Mobilizing Ethnic Resources in the Transnational Enclave in Beijing

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Sharon J. Yoon is a Korea Foundation Postdoctoral Fellow at the University of Pennsylvania. The author expresses gratitude to the Korea Foundation and the National Science Founda-tion Dissertation Improvement Grant for providing the financial support to make this article possible. She is also indebted to Emily Hannum, Douglas Massey, Alejandro Portes, Gilbert Rozman, King-To Yeung, and two anonymous reviewers for providing invaluable feedback on earlier drafts. Address correspondence to Sharon J. Yoon, Program in Korean Studies, University of Pennsylvania, 642 Williams Hall, 255 S. 36th St., Philadelphia, PA 19104; e-mail: [email protected].

International Journal of Sociology, vol. 43, no. 3, Fall 2013, pp. 29–54.© 2013 M.E. Sharpe, Inc. All rights reserved. Permissions: www.copyright.comISSN 0020–7659 (print)/ISSN 1557–9336 (online)DOI: 10.2753/IJS0020-7659430302

Sharon J. Yoon

Mobilizing Ethnic Resources in the Transnational EnclaveEthnic Solidarity as a Mechanism for Mobility in the Korean Church in Beijing

Abstract: In recent years, scholars have noted that migrants exhibit distinct pat-terns of adaptation characterized by frequent movement to their countries of origin. Increasing numbers of migrants have settled in “new” types of enclave communities that have helped them sustain their transnational lifestyles. This article uses original survey data, interviews, and ethnographic research on the Korean transnational enclave in Beijing, comparing how South Korean and Korean Chinese migrants collectively mobilize resources within the ethnic church. Findings suggest that the ways in which ethnic organizations such as the church, influence the cultivation is more important than the availability of transnational resources as solidarity acts as the key mechanism by which migrants are able to actually mobilize and benefit from these resources.

The study of transnationalism has made an indelible impact on migration scholar-ship in the past two decades. Migration specialists have argued that technological advancements in transportation and communication have led to unprecedented compressions in time and space (Portes and Haller 2002). They claim that migrants

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have only recently been able to carry on “dual lives;” lifestyles in which one is simultaneously both “here and there” (Portes 1996). According to Alejandro Portes, transnationalism pertains to “a form of ‘globalization from below,’ in which indi-viduals and communities mobilize their grassroots networks to adapt and respond to the globalizing activities of corporation and governments” (Portes 2010: 195).

Works have celebrated the impact of transnationalism on opening up new eco-nomic opportunities (Levitt and Jaworsky 2007). Studies of grassroots entrepreneurs demonstrate that transnational migrants are able to circumvent structural barriers in the host society by utilizing multicultural or multilingual skills to establish net-works extending beyond national boundaries (Zhou 2004). As Min Zhou points out, transnational entrepreneurs engage in a wide variety of businesses including informal remittance-handling agencies; import/export of raw materials, semipro-cessed products, folk handicrafts, and manufactured goods; cultural enterprises; manufacturing firms; and return migrant enterprises (Zhou 2004). Moreover, others postulate that although the actual number of transnational migrants may be few, the cumulative effect of transnationalism on a community is significant considering the dense and widespread “flow of people, money and ‘social remittances’ within these spaces” (Levitt and Jaworsky 2007: 132).

Despite the many insights the field has made into our understanding of immi-grant adaptation, the dearth of works examining meso-level phenomena continues.1 Few works explicitly discuss how institutions and communities might structure the flow of goods, networks, and ideas across national borders. Instead, scholars overwhelmingly rely on individual-level data to construct broader theories of transnationalism. The inclination to focus on individual-level attributes is particu-larly difficult to avoid for quantitative studies that tend to sample on individuals. But many qualitative studies have also fallen into this trap, “privileging ‘personal knowledge’” to develop a “solipsistic tunnel vision that altogether fails to connect human intentions to social structure and historical change” (Smith and Guarnizo 2009: 25–26).

