?

I don’t know the answers. These are deep questions of race and identity. Of culture and heritage. Of self and belonging. These are questions that many fellow “hyphenated Americans” live with daily. I just felt compelled to document the struggle to see if it would help me gain some clarity. It’s like that hyphen is a symbol of the perpetual distance between our labels and ourselves - while seemingly inconsequential, it’s ever-present and ever-growing. Ever-undefined.

I think where I’ve landed is that there truly is a uniquely “hyphenated American”, post-first generation immigrant, and Korean-American (or Asian-American) identity that is neither fully Korean nor fully American. It is what “Chicanx” is to Latinx culture - a unique phenomenon, a combustion of the mother country and this country. It’s something else entirely and it shapes who we are and how we want to live in the world. It is what makes people like us open to new and other cultures. It’s also what allows us to identify with people from lots of different backgrounds. We find community and have deep compassion for those of us who live as “others” because we have lived as “others” our entire lives. It compels us to always consider how we can make a room, a place, a community, a society, and the world a more inclusive space because we understand what it is to feel excluded. We can find common ground where maybe people without our backgrounds may not. We carry in us the conflict of American society and identity, but also contribute to expanding the meaning of what it means to be American. I’m still figuring out how it all fits together, but I see these as unique qualities that I possess having lived as an “other” type of American.

dsrptq ideas // thoughts on the road to leadership & finding my roots

If we learned anything in 2020, is that life is unpredictable. Every aspect of life was thrown into chaos by the COVID-19 pandemic. It's incredible to reflect back on a year of such disruption.

I began 2020 in a job that was without doubt among the most challenging experiences of my life. I had never faced such difficult circumstances in any job at any period of my life. When the pandemic hit and I was laid off along with my team in March 2020, I actually first experienced a sense of relief at knowing that I didn’t have to struggle like I had been. But then, a whole new world of uncertainty opened before us.

It took me a few weeks to recover from the trauma of the whole experience; those months of challenges that preceded the layoff. But, when I started to see through the haze, I gained a new sense of purpose. A new energy. A new vision. Ideas that I had floating in my mind started taking shapes. The things I had been holding to myself because I was afraid I wasn’t ready to launch them - I felt free to begin indulging myself in developing them.

In the second half of 2020, I never hit my stride.

Instead, I took detours and hopped down rabbit holes. I launched my consulting practice. I began working with both nonprofits and small businesses on their strategies to navigate the impact of the pandemic. I started inventing a product with my mom, The Smartmasq, which is now patent-pending and launched in December 2020.

No, I never hit a stride. I never achieved “order” or the kind of stability that my insatiable hunger for control so intensely craves. I found myself in the middle of a storm with winds blowing in every direction. I wasn’t ready for any of it. Yet, amidst that chaos, I started to love it. I realized that I love to solve big problems. I love translating complexity into actionable plans. I live for the thrill of tackling challenges. I love how disruption can be both negative, but also incredibly and powerfully positive. It’s probably why I’ve managed to entangle myself in some extremely difficult job situations throughout my career.

If there is one thing I learned from the eon that we lived known as 2020, it’s that there is no scenario where you can prepare for everything that life throws at you. Like one of the best lessons I learned in an internship I had in internal auditing: you can never get the risk to zero.

Thus, the only thing you can do is simply to be ready for anything. This isn’t the same as being prepared for everything. Being mentally ready for anything is a state of mind, whereas being prepared is a state of being. It is way to build a mindset where we are able to adapt, respond, and persist through whatever unpredictable clusterfucks come our way. It’s not about knowing how to respond to every crisis before they arise; it’s being able to accept what situations arise from crisis and know how to adapt and persist amidst and in spite of them.

I didn’t feel prepared to take on the challenges of the job I was eventually laid off from. However, I am proud of what I was able to accomplish while I was there. I also didn’t feel prepared for the vast uncertainties of the months that proceeded being laid off. But, throughout my career, I have always held a deep commitment to learning to sharpen myself as a leader. I began to lean on that passion for learning to help me realign myself. I returned to reading and reflecting on the things I was learning.

I remember as I was preparing to take on my first executive director role, I began a search for resources, books, and blogs on leadership to help guide me.

What I found were hundreds of books by very successful people - none of whom I felt I could relate to. There were so many titles by the world's most notable business and thought leaders. Yet, I found very few writings by women and people of color among them. Furthermore, they were all writing from a very different place in their careers. Not to say that I couldn’t learn some important principles from well-known leaders who are lauded as the most successful among us. I have and I continue to do so. However, I just didn’t feel that I could relate to their experiences.

For starters, I am a woman. A woman of color. A woman of color, daughter of immigrants who was, at the time, trying to break the “mid-to-executive level” career sound barrier in a non-diverse industry where people like me represented less than 5% of executive level leaders.

