Navigating Violent Racism as a Black Woman in Korea
It’s not just an “American” problem.
She walked toward me, hyperventilating, her shoulders up to her ears. She then proceeded to yell at me in Korean. And I did not speak Korean.
It was the end of my first year in Korea.
I was about to head to the airport, as I’d landed a job in Macau. And the woman yelling at me, who had to be in her 70s, was livid.
(Side note: I only mention her age, because that’s what made the situation all the more shocking. I was taught to respect my elders. It’s also a highly observed code of conduct in Korea. I never thought I’d be attacked by someone old enough to be my grandmother.)
My cab driver leaned against his van, arms crossed, as he watched the drama unfold. All he was missing was popcorn. He seemed quite bored, actually. It wasn’t his business, after all.
As I had no way of communicating with the woman, I returned to my apartment on the third floor to get my second bag.
Back outside, bag in hand, I saw her kicking the trash I’d put out the night before. She noticed me and kicked some trash towards me.
“What is your problem?” I yelled. She didn’t understand me.
