What South Korea Taught Me About Democracy
Suzette Araniva (LAUSD)
Seminar Title: 한일 역사 현안의 탈경계적 사유를 위해: 제국의 폭력과 현재의 정치
What South Korea Taught Me About Democracy
In June 2026, I had the honor of participating in and presenting at the academic conference Toward Trans-border Thinking on Korea–Japan Historical Issues: Imperial Violence and Present Politics, hosted by the Northeast Asian History Foundation in collaboration with the Education for Social Justice Foundation. At the conference, participants presented on a range of topics that examined the complex histories between Korea and Japan, including the painful legacy left by colonization as they discussed comfort women and ongoing human rights violations. I had the opportunity to provide insight on how the use of Immigration and Customs Enforcement (ICE) in the United States is inherently state-sanctioned violence and how their presence and unchecked power have been impacting my community, students, and myself. Although I was honored to share my experience with Korean scholars and educators, I left the conference with a deeper understanding of Korea–Japan relations and began to see common threads being woven together—this is to say that while I have a good understanding of U.S. history, I am learning that the history of humanity intersects on various levels. I noticed similarities in how state violence, imperial violence, and the fight to keep democracy alive often begin with citizens hoping and fighting for a better future. I could see the pain of colonization through my own historical lens while also learning about the pain experienced by Koreans.
One key takeaway from the conference was that history is often told from the perspective of the victor, but victimization, oppression, and liberation can intersect and transcend borders. During our trip, it was clear that Korean history identifies Japan as a colonizing nation that caused irreparable harm—rightfully so. During our panel discussion, a professor asked why Executive Order 9066 was part of my presentation, and while U.S. history often frames Japanese internment camps as an example of how a nation stripped rights from Japanese Americans and other Asian individuals simply because of their race and identity, it is important to understand how both things can be true: a nation can be seen as both the oppressor and the oppressed. It reminded me of the beautiful way Sung Sohn, founder of the Education for Social Justice Foundation, crafted her response when she said that it is important and beneficial to understand history in a way that explores intersectionality and moves toward understanding one another through the lens of human rights. This perspective was deeply impactful; it reminded me that we are citizens of the world, that caring for one another can transcend borders, and that we can fight for peace—together.
Field Trip Report
While the conference provided a foundation for the learning that was to take place throughout the Study-Tour, the various historical sites we visited were meant to give participants a deeper understanding of the Democratization Movement. From Chonnam National University to Independence Hall to the May 18th National Cemetery, each location offered knowledge we gained—but what we felt was the sacrifice and honor of the people who fought for democracy. I knew I would be leaving our Study-Tour with much more knowledge and understanding—but the reality is that I left empowered, emboldened, and embraced by the reminder that power belongs to the people and that democracy must be hard fought and won.
Visiting Independence Hall in Cheonan was impactful—from the exhibitions detailing how civilians fought against colonization by Japan to the remnants and reminders of how Koreans resisted to retain their identities. I recall standing in front of a Japanese flag that had been colored with blue and black ink to represent the true flag of Korea, a powerful artifact discovered at Jingwansa Temple. It was within these fragments of the past that I could see the resilience and power of the Korean people reflected at me. Another beautiful representation of how historical narratives empower people and shape collective memories was the deconstruction of the Japanese Government-General Building on full display at Independence Hall. Standing before the deconstructed building reminded me that colonization does not have to hold power over the liberated nation; instead, its remnants can be used to hold oppressors accountable and to remind liberated people that the next chapter of their nation belongs to them.
With these reflections from Independence Hall still in mind, I found myself deeply moved again when we visited the May 18th National Cemetery. This cemetery is where many of the victims of the May 18th uprising are laid to rest. As we entered the cemetery, there was a record book in which I wrote my name and a small message to those who lost their lives in the uprising. As we climbed the steps to the place where incense was offered by those entering to pay their respects to the souls laid to rest, I felt honored to be able to show respect to those who lost their lives fighting for the preservation of democracy. Additionally, there was a statue that depicted everyday people—such as nurses, children, and youth—to recognize the civilians who were part of this movement. What was prevalent throughout each memorial and location we visited was that citizens from all walks of life are the reason why democracy was preserved. Oftentimes, people look to politicians, heroes, or celebrities, but this is a reminder that ordinary people are often at the heart of a movement. I could not help but be reminded that in the United States, there are many people from all walks of life hoping to preserve democracy and fighting for justice, peace, and decolonization. One quote that was etched in one of the exhibition halls stated, “History demands that we remember the truth to prevent the repetition of misfortune.” It underscores the importance of historical narratives that, however painful, must be told to prevent its recurrence.
