When my family emigrated from South Korea to Austin, Texas, there wasn’t a large Korean community in the city. The Korean grocery stores were quite small, and I remember driving often with my mom to a larger Korean supermarket in the city of Killeen, about an hour away. It wasn’t until I took an Asian American history class in college that I learned more about the sizeable Korean population in and around Killeen, an area which is home to several U.S. military bases. That’s also when I first encountered the term "military wives" in reference to Korean women who had married mostly American servicemen who served in the Korean War.
Following the war — which lasted from 1950 to 1953 — South Koreans struggled with poverty and the continued U.S. military presence. These factors contributed to a wave of Korean military wives emigrating to the U.S. from South Korea from the 1950s through the 1970s. Despite facing intense scrutiny, negative perceptions and stereotypes, and isolation in their new environment, these women persevered through many challenges of cultural adaptation. Often viewed by others as dependent and vulnerable, they played a crucial role in expanding Korean American communities in America by defying stereotypes, building networks, preserving traditions, sponsoring relatives to join them, and helping other new immigrants.
Recognizing the contributions and the resilience of these women has become essential to any understanding of the broader history of Korean Americans, and the varied paths that led to the formation of Korean American communities in the U.S. today.
In 2013, I made my first attempt at documenting this important history, but it was challenging to find women willing to be photographed. Many of those I spoke with mentioned that stories about Korean military wives had been done before and that they had been frustrated by how the media often portrayed them as victims. While it was true they had faced immense challenges and discrimination from both Americans in their adopted country and Koreans back in their native land, they felt that such narratives were one-dimensional. After that first attempt, I set the project aside for the next 10 years.
My interest in this story was reignited by the global rise of Korean pop culture, particularly when fans of the Korean super-group BTS started to jokingly refer to themselves as “military wives” on TikTok in videos about the band members doing their mandatory South Korean military service. Seeing these viral videos struck a chord, as I realized that many of those watching them might not be aware of the experiences of real Korean military wives. The Korean War is often called the "Forgotten War" because, despite the estimated 2 million to 3 million people killed, it was conducted in the shadow of World War II. While I found the TikTok videos endearing, I felt compelled to create something that would provide more context for, and recognition of, the real military wives from South Korea — and the ways those women helped shape the Korean American communities we know today.
My research led me to the Killeen Korean Culture Center, an organization led by five women with backgrounds as military wives who perform traditional Korean dances at events and celebrations across Texas. The first time I met two of the organizers, Haebun Hameline and Young Ok Cho, I did not bring my camera; I wanted to build a connection. To my surprise, they were open to my vision of a photo documentary that would portray their experiences in a way that would go beyond stereotypes.
The portrait of Sookja Jeong was photographed during a Buchaechum (a traditional Korean fan dance) practice that the cultural center organized in April 2024. The dance involves creating formations representing birds, butterflies, flowers, and dragons, with dancers wearing bright hanboks (traditional Korean clothing). When it came time to photograph Sookja Jeong, I was struck by her elegance. Just moments before, during a break between practices, I had noticed her friendly, playful demeanor, and yet, in this moment, she radiated a quiet strength. There was so much depth in her eyes, and her energy was soft but not fragile. In an interview with her a few months later, I learned that she had suffered discrimination from those outside the military wives community for being in an interracial military couple, and how she had stood up to adversity by focusing on caring for herself and her family. She said participating as a heritage dancer at the Killeen Korean Culture Center made her feel connected to her Korean homeland, which she deeply missed.
This ongoing photo project is incredibly meaningful to me. I believe these women’s stories are important to document, and I am trying to approach them with sensitivity and not rush the process. I believe everyone deserves to be depicted with dignity and respect in visual media. I sometimes struggle with whether I’m intruding on their space. But I feel immense gratitude to them for allowing me in, and am always humbled when they express appreciation for my documenting their lives.
