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Imported from the U.S. But the largest influence on Korean an- ti-black prejudice has been the United States, and its own savage, racist history. Before the Korean War, the United States was seen here as a strictly white country, and one that brought universities, hospitals and the Christian religion — with its white Jesus — to the Korean masses. So when the war began in 1950, there was a lot of surprise at how many black soldiers were in the military. Although the U.S. government did not com- pile racial statistics at the time, it is estimated that 600,000 black soldiers served during the Korean War, with 5,000 dying in it. And though the American military had of- ficially desegregated in 1948, it was still viciously racist. Almost all the officers were white; a disproportionate number of the en- listed men were black. Koreans saw that blacks were subservient to whites, and this set up the context for future contact, Kim says. The war ended in 1953, but the U.S. Army stayed to keep stability. Racial dynamics took a while to change in the U.S. Army. In 1973, the first year for which the U.S. government gathered statistics on race, blacks made up 18 percent of enlisted soldiers, but only 4 percent of officers. In 2009, blacks were 21 percent of the enlisted force, but still only 13 percent of officers. “I think the anti-black stuff specifically comes from contact with Americans and, frankly, Koreans are quick learners,” Michael Hurt says. “When the camptowns (operated), they saw that blacks were lower on the totem pole. The whites were officers, the blacks were enlisted men, to the point where … there were hookers who went with the white officers, and there were hookers who dealt with the black enlisted men. Those were the ‘lower-end’ hookers.” A perception developed in Korea that black soldiers were “more troublesome” than white ones, especially after the Civil Rights Move- ment spread to the Korean military. Kim writes in “Imperial Citizens” that in a riot in Itaewon in the early ‘70s, black soldiers trashed a series of clubs that had banned them from entering. “Fifty black soldiers simultaneously entered five camptown clubs, ordered people to leave and demolished the establishments as an act of protest against Korean clubs’ bias (which Korean clubs said they were pressured to fol- low). The black soldiers were met by a mob of over 1,000 Koreans who chased them with sickles, threw rocks in retaliation, and physically attacked them.” According to her interviews with several Koreans, Kim found that, for many Koreans, the “low-class black soldier” came to symbolize all blacks in the decades following the riot. The American media has also massively in- fluenced attitudes in Korea, and most black expats whom Groove Korea interviewed saw it as guilty to some degree. Kim writes that the U.S. media has done more to influence Korean attitudes than anything else. “U.S. mass media representations have likely stitched the black slave, gang banger, drug addict and one-dimensional entertainer into the South Korean collective conscious- ness more than any other source,” Kim writes. Korean and U.S. media coverage of the 1992 Los Angeles riots was particularly shocking for Koreans. The violence erupted after the four police officers who were filmed beating Rodney King — a black man — were acquitted by an all-white jury. While the po- lice and National Guard protected rich white neighborhoods like Bel Air and Beverly Hills, they let Koreatown burn. More than 2,300 Korean-owned businesses were destroyed. There were already tensions in America, particularly in LA, over Korean storeowners allegedly overcharging and disrespecting black customers in their shops. Rapper Ice Cube made these sentiments loud and clear in his 1991 song “Black Korea,” where he raps, “Learn to speak English first, all right,” calls Koreans “Oriental one-penny countin’ motherfuckers,” and then threatens to “burn your store right down to a crisp.” That same year, 15-year-old Latasha Har- lins died from a gunshot wound in the back of her head delivered by Korean shop owner Du Sun-ja, who thought the black girl was shop- lifting a carton of orange juice. Du was found guilty of voluntary manslaughter, but was spared jail time and sentenced to probation, community service and a fine. The sentence was met with widespread outrage in the black community. Kim says the LA riots were a “watershed” moment in black-Korean distrust in Ameri- ca, which spilled over to Korea via the media and conversations with overseas friends and relatives. She says there was some mention of Rodney King in the Korean media cover- age, but not much. The focus shifted to black criminality rather than suffering, as “many new (Korean) immigrants and South Koreans named the ‘riots’ as crystallizing their anger toward and fear of blacks,” Kim writes. Nonetheless, sympathy emerged in both communities. Ice Cube may have threatened to burn Korean shops down, but once those shops had indeed burned, Ice-T rapped in 1993’s “Race War” that Koreans and blacks were not enemies: “Korean people live down in the hood / a little mis-fucking-understood / Orientals were slaves, too.” Little reported in the U.S. or Korea were the post-riot demon- strations by Korean-Americans in solidarity with marginalized American blacks. 33