Finally, visiting the Former Jeollanam-do Provincial Office helped me understand the Gwangju Uprising, but Sangmu Hall allowed me to feel grief, anguish, and a glimmer of hope. The exhibits at the Provincial Office recounted how the people of Gwangju resisted state violence through collective action and care for one another. I felt emotional standing beneath the location where a mother cried in agony as her son was laid to rest in a casket draped in white cloth. The emotional weight of the visit cemented the historical narratives and made them reality. Knowing that we were standing in the same place where many families searched for their loved ones, said their goodbyes, and prepared them for burial felt heavy—but necessary. I embraced that grief and anguish because pain and suffering are part of the human experience, and although some historical narratives would rather omit these painful memories, they are truths that must be told so these deaths will not be in vain. Sitting in the seats at Sangmu Hall where families once cried out for their loved ones further cemented the gravity of fighting for democracy. It was deeply powerful to sit in those seats, knowing that their lives were not lost in vain and that Korea is what it is today because of their resistance and collective action.
Final Reflections
By learning from scholars, researchers, teachers, and through the various museum exhibits and memorials, I now feel that I have a deeper understanding and appreciation of Korean history and culture. This experience reminded me how important it is to connect with others and uncover the histories of different nations, as there are many points of intersection—and together we can collectively work toward a more just and inclusive world. Participating in this Study-Tour has fundamentally changed me as a person, educator, and community member. Living in the United States at this present moment has made this experience even more meaningful. Currently, the Trump administration seems to be fighting against education, health, science, and the constitution, causing many to fear that we are living under a dictatorship. Furthermore, in July, there have been reports of two individuals murdered by ICE. The state-sanctioned violence we are witnessing in the United States has many living in fear, but what this Study-Tour has given me is a renewed understanding that collective action is power, democracy must be fought for, and the narrative is ours to write.
I will carry this experience into my classroom as I help my students become global citizens. Through my analysis of my U.S. History textbook, I found that atrocities are often omitted or shortened—it feels as though the United States does not want to take accountability for the human rights violations it has committed against marginalized communities. A strength I observed while visiting Korean memorials, cemeteries, and simply being in Seoul was the commitment to preserve painful histories: memorials dedicated to Comfort Women, exhibits illuminating the pain and horror inflicted on students and activists during the Democratization Movement, and spaces that honor those who resisted state violence. As displayed at the Former Jeollanam-do Provincial Office Exhibition: “History not remembered is repeated.” As I prepare for the new school year, I will do so with those words etched in my heart.
What South Korea Taught Me About Democracy
In June 2026, I had the honor of participating in and presenting at the academic conference Toward Trans-border Thinking on Korea–Japan Historical Issues: Imperial Violence and Present Politics, hosted by the Northeast Asian History Foundation in collaboration with the Education for Social Justice Foundation. At the conference, participants presented on a range of topics that examined the complex histories between Korea and Japan, including the painful legacy left by colonization as they discussed comfort women and ongoing human rights violations. I had the opportunity to provide insight on how the use of Immigration and Customs Enforcement (ICE) in the United States is inherently state-sanctioned violence and how their presence and unchecked power have been impacting my community, students, and myself. Although I was honored to share my experience with Korean scholars and educators, I left the conference with a deeper understanding of Korea–Japan relations and began to see common threads being woven together—this is to say that while I have a good understanding of U.S. history, I am learning that the history of humanity intersects on various levels. I noticed similarities in how state violence, imperial violence, and the fight to keep democracy alive often begin with citizens hoping and fighting for a better future. I could see the pain of colonization through my own historical lens while also learning about the pain experienced by Koreans.
One key takeaway from the conference was that history is often told from the perspective of the victor, but victimization, oppression, and liberation can intersect and transcend borders. During our trip, it was clear that Korean history identifies Japan as a colonizing nation that caused irreparable harm—rightfully so. During our panel discussion, a professor asked why Executive Order 9066 was part of my presentation, and while U.S. history often frames Japanese internment camps as an example of how a nation stripped rights from Japanese Americans and other Asian individuals simply because of their race and identity, it is important to understand how both things can be true: a nation can be seen as both the oppressor and the oppressed. It reminded me of the beautiful way Sung Sohn, founder of the Education for Social Justice Foundation, crafted her response when she said that it is important and beneficial to understand history in a way that explores intersectionality and moves toward understanding one another through the lens of human rights. This perspective was deeply impactful; it reminded me that we are citizens of the world, that caring for one another can transcend borders, and that we can fight for peace—together.
