Stories Across Borders: Learning from Koryo Saram Women

As a Korean who has lived in different countries, Uzbekistan holds a very special place in my heart. During the three years I lived there, it became more than just another stop along the other countries I lived in; it became a place I could truly call home. I was surprised by the incredible diversity of people and ethnicities, and by how social and cultural dynamics unfolded so differently from what I had experienced in the United States. 

It was in this context that I first encountered the history of Koryo Saram, the Korean diasporic community in Central Asia. Their story of displacement, survival, and cultural resilience drew me in not only as a researcher, but also as someone who understands what it means to carry multiple homes and identities. As I have been living across four countries, including South Korea, the US, Russia, and Uzbekistan, I became interested in finding a sense of belonging across borders. My project focuses on collecting oral histories of Koryo Saram women, whose voices often remain overlooked in mainstream narratives, to better understand how memory, migration, and identity are intertwined across generations. 

Since beginning my research in Uzbekistan, I have learned so much about both the country and the Koryo Saram community. I am currently based in Tashkent, capital of Uzbekistan and home to the Center for Koryo Saram Culture. Many Koryo Saram women are deeply integrated into Uzbek society, and Tashkent itself reflects the rich diversity of cultures that coexist here. The interviewees were mostly third or fourth generation of Koryo Saram that have directly crossed borders from South Korea to Central Asia. Thus, the majority of their first language was Russian or Uzbek rather than Korean. 

One surprising fact for me was how many remnants of Korean culture are still preserved within this community, sometimes even traditions that are no longer widely practiced in Korea itself. I was welcomed with such warmth, whether it was at a Koryo-in restaurant or meeting the Koryo-in organization, where community members generously shared their customs and stories. Through my interviews spanning from ages 18 to 65, I witnessed generational differences in how people think about preserving Korean culture. Despite these differences, there was a strong sense of shared identity through the word Hanminjok, which refers to all Koreans regardless of origin. 

As I continued my interviews, I began to notice recurring themes of subtle resilience and adaptation. Many of the older women shared memories of growing up under the Soviet regime, when Korean language and traditions were suppressed in favor of Russian assimilation. Yet even under these conditions, families quietly passed down recipes, stories, and holiday traditions. One woman described that certain North Korean dialects were used to replace certain phrases Russian didn’t have, which were passed down through generations. 

For younger Koryo Saram women, the relationship to Korean identity was more fluid. Several women in their twenties and thirties expressed both pride and distance: they saw themselves as fully Uzbek citizens, yet felt a deep curiosity about the language and customs of their ancestors. Many of them were already learning Korean at the Korean Center for Education in Tashkent. For some, visiting South Korea felt very familiar yet foreign. One young woman told me, “Before visiting Seoul, I thought that Korea was my home. But when I actually went there, I was treated like a foreigner.” These conversations reminded me that diaspora identity isn’t a fixed destination; it’s a process, shaped by history, migration, and personal experience. 

This project is ultimately about more than documenting memory— it’s about honoring it. Each woman I spoke with contributed a thread to a larger tapestry of survival, creativity, and belonging, and I’m humbled to be a small part of that weaving. This sense of belonging carried over into my own experience as well. Even though I conducted interviews in a mix of Korean, English, and Russian, I felt a genuine connection with the people I met. What started as research quickly grew into new friendships and bonds that I will carry forward long after the project ends. As I prepare to leave Uzbekistan, I carry with me not just transcripts and field notes, but the shared wisdom of women who have lived through exile, rebuilding, and transformation. Their stories will stay with me, and I hope they will reach others too.