from Andy Kim (via e.mail) 'I wanted to share something personal,

and I took some time to reflect on what it means to be Korean American.

When I look at my boys wearing traditional Hanbok, besides the fact that they are unbelievably cute, it raises a lot of complex emotions that I’ve struggled with over my life.

When I look at my boys wearing traditional Hanbok, besides the fact that they are unbelievably cute, it raises a lot of complex emotions that I’ve struggled with over my life.

My parents moved here 50 years ago, and they didn’t know anyone else in the entire western hemisphere of Earth. My sister and I were born here with no other relatives living within about 7000 miles of us. My parents struggled with how to raise us. They desperately wanted us to speak English with no accent. They didn’t want us to be treated the way they had which built an insecurity that they always felt judged as foreigners.

They tried to raise us to speak English and Korean, but when I was slow to speak as a kid, they got scared and stopped teaching Korean. My heritage and my geography collided and felt more like a conflict and tension than a blend.

I never lived in places that had large Korean American communities or even Asian American more broadly. I was often teased at school for looking different or eating different food for lunch, so at a young age I defensively minimized my Korean identity.

We attended a Korean American church and that became, in many ways, my first touch point with being Korean. Sunday church was an all-day affair filled with service and Korean language classes. I felt like I was Korean for one day a week. But then I went back to school, back to telling my parents I didn’t want Korean food in my lunch box. I later stopped taking Korean classes. By the time I got to high school when someone called me Korean American or Asian American, I would snap back saying I was just American.

I went on to study foreign policy and had teachers immediately assume I wanted to study Asia. Perhaps that affected my decision to focus on the Middle East and Africa. I remember attending a talk about Darfur where someone said “I didn’t realize you people were interested in Africa.”

Each of those comments brought my heritage into even greater conflict with my identity. The breaking point was when at the State Dept, where I worked on diplomacy, I was one day informed that I was banned from working on issues related to Korea because I’m Korean American.

I was stunned. I wasn’t even trying to work on Korea issues as I was a Middle East expert. Why was my employer banning me? What they basically told me is that they don’t trust me. They don’t think I would be 100% loyal to America if I was working on my ancestral homeland. I felt like no matter what I thought about my identity and being Korean American, I could never be seen as 100% American in the eyes of others. I was humiliated and felt like my career in foreign policy would never be successful if I was deemed a security risk.

A few years later I stepped up to run for Congress. I’ll be honest, I didn’t realize when I started that there were zero Korean Americans in Congress at the time. That was not a barrier I set out initially to break. But when my opposition began to run ads on TV saying “Andy Kim, he’s not one of us,” I felt in my heart that there was something bigger at stake than just me. Pundits saying I can’t win this district which was 85% white and less than 3% Asian American. But I did.

I had recently become a dad. Two beautiful Korean American little boys. I’m in the place of my parents now thinking about how to raise my kids between their family heritage and their nationality.

What I said then is that I’m not going to let others determine what I am or am not capable of accomplishing because of my race and ethnicity. I have as much right to represent my community as anyone else. My story isn’t just a Korean American story, it is an American story.

I stood on the floor of the House of Representatives swearing the oath of office, and I looked up at my mom looking back down. I still don’t know fully what it means to be Korean American, but I know who I am, and I know I am proud of both my Korean heritage and being American.

Now, I’m running for Senate.

This year, we can finally show the country that New Jersey doesn’t have to stand for corruption and machine politics. We have the chance to win in the face of big money and a rigged political system.

I can win this, but I need your help to catch up on fundraising so the big money doesn’t drown out our people-powered campaign.'

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