Korea Is the Homeland of Our Ancestors
Anna Sok on family, language, and growing up Koryo-Saram in Uzbekistan
When I interviewed Anna Sok, she was 18 years old and studying Korean at Ajou University in Tashkent. Born and raised in Tashkent, Anna attended the same school throughout her childhood before entering university. She remembers her school experience positively: her teachers and classmates were supportive, and she did not feel that her ethnicity or gender prevented her from accessing the same opportunities as other students.
Like many of the people I interviewed, however, Anna’s education was primarily in Russian rather than Uzbek. She can understand some Uzbek when others speak it, but has difficulty responding. At home, language connected her to another part of her family’s history. Her grandparents sometimes spoke Koryo-mar, while Anna herself began studying contemporary Korean when she was in the third grade.
Her reason for learning Korean was personal. Some of her relatives had moved to South Korea, and Anna grew curious about the country and culture in which they were living. She also described Korea as the homeland of her ancestors. Years later, that childhood curiosity became part of her academic path: she chose to study Korean at university and is now considering a future in education. She likes the idea of teaching, she told me, because helping someone else would also give her a sense of fulfillment.
“I Never Really Thought, ‘I’m Koryo-Saram’”
When I asked Anna whether she considered herself Koryo-Saram, Uzbek, or Korean, she paused over a question she had apparently never felt much need to ask herself.
“I never really thought like, ‘I’m Koryo.’ But I’m a Koryo person living in Uzbekistan.”
There is something strikingly simple about her answer. Koryo-Saram identity, for Anna, did not seem to require constant definition. It was already present in her family, the language she heard from her grandparents, the traditions she grew up around, and eventually the Korean language she chose to study.
At the same time, Uzbekistan is unquestionably home. Anna was born there and has lived there throughout her life, and she spoke warmly about its people and culture. She also sees similarities between Uzbek and Koryo-Saram traditions, particularly the importance placed on children respecting their elders.
Traditions Within a Family
Doljanchi (돌잔치), a first-birthday celebration, in Anna’s family. Courtesy of Sok Anna.
Anna’s descriptions of Koryo-Saram culture repeatedly returned to family. When I asked about occupations among Koryo-Saram women, she immediately connected the question to women in her own family: her maternal grandmother had been an elementary school teacher; her mother had worked in clothing and nursing; and her paternal grandmother practiced moxibustion and traditional healing.
The same was true when we talked about cultural traditions. During our conversation, I asked Anna specifically about doljanchi, the celebration of a child’s first birthday. She told me that Uzbekistan has a similar celebration. Later, when I asked what she hoped younger generations would preserve from Koryo-Saram culture, her answer was not a long list of ceremonial practices. She emphasized traditions more generally, alongside responsibility toward family and respectfulness among children.
What Changed for the Women in Her Family
Anna also sees a significant difference between the opportunities available to her generation and those available to the women who came before her. When she thinks about her mother and grandmothers, she said, women were expected to focus much more heavily on family and often had fewer opportunities to pursue education or careers. For Anna’s generation, studying abroad and pursuing work have become more imaginable possibilities.
But Anna did not describe this as a complete break with the past. One thing remains: responsibility toward family.
Carrying Culture Somewhere New
Anna does not necessarily imagine remaining in Uzbekistan forever. She has considered moving to either China or South Korea, although she is still unsure exactly what career she wants. In Uzbekistan, she can imagine teaching Korean; elsewhere, perhaps she would teach English or Chinese. What seems more settled is her interest in education and in using the languages she has learned to help others.
Toward the end of our conversation, Anna said something that brings together several parts of her story. Knowing both Korean and Uzbek cultures, she believes, makes it easier for her to adapt. For her, being Koryo-Saram can mean carrying more than one cultural frame with her rather than being confined to one place.
“Because I’m a Koryo person, and I know Korean and Uzbek cultures well, I can adapt easily.”
Anna’s story is not really about choosing whether she is Korean or Uzbek. In fact, until I asked her, she had not spent much time consciously defining herself that way. Her connection to Koryo-Saram identity appeared instead in ordinary parts of her life: grandparents speaking Koryo-mar, relatives moving to Korea, learning Korean as a child, family celebrations, and expectations about caring for family.
Perhaps that is what makes the 돌잔치 photographs so fitting for her story. Culture is not only something people describe when asked about identity. Sometimes it is already sitting in the family photo album.
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