As I searched Google for books, podcasts, articles, and blogs on leadership, I wanted to hear from people like me. I wanted to know their paths, their struggles, their mistakes, and all the things that don’t end up in a polished, buttoned-up New York Times bestseller written by people who had already reached the pinnacle of success - folks who had already “made it”. I wanted to know how they pushed through the bad and the ugly to get to the good. I wanted perspective from the road to leadership and growth, from someone who was walking it, not someone who had already made it to whatever final destination. I just wanted some to be real with me.

I will be the first to admit that I am not the best or consummate leader. I have many more lessons to learn than the ones I have gathered thus far. I am not the most polished or the most experienced. In fact, I feel quite inadequate launching a blog on leadership. Perhaps no one will find it helpful but me to simply document the experiences and lessons I’ve learned at this stage of my professional life.

However, in the spirit of the first quote I’m posting as my very first offering to the world through this new venture, I don’t believe I’ll ever be fully prepared for everything, so I want to take this opportunity to be real. To share lessons from the road, not at the end of it. And who knows? Perhaps some of the thoughts I write about will be obsolete in a decade from now when I look back as an older, wiser person and realize that I was young, stupid, and didn’t know shit. If that happens, I look forward to what wisdom I will encounter in the years ahead.

But for now, I give to you dsrptq (dis-rupt-ik). A blog of thoughts on leadership and growth from the perspective of a non-traditional Korean-American woman, daughter of immigrants, who is navigating her climb as a disruptor, a new small business owner, and a career social impact professional, who hopes to leave some insights about the trail she’s facing for others who may find themselves on a similar path. Follow along at https://www.dsrptq.com/dsrtpq-ideas, LinkedIn, and Instagram (@dsrptq).

Beyond COVID-19: Refocusing the equity lens amidst disruption - a first hand perspective

What will happen to the millions of people who rely on the life-enriching services of the nonprofits that help us achieve greater equity and access to opportunities in our communities?

As we all struggle to come to terms with the sweeping impact of the COVID-19 pandemic in our lives, one silver lining has been the effort of the philanthropic sector coming together to aid nonprofit organizations (NPOs) that have been severely impacted by this crisis. 

I am encouraged by the level of coordination happening to help maximize the impact of ever-scarce dollars to advocate for nonprofits along with small businesses. But, here is a pitfall I hope we will avoid as we strive to save as many NPOs as we can. 

If we look at what is happening with many of the current available programs designed to support the survival of small businesses, I can tell you that many of the small business owners in my circle - immigrants, people of color, and those that have had to build their businesses with very little access to capital, have largely been unsuccessful in securing support. 

Here’s one of the reasons why and I hope the nonprofit sector can do better in solving this challenge.

Many SBA loans are being provided by financial institutions to their existing clients - that means if you don’t have access to strong relationships with a bank or some other kind of SBA support provider, you will continue to have a much harder time accessing capital. This means that business owners, particularly those who are minorities and women who already have to work harder to start and sustain their businesses are at higher risk of being cut out of these funding opportunities. Sound familiar? It does to anyone who has ever worked in a nonprofit that has tried to “break in” to the wheelhouse of a new potential funder without any prior relationships into that funding organization.

Additionally, there haven’t been as many resources provided in different languages to ensure that business owners whose native language is not English are able to get the information they need in a timely way so as to be able to move quickly on funding opportunities. In fact, it has been the work of NPOs and community-based organizations that have been working expeditiously to translate and disseminate information to communities with diverse language needs. I’ve seen great resources produced by organizations like the Korean American Federation of Los Angeles (KAFLA), the USC Office of Civic Engagement, the Nonprofit Finance Fund.

This lack of access is not anything new, particularly in the nonprofit sector. As a career fundraiser and nonprofit sector professional, a woman of color who has had to fight really hard to get in front of funders and potential donors, I know the struggle of many nonprofit leaders like me who don’t always have the kind of access to the networks and people who may have the capacities to provide transformative, or in this case, lifesaving support. 

Many philanthropies are prioritizing support to their grantees and there is a lot of news to be proud of. I have heard from many nonprofit leaders who have shared their experiences with funders becoming increasingly flexible with their grantmaking, allowing organizations to shift their grants to unrestricted operating dollars. Others have even reported that grantmakers have increased the amount of grants to help their grantees survive this unprecedented crisis. This is all great news.

But, as someone who has worked in and around those smaller, community-embedded nonprofits - the ones that are led by the most incredibly passionate and committed people who reflect the diversity of their communities - the ones that do not have star-studded or super high capacity board members and donors. I can tell you that it is even harder right now than it ever was before and it will continue to be for the foreseeable future. The concern that I’m highlighting here is the question of how diverse organizations and leaders are going to be able to gain access to the capital they need to survive through this crisis and beyond if we only work within our familiar circles, which is effectively maintaining the status quo.