An analysis of meso-level phenomena allows us to study the point at which institutions interact with the structural processes shaping the daily patterns of individuals (Smith and Guarnizo 2009). Accordingly, this article uses the ethnic enclave framework, developed in the early 1980s by Portes and his associates, to examine how mechanisms of mobility within the enclave work within a transna-tional space.

Enclave theorists stress the importance of ethnic solidarity cultivated by minor-ity organizations and the social structure of the enclave community. They claim that ethnic solidarity allows individuals to form networks of trust and reciprocity, consolidating resources within the community to overcome barriers that they oth-erwise face in the mainstream society. Building on the framework of the enclave, this article analyzes how complications associated with transnational movement affect the way migrants are able to cultivate trust and solidarity.

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Contrary to works in this field that cast a favorable light on the “emancipatory” and “counter-hegemonic” character of transnationalism, my research demonstrates how it is imperative to paint a more holistic picture of transnationalism, tempering the tremendous opportunities it brings with its many obstacles.

Defining the Transnational Enclave

What makes an ethnic community an enclave? Differing views on what consti-tutes an enclave incited heated debates in the 1980s. Portes defines the enclave as “assemblages of enterprises owned and operated by members of the same cul-tural/linguistic group that concentrate in an identifiable geographic area” (Portes 2010: 162). Critics, however, contend that the enclave is difficult to effectively operationalize because ethnic neighborhoods usually include clusters of multiple ethnic groups. Moreover, scholars have questioned whether the spatial clustering of ethnic firms alters the way solidarity is utilized within ethnic firms. As Roger Waldinger put it:

If we think of the ethnic economy as a particular form of social organization, in which immigrant entrepreneurs employ co-ethnic workers, there is no reason to assume that the particular factors that distinguish the informal training system among immigrant workers and entrepreneurs are uniquely a product of their placement in space. (Waldinger 1993: 450)

Others challenge the role of ethnic solidarity as an effective mechanism for mobility. Ivan Light and his associates claim that the ethnic economy, which does not necessitate a spatial clustering of coethnic firms, is a more effective concept for understanding the mobility of immigrant entrepreneurs because it makes no claims about “an ethnic cultural ambience within the firm or among sellers and buyers” (Light et al. 1994: 66).

In response to these criticisms, Portes outlined several structural conditions that enclaves must satisfy to offer immigrant minorities the resources for mobility. First, he asserts enclaves must have a sizable entrepreneurial class. The entrepre-neurial class provides an important source of capital to the enclave community. Enclaves that are inhabited exclusively by peasants or low-skilled workers, such as the Mexican enclaves in the United States, tend to have lower rates of economic growth and development. In contrast, immigrants with entrepreneurial experience in the country of origin generate social and economic capital into the community through their social networks in various ethnic organizations, the formation of rotating credit unions, and patterns of consumption.

Second, the enclave must also have a working class of coethnics. Enclaves having sufficient socioeconomic diversity are able to provide otherwise vulnerable minority entrepreneurs with privileged access to an inexpensive, coethnic labor force. This low-wage labor force is less prone to unionize and more apt to provide


high-quality services despite harsh working conditions given bonds of reciprocity and trust characterizing enclave firms.

Third, the enclave must have a “captive market” for ethnic goods and services. A high demand for cultural goods and services that is difficult to access outside of the enclave protects vulnerable entrepreneurs from external competition.

Fourth, enclaves must be characterized by a diversity of businesses and minority organizations. The range of businesses available must include not only niche markets shunned by natives but also a wide variety of enterprises common to the general economy. In addition, economic organizations provide direct assistance to novice entrepreneurs who might otherwise lack sufficient resources in the mainstream economy, whereas civic organizations help solidify the collective consciousness of the community.

For ethnic enclaves satisfying this list of criteria, Portes argues that coethnics are able to effectively use solidarity to mobilize ethnic resources for upward mobility. Unfortunately, this framework was first developed nearly three decades ago, and examined a relatively confined scope of ethnic communities oriented toward providing immigrant minorities in the United States with a means to better settle in the host society. However, with the growth of transnationalism in recent years, the types of enclaves have diversified to include communities that help migrants maintain strong ties to the homeland as well as adjust to life in the host society.

