Summary

A Black teacher in Korea faced racial discrimination from their kindergarten students but turned the experience into a celebration of their identity and culture, ultimately finding empowerment and success as a performer.

Abstract

The author, a Black teacher in Korea, initially enjoyed a positive relationship with their kindergarten students, who later began to make racist remarks, reflecting societal prejudices. Despite the challenges, including a lack of support from the school to address the issue with parents, the author used creative expression to affirm their Black identity and counteract the negativity. This journey led to a heightened sense of self-worth and a transition from teaching to a successful career in burlesque singing, where the author's racial identity contributed to their popularity. The experience underscores the importance of self-love and resilience in the face of discrimination and the value of embracing one's uniqueness.

Opinions

The author believes that self-worth should not be contingent on external validation or subject to the fluctuations of public opinion.
They express that discrimination, whether overt or subtle, can be counteracted by celebrating one's own culture and identity.
The author suggests that societal beauty standards, which often favor whiteness, can have a detrimental impact on individuals who do not fit these norms.
They highlight the irony of a non-Black student in Korea complaining about being "too black" to the author, who is Black.
The author acknowledges the complexities of experiencing both negative prejudices and positive stereotypes within the same cultural context.
They emphasize the importance of teaching children about respect and discrimination from an early age.
The author values their experience in Korea, despite the challenges, as it has strengthened their sense of self and prepared them for future endeavors.

I Was Bullied by my Students for Being Black in Korea

All it did was make me love being Black even more.

We usually reserve the term “bully” for intimidation among peers, or when there is an imbalance of power.

My students were five years old. I was the teacher, the adult, the one responsible for making sure the classroom didn’t burn down. Yet, there I was being called “monkey,” “too black”, and “scary” by a group of adorable chubby-cheeked three footers.

It didn’t start off that way. In the first few months, they never mentioned my skin color. I was the fun teacher, the comedian who some of them would occasionally call “mommy” (despite telling them not to) and the proponent of phonics, creative writing, and the art of not slapping your friends to get their attention.

It started with one kid. Then, another. And then, it spread like wildfire. I figured an adult in their life had said something about my race. As the teacher, the onus was on me to teach them. So, I showed them videos celebrating different cultures and had discussions with them about discrimination and respect.

My students liked me — a lot. But, at the same time, they regularly regurgitated anti-black messages I’d received from the media, strangers, and peers for the greater part of my life.

Still, some of them pretended to be afraid of me when I walked by to get a reaction from their peers and called me “ugly” and “monster.” Yes, they’re only children. But, it became annoying, to say the least, to constantly be dehumanized. My students liked me — a lot. But, at the same time, they regularly regurgitated anti-black messages I’d received from the media, strangers, and peers for the greater part of my life.

Could I have spoken to their parents about it? I felt like I couldn’t. For one, there was the language barrier. Secondly, the school would have never allowed it. The management’s priority was keeping the parents happy (so they could continue paying $2000 in tuition each month). My students’ parents would have felt insulted — after all, I was questioning the way they were raising their children.

So what did I do? I wrote poetry, created visuals, and wrote songs celebrating my blackness. I had to counteract the negativity with a whole lot of positivity. All this led to an uptick in pride in myself as a human being and in my culture. I felt compelled to share my art to encourage others to love themselves with or without public approval.

Speaking of public approval, I can’t help but think about that time when one of my kindergartners said I was too black, disgust contorting his face. I looked at myself in the mirror thinking I hadn’t blended my cheek contour well enough. It happens to the best of us. However, all I saw was a beautiful face staring back at me (with perfectly contoured cheekbones, thank you very much). I immediately thought: “The devil is a liar.” I’ve learned not to see myself through the lens of others. I’ve had practice. As a Black Canadian, being othered isn’t anything new to me.

My students were, at the time, a reflection of society. Korea is homogenous, and Western media (and Unicef ads) informs how the general public views Black people. I’d be remiss not to mention that, despite the palpable Black influence in Kpop, several artists have made racist comments, tried to discredit ensuing black outrage, or have worn wigs and/or blackface to mock Black people. Furthermore, Black K-pop fans experience discrimination within fandoms.

In Korea, as in many places in the world, whiteness is extolled. White ESL teachers are the preferred choice, and white skin is lauded.

Some Koreans fall short of that beauty ideal themselves. A former student of mine complained to me about being too black. While I reassured her that there was nothing wrong with her skin color, I couldn’t help but laugh internally at the irony of her lamenting her blackness to an actual Black person.

When you constantly hear that you’re not good enough, you have no other choice but to build yourself up.

I purposefully curate the content I consume. I patronize Black art, surround myself with people who value me, and I call out racism when I see it.

Eventually, I quit teaching and became a singing burlesque performer.

In this space, it is not lost on me that I am extremely welcomed. I have a large derriere, which isn’t common in Korea, and, since I am Black, it is automatically assumed that I can sing well. Soul and jazz are associated with Black musicians, and, since we aren’t commonplace in Korea, locals are excited to listen to me.

How do I reconcile the fact that a set of prejudices negatively impacted my life here and the reality that stereotype-steeped positive assumptions largely contributed to my success as a singer in this country?

I guess I have to take the good with the bad. As a performer, people throw heart signs at me, reach out to touch my hand, and scream my name. However, that doesn’t affect the way I see myself. My five-year-old students likening me to a monkey didn’t either.

What did happen as a result of the discrimination I’ve encountered throughout the years is that I’ve built an unshakable foundation of self-worth. That’s what we all need: to have a sense of self that doesn’t sway whether we are subjected to praise, critique, or straight-up racism.

I take pride in my brown skin. It protects me from harmful UV rays and, along with the tattoo on my forearm, reminds me that I’m part of the elephant tribe hailing from Mamfe, Ntenako.

Being Black in Korea has further equipped me to stick out like a sore thumb with grace and confidence. Who knows? Maybe it’s prepared me for a life of celebrity.

I deeply value my experience teaching youngins in Korea. I love my former students; I hope they’ll remember what I taught them — beyond phonics, creative writing, and the seemingly laborious task of not slapping their friends. Take pride in what makes you different — regardless of public opinion. You’re unstoppable once you realize your worth is a constant, not a variable.