I want to urge us, collectively as a sector that includes doers and funders, as champions of those who are tirelessly doing the critical work of bringing our communities closer to a vision of a more equitable future - to advocate boldly and relentlessly to ensure that work continues. This disruption is an opportunity to preserve and amplify the diversity of the nonprofit sector. 

I started this piece with a question about what our communities would look like if life-enriching nonprofits disappear. I wanted to differentiate from the organizations that are currently providing life-sustaining services, which are and should be the focus of the funding community right now. So many of our neighbors need life-sustaining support from food pantries and community-based healthcare services. The organizations providing these services need to be supported to the fullest extent possible.

However, in focusing on the topic of preserving a diverse nonprofit sector, I want to bring the issue of diverse leadership and diverse causes to the fore.

In terms of causes, I hope we are not forgetting about those programs and organizations that provide after school enrichment, mentoring, civic engagement opportunities, and arts education. We cannot forget the NPOs working to fight for the rights of underrepresented neighbors. These programs are critical to ensuring that children and families have access to help close the opportunity gap. We cannot let these organizations fall through the cracks. 

Additionally, we need to do better as a sector to support nonprofits being led by diverse leaders. We need to ensure that even through this pandemic, that we are striving for more than just maintaining the status quo because the norm before this crisis was still insufficient. Both nonprofit executive leadership and boards remain unrepresentative of communities being served. My hope is that through this crisis, that we continue to work toward deconstructing this narrative.

This is a matter of equity. It is a challenge of ensuring that we maintain and increase the diversity of those who have a seat at the table. It is an issue that needs to continue to be addressed, even as we deal with this historic crisis. 

In a crisis, while the first priority is to “stop the bleeding”, I believe strongly that it is important to lay the infrastructure for whatever future outcome we are striving to achieve. It’s the kind of thinking that is embodied in the title of Nobel Prize winning economist, Daniel Kahneman’s book, Thinking, Fast and Slow. We have seen a great, “think fast” response by so many important cross sections of the nonprofit sector’s support system that has loosened up some funding opportunities to some NPOs. But, what can we do now to also initiate the slow thinking process about how we are going to emerge from this not having simply maintained a status quo, but as a better version of ourselves. 

I believe whole-heartedly that as mission-driven leaders, we want to strive toward a future where we achieve greater equity and representative diversity across the nonprofit sector. While there is no shortage of competing priorities right now, I do think there is time for us to reflect on how we can emerge better from this, especially since there will always be a shortage of resources to be able to address every priority and need. 

I acknowledge that it is overwhelming at a time like this to add yet another priority to the list when it feels like a ten-alarm fire is raging all around us. But if there is one thing I know to be true of leaders in the nonprofit sector, it is that we are experts at managing complex crises. What other group of people on earth wake up every day thinking about how to challenge some of our world’s most persistent problems of systemic injustice and inequality? We work on seemingly insurmountable “big picture” problems on a daily basis. In addition to this, many of us have to deal with living in a constant state of emergency. One of my fellow colleagues in the nonprofit sector once jokingly posed the question, “if you haven’t ever been told your paycheck may be delayed or cut because we can’t make payroll this month because of our cash flow shortfall, can you even say you worked in a nonprofit?” Let’s be honest - the struggle is real.

Joking aside, I hope we can commit to keeping equity as a central pillar of our conversations. I hope that as doers and funders, we can work together to hear what the immediate needs of our communities are during this time while also thinking ahead together about the kind of changes we want to see in our communities when we emerge from this crisis. I hope that even as we struggle to keep mission-driven organizations alive, that as we navigate this challenge together that we make the effort to invest at a future where the millions of people - children, families, and our elders who rely on those community-centered nonprofits, will still have access to the services and programs that they have reason to cherish that enrich their communities and lives. 

Lastly, it is amazing to know that I am one of many in the nonprofit space who are thinking along these lines. Here are some great articles I’ve read recently from some amazing leaders that I think help further the above ideas around how we might pull together as a sector and create a multilateral plan forward to advance equity during these uncertain times:

1. Opinion: Joint PSO Statement: Keep Equity at the Forefront in Philanthropy’s Response to the Coronavirus, published by the United Philanthropy Forum, March 11, 2020

2. Why Should It Take a Global Pandemic to Bring Out the Best in Philanthropy?, by Farhad Ebrahimi, Founder and President of the Chorus Foundation, Inside Philanthropy, March 31, 2020

3. COVID-19: Using a Racial Justice Lens Now to Transform Our Future, by Lori Villarosa, Executive Director of Philanthropic Initiative for Racial Equity (PRE), published by Nonprofit Quarterly, March 30, 2020

4. COVID-19: This Is What We’re Doing; It’s Not Enough, by Hanh Le, Executive Director of the Weissberg Foundation