The Korean enclave in Beijing at once satisfies the structural conditions for enclaves delineated by Portes, and yet, simultaneously, represents a distinct type of enclave that was not as prevalent when the theory of the enclave was first for-mulated. This article aims to expand existing theoretical notions of the enclave by examining how the mechanisms of mobility outlined by Portes might or might not apply to transnational enclaves. In particular, I will investigate the different barriers coethnics encounter in cultivating solidarity in transnational communities.

Solidarity, Trust, and the Collective Mobilization of Ethnic Resources

While enclave theorists note the importance of economic organizations that provide direct assistance to entrepreneurs, they have also stressed the central role of civic organizations like the ethnic church. The enclave church facilitates the cultivation of two key mechanisms of mobility: “bounded solidarity” and “enforceable trust.” Bounded solidarity and enforceable trust represent two types of social capital driven by “consummatory” and “instrumental” motivations, respectively (Portes 2010).

Bounded solidarity refers to a sense of “common fate.” Alejandro Portes and Robert Bach (1985) assert that ethnic minorities reconstitute a new ethnic identity distinct from the identity they possessed in the homeland once they settle in im-migrant communities in the host society. They note that the “new” ethnic identity

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these immigrants cultivate is largely rooted in a sense that they share a common set of obstacles and barriers in the host society due to their ethnic background. The authors conjecture that this shared sense of fate, in turn, allows groups that might have otherwise segregated themselves from each other in the homeland to overcome their differences. As the authors put it:

“Nationalities” thus emerge among immigrants who shared only the most tenu-ous linkages in the old country. They are brought together by the imputation of a common ethnicity by the core society and its use to justify their exploitation. . . . As they discover assimilation to be a deceptive path, immigrant minorities come to rely on in-group cohesiveness and cultural reassertion as the only effective means to break out of their situation. (Portes and Bach 1985: 25)

Within such a context, the ethnic church, which often forms the organizational hub for many immigrant communities, acts as an important nonpolitical space whereby coethnics can strengthen their common bond with each other.

The second mechanism, enforceable trust, finds its roots in Durkheim’s theory of social integration and the sanctioning capacity of group rituals (Portes 2010). Enclave theorists reason that coethnics who depend on the enclave economy for their livelihood and are integrated within its social structure have strong incentives to abide by the internal norms of the community. To violate such norms comes at the risk of ostracization and thus, potentially the loss of their source of livelihood. Subsequently, coethnic employers and their workers are able to conduct economic activities with a certain level of confidence that their transactions are protected from deception or exploitation. Zhou (2004) stresses that the efficacy of enforceable trust lies not in the ephemeral nature of emotional bonds, but, rather, in organiza-tions embedding coethnics within the social structure of the enclave. This study examines how bounded solidarity and enforceable trust might work for enclaves characterized by high levels of transnational activity.

Korean Migration to China: 1860 to 1990

The Korean community in China is made up of two major waves of Korean migrants. This section presents a brief history of the contexts in which ethnic Koreans migrated and formed communities in China. I label the first wave of migrants as the “Korean Chinese” and the second wave, as the “South Koreans.” The term “Korean” refers to both cohorts when used to depict situations after the 1990s.

While historians note that migration from the Korean peninsula dates back several hundred years, most historiographical accounts of the Korean Chinese start from the latter years of the Qing dynasty (1644–1912).2 Both the Qing and Chosun dynasties set up military patrols around the Jangbaek Mountain Range to control possible border crossings.3 Following the Boxer Rebellion (1850–64), as the grip of the Manchus grew increasingly weak, border patrols barring Korean migrants from entry into Manchuria also became more relaxed. Thus, when a series


of natural disasters hit the Korean peninsula in the 1860s, Korean farmers started to flee to Manchuria in large numbers. In 1870, historical records indicate that 470 households, or more than 20,000 Koreans were scattered across 30 villages north of the Yalu River. In 1894, this population expanded to 8,700 households, or 37,000 Koreans (Piao 1990).

The Koreans who were part of this wave of migration settled together in ethnic villages based on hometown and kinship ties. These villages were primarily con-centrated in the southern Manchurian region known as Kando.4 In Kando, ethnic Koreans constituted more than 75 percent of the population throughout the early 1900s. As a Korean geographer in the early 1930s noted: “The cities in Kando are Korean in their outward appearance and in their content. A stranger here will feel that he is no longer in Chinese territory but in Korea” (Lee 1932: 201).

Migration across the Sino-South Korean border continued into the early 1900s, accelerating particularly after the Japanese annexation of Korea in 1910. In 1931, Japan invaded Manchuria and established “Manchukuo,” a puppet regime that would help to prepare the Japanese for full-scale war with China. The colonial state implemented a fifteen-year plan to transfer 300,000 rural Korean households, or 1.5 million Koreans, across the Sino-Korean border to help secure Japanese control over the region. The fifteen-year plan was never fully implemented, but the Korean population rose from 460,000 in 1920, to 607,000 in 1930, and 1.45 million in 1940 (Lee 1986).

Although the Korean minorities had lived in China for more than a century since then, they were able to preserve their ancestral heritage given their isolation from the mainstream Han Chinese. During the Mao regime, the Korean Chinese were largely concentrated in the northeastern provinces. In 1953, about 1.1 mil-lion Koreans lived in Jilin, Liaoning, and Heilongjiang provinces in the northeast, accounting for 99.2 percent of the total population (Kim 2003). Moreover, 42.7 percent was further concentrated within Kando, which the state designated as the Yanbian Korean Autonomous Prefecture in 1952 (Chinese Census).

In 1990, about 53 percent of the total Korean Chinese population lived in regions that were Korean autonomous districts (Chinese Census). These regions were granted privileges in self-government and special rights to preserve the use of their ethnic language, education, and culture. In these ethnic zones, Korean minorities represented a sizable proportion of incumbent government officials, and both Korean and Mandarin were used in public documents, government an-nouncements, and business transactions. Korean ethnic schools also flourished as a result of protective state policies. In 1986, about 79 percent of eligible children attended one of 960 Korean kindergartens in Yanbian. 98.5 percent attended one of 1,151 Korean primary schools, and 92.6 percent attended one of 215 Korean middle schools (Jin 1990).

During the Mao era, the Koreans in China enjoyed a relatively high standard of living. They were successful in transforming the formerly barren lands of China’s

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northeast into arable soil by using an innovative irrigation technique. According to Chinese Census data, in 1990, 72 percent of Koreans in Yanbian were farmers. As most Koreans cultivated rice paddies, a valuable agricultural product at the time, Koreans fared considerably well in spite of disadvantages linked to rural residence in prereform China.

The Rise of Korean Transnational Migration to China in the 1990s

The 1990s marked a critical historical juncture for the Koreans in China, represent-ing a period of increasing transnational activities within the community. This was largely set off by the intensification of economic interdependence between South Korea and China during this era.

In China, Deng Xiaoping’s series of market reforms, implemented starting in 1978, set the stage for the influx of foreign investment and private entrepreneur-ship, and in turn, a strong demand for cheap labor in China’s urban areas. When Deng liberalized restrictions on domestic migration formerly put in place by Mao’s “hukou” (or household registration) policies, he unleashed a massive exodus of rural migrants to urban areas in search of employment. While the Korean Chinese were also affected by this major wave of urban migration, statistics from the Chi-nese Census demonstrate that urban migration among the Korean Chinese did not reach significant heights until after Sino-South Korean diplomatic relations were normalized in 1992.5

Sino-South Korean normalization lifted restrictions on travel and economic activity between the two countries, ending a long period of isolation between the People’s Republic of China (PRC) and South Korea. In the years leading up to and immediately following diplomatic rapprochement, China opened up regular ship-ping and ferry routes between Chinese and South Korean ports and direct flights between Seoul and major cities in China.

When China further liberalized its policies toward foreign investors after its in-duction into the World Trade Organization (WTO) in 2001, South Korean investors flocked to the PRC in record-breaking numbers. In 2002, China surpassed Japan as the most favored destination among Korean travelers; in recent years, more than 5 million South Koreans visit the PRC each year (Korea National Tourism Office). South Korean trade also surged, growing from US$1 billion in 2002 to over US$5 billion only a decade later (Export-Import Bank of Korea).

South Koreans, who were struggling as entrepreneurs or recently laid-off workers, sought to escape the economic recession at home by starting small busi-nesses with their retirement savings in China. Many chose China over formerly popular destinations in the West such as the United States, because they felt the country was both geographically and culturally closer to them than the United States. But unlike their counterparts in America, South Koreans in China have exhibited distinct patterns of adaptation. Rather than settle in the host society, the


vast majority have stayed psychologically, structurally, and physically attached to the homeland.

The influx of South Korean entrepreneurs in China and the growth of economic interdependence between China and South Korea created tremendous opportuni-ties for the Korean Chinese. South Korean investors, who sought to penetrate the Chinese market, demonstrated a strong demand for bilingual Korean Chinese workers. At the same time, South Korean firms based in the homeland also sought to fill significant shortages in cheap labor by recruiting Korean Chinese workers from the PRC. Thus, while only 30 percent of the Korean Chinese population was urban in the late 1970s, the share of urban Korean Chinese migrants exceeded 50 percent by the early 1990s (Tabulation on China’s Nationalities 1994). Today, many of the Korean Chinese villages in northeastern China have become ghost towns as Korean Chinese migrants have left in large numbers to work in South Korean firms in China and the homeland.

The formation of new communities that included both South Korean and Korean Chinese migrants has helped facilitate transnational activities within the Korean enclave. For the South Koreans, these enclaves have buffered the costs of host societal adaptation, allowing them to better overcome cultural and linguistic bar-riers in the PRC and engage in frequent transnational movement. For the Korean Chinese, the enclaves, by attracting rich transnational capital from their wealthy South Korean coethnics, provided rich economic opportunities that were incom-mensurate with those available to them in the Chinese mainstream.

This study examines how first-generation South Koreans and third- and fourth-generation Korean Chinese minorities mobilize ethnic resources in Korean churches in the Korean enclave in Beijing. The enclave is located in the Chaoyang district of Beijing known as “Wangjing.” It represents a newly emergent transnational community, which rapidly grew from a meager 500 Korean households in 2001 to several thousand households in the few years following the massive rise of Korean migration to China since its induction to the WTO. According to conservative estimates made by the Chinese Academy of Social Sciences, about 70,000 South Koreans and 80,000 Korean Chinese migrants lived in Wangjing in 2009, making up one-third of the total population in the region.

Data Collection

My field research on the Korean enclave in Beijing took place between 2010 and 2011. Using financial support from a National Science Foundation Dissertation Improvement Grant (DDRI #1131006), I conducted a mass survey of about 800 Koreans in the enclave, sampling primarily from major churches in the region. The survey allowed me to strategically choose two churches—a South Korean state-sanctioned church, which I have given the pseudonym, “Antioch,” and a Korean Chinese underground church, which I refer to as “First Presbyterian”—as

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field sites for extensive participant observation over six months.6 Both churches were selected for their diverse distributions in age, gender, marital status, and socioeconomic status.

Korean Churches in Wangjing: Descriptive Traits

Bifurcation of Korean Churches in the Enclave

While the Chinese state provides the right to exercise freedom of religion under the constitution, the government requires all religious organizations to be officially registered and sanctioned by the state. Government-sanctioned churches must abide by a long list of regulations that include laws forbidding members to meet outside church grounds, proselytize to Chinese citizens, and so on. In addition, the state dispatches undercover agents to attend weekly services and report suspicious activities. As one South Korean at Antioch described:

When there is a major church event, the deacons contact the government officials to let them know what type of event they are going to hold, the date and time of the event, and how many people they expect to show up. Then, on that day, government officials will come to the church grounds to observe that we are holding the activities in line with regulations.

Because the church is viewed largely as a political organization in the PRC, the state regularly monitors its activities. Many Korean religious leaders find such close surveillance a major hindrance to the vitality of their ministry. Subsequently, most of the Korean churches in the enclave are not registered by the state and were colloquially known as “underground churches.” Because the Chinese government prohibits foreign churches from allowing Chinese citizens to participate in church activities, the Christian community in the Korean enclave is by law divided between the South Koreans and the Korean Chinese. The South Koreans, as foreign nationals, must hold services that only admit holders of foreign passports, and the Korean Chinese, as Chinese citizens, are permitted to attend only state-sanctioned churches that serve the native population.

However, the rifts between the South Koreans and Korean Chinese that have characterized Korean churches in the enclave are more likely driven by preference than by law. Yoon (2012) demonstrates that the enclave is spatially and institutionally bifurcated between the South Korean and Korean Chinese communities. Moreover, given that underground churches do not abide by state regulations, it is noteworthy that underground churches are also divided along similar lines. At First Presbyterian, only one family, of a total membership of nearly 200 individuals, is South Korean. In addition, the South Korean pastors interviewed remarked of the conspicuous absence of Korean Chinese who regu-larly attended their services.


The Centrality of the Church in the Enclave

The church functions as a prominent civic organization for both South Korean and Korean Chinese communities in the enclave, providing a variety of social activities and resources that extend beyond strictly religious purposes. The tremendous growth of Christianity in South Korea and proliferation of South Korean missionary activity in the PRC reveals the centrality of the church in the Korean community.

Since the 1990s, South Korea has attracted international recognition as an impor-tant bastion of Christianity. According to the South Korean Census, 29.2 percent of South Koreans were Christian in 2007. In addition, South Korea is currently home to ten of eleven of the largest congregations in the world. It is the largest sender of missionaries after the United States, as an estimated 16,000 South Koreans work in more than 150 countries as missionaries, the majority of whom are destined for China (Jeffreys 2007).

In the years following Sino-South Korean normalization in 1992, South Korean missionaries followed the footsteps of South Korean businessmen, establishing churches and orphanages in Korean Chinese communities throughout China. Scholars note that in the 1990s, South Korean missionaries sought to proselytize the Korean Chinese under the guise of businessmen or students to deflect attention from the Chinese state (Kim 2010). And, in spite of government efforts to restrict its growth, Christianity quickly became widespread among the Korean Chinese to the extent that, in the words of one Korean Chinese pastor:

Christianity is not the religion of our ancestral heritage, but later, we received the gospel and today, large numbers of Korean Chinese are Christian. Other ethnic minority groups [in China] exclaim, “You Korean Chinese have traditionally believed in Christ! It’s part of your cultural heritage!”

As this pastor’s anecdote demonstrates, Christianity has become so popular among the Korean Chinese that mainstream Han associate the religion as part of Korean Chinese culture. Furthermore, countless Korean Chinese minorities inter-viewed spoke of attending Korean churches established by South Koreans in their hometowns even prior to migrating to Beijing.

In Beijing, many South Koreans and Korean Chinese seek to alleviate the lone-liness they feel as migrants by integrating themselves into the tightly knit church community. As one South Korean woman explained:

A higher percentage of South Koreans attend church in Beijing than in Korea. And because we are immigrants, people who don’t believe in God come to church because they feel lonely in this foreign country. I can’t tell you exactly what percent of the population attends church, but when I go about my daily activities here in Wangjing, I often run into people who I know from church. . . . I run into people I know from small groups, choir, the women’s group, and so on. We’re all connected to each other through a number of activities at church.

Moreover, this tendency was not particular to just the South Koreans, but also applied to the Korean Chinese. The Korean Chinese were accustomed to regularly

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congregating with other ethnic Koreans in the ethnic villages where they grew up. When I asked a Korean Chinese college student what everyday life was like in his village, he explained that during