The picture of this small store front in Paju city is unremarkable. However, it represents a significant and ongoing change in South Korea. For, it is a picture of store that caters, not to Korean customers, but to a range of foreign residents in Paju, a city of about 230,000. This is evident in the various national flags painted on the store's main sign. The flags represent China, Nepal, Bangladesh, Pakistan, Philippines, Thailand, Malaysia, Vietnam, Uzbekistan, Mongolia, Indonesia and Singapore. On the left side of the store, moreover, are Chinese characters (called hanja in Korean) that read "Chinese grocercies." We can assume, then, that the main customers for this store come from at least a dozen countries outside of Korea. So what are all these people from across Asia doing in a small Korean town? Most, of course, are working there. They represent a wave of "low skilled" foreign workers that started coming to Korea in the late 1980s and is continuing to grow. Today, there are at least 420,000 foreign workers in Korea, and probably much more than that. This, however, is old news and not my main point. My main point is that the store represents a still unrecognized--and, for many Koreans, unwelcomed--phenomenon. Specifically, it represents the first inklings of permanent settlement in South Korea by culturally and ethnically distinct "minority groups." Koreans have long defined their society as ethnically pure and homogenous, and while this claim has always been subject to some debate, it is unarguably part of the Korean psyche. Indeed, many (but certainly not all) Koreans, while accepting of temporary migration, particularly if it serves the interests of the Korean economy, are profoundly opposed to "immigration"--the long-term or permanent settlement of "outsiders" within Korea. Even more, many Koreans firmly and unquestioningly believe that Korea can avoid becoming a "country of immigration."
Whether or not Korea can avoid becoming a country of immigration is open to debate: to a certain extent only time will tell. It is important to understand, however, that Korea is not unique: other countries have also resisted immigration, but ultimately such resistance proved futile. There are a number of complex reasons for this, one of the most important of which, perhaps, is that denial of permanent settlement generally requires the use of coercion and extreme measures. Among democracies, however, the use of coercion and extreme measures is almost necessarily limited by institutional practices and norms that protect individual rights, including the rights of "non-citizens." Democracies, as well, have legal and constitutional frameworks that allows individuals to challenge effectively unjust treatment by both governmental organs and society at-large.
Korea, of course, is a democracy, even if an imperfect one. Therefore, simply forcing people to leave--people who have lived in Korea for many years, sometimes decades; people who have married and had children; people who have few economic options outside of Korea; and people who have contributed mightily to Korean society through their work and self-sacrifice--will not be an easy thing to do. Nor will it be humane. Almost assuredly, then, Korea will become a de facto country of immigration. It is better, I believe, to recognize this earlier rather than later. It is better to implement sound, rational, and socially just policies now so that future problems can be avoided or at least mitigated.
The picture of the World Food store tells us that "foreign workers" are beginning to grow roots in Korean soil. They are creating communities. They are becoming part of Korean society. It is time for the country to take heed of this change.