Field Trip Report
While the conference provided a foundation for the learning that was to take place throughout the Study-Tour, the various historical sites we visited were meant to give participants a deeper understanding of the Democratization Movement. From Chonnam National University to Independence Hall to the May 18th National Cemetery, each location offered knowledge we gained—but what we felt was the sacrifice and honor of the people who fought for democracy. I knew I would be leaving our Study-Tour with much more knowledge and understanding—but the reality is that I left empowered, emboldened, and embraced by the reminder that power belongs to the people and that democracy must be hard fought and won.
Visiting Independence Hall in Cheonan was impactful—from the exhibitions detailing how civilians fought against colonization by Japan to the remnants and reminders of how Koreans resisted to retain their identities. I recall standing in front of a Japanese flag that had been colored with blue and black ink to represent the true flag of Korea, a powerful artifact discovered at Jingwansa Temple. It was within these fragments of the past that I could see the resilience and power of the Korean people reflected at me. Another beautiful representation of how historical narratives empower people and shape collective memories was the deconstruction of the Japanese Government-General Building on full display at Independence Hall. Standing before the deconstructed building reminded me that colonization does not have to hold power over the liberated nation; instead, its remnants can be used to hold oppressors accountable and to remind liberated people that the next chapter of their nation belongs to them.
With these reflections from Independence Hall still in mind, I found myself deeply moved again when we visited the May 18th National Cemetery. This cemetery is where many of the victims of the May 18th uprising are laid to rest. As we entered the cemetery, there was a record book in which I wrote my name and a small message to those who lost their lives in the uprising. As we climbed the steps to the place where incense was offered by those entering to pay their respects to the souls laid to rest, I felt honored to be able to show respect to those who lost their lives fighting for the preservation of democracy. Additionally, there was a statue that depicted everyday people—such as nurses, children, and youth—to recognize the civilians who were part of this movement. What was prevalent throughout each memorial and location we visited was that citizens from all walks of life are the reason why democracy was preserved. Oftentimes, people look to politicians, heroes, or celebrities, but this is a reminder that ordinary people are often at the heart of a movement. I could not help but be reminded that in the United States, there are many people from all walks of life hoping to preserve democracy and fighting for justice, peace, and decolonization. One quote that was etched in one of the exhibition halls stated, “History demands that we remember the truth to prevent the repetition of misfortune.” It underscores the importance of historical narratives that, however painful, must be told to prevent its recurrence.
Finally, visiting the Former Jeollanam-do Provincial Office helped me understand the Gwangju Uprising, but Sangmu Hall allowed me to feel grief, anguish, and a glimmer of hope. The exhibits at the Provincial Office recounted how the people of Gwangju resisted state violence through collective action and care for one another. I felt emotional standing beneath the location where a mother cried in agony as her son was laid to rest in a casket draped in white cloth. The emotional weight of the visit cemented the historical narratives and made them reality. Knowing that we were standing in the same place where many families searched for their loved ones, said their goodbyes, and prepared them for burial felt heavy—but necessary. I embraced that grief and anguish because pain and suffering are part of the human experience, and although some historical narratives would rather omit these painful memories, they are truths that must be told so these deaths will not be in vain. Sitting in the seats at Sangmu Hall where families once cried out for their loved ones further cemented the gravity of fighting for democracy. It was deeply powerful to sit in those seats, knowing that their lives were not lost in vain and that Korea is what it is today because of their resistance and collective action.
Final Reflections
By learning from scholars, researchers, teachers, and through the various museum exhibits and memorials, I now feel that I have a deeper understanding and appreciation of Korean history and culture. This experience reminded me how important it is to connect with others and uncover the histories of different nations, as there are many points of intersection—and together we can collectively work toward a more just and inclusive world. Participating in this Study-Tour has fundamentally changed me as a person, educator, and community member. Living in the United States at this present moment has made this experience even more meaningful. Currently, the Trump administration seems to be fighting against education, health, science, and the constitution, causing many to fear that we are living under a dictatorship. Furthermore, in July, there have been reports of two individuals murdered by ICE. The state-sanctioned violence we are witnessing in the United States has many living in fear, but what this Study-Tour has given me is a renewed understanding that collective action is power, democracy must be fought for, and the narrative is ours to write.
I will carry this experience into my classroom as I help my students become global citizens. Through my analysis of my U.S. History textbook, I found that atrocities are often omitted or shortened—it feels as though the United States does not want to take accountability for the human rights violations it has committed against marginalized communities. A strength I observed while visiting Korean memorials, cemeteries, and simply being in Seoul was the commitment to preserve painful histories: memorials dedicated to Comfort Women, exhibits illuminating the pain and horror inflicted on students and activists during the Democratization Movement, and spaces that honor those who resisted state violence. As displayed at the Former Jeollanam-do Provincial Office Exhibition: “History not remembered is repeated.” As I prepare for the new school year, I will do so with those words etched in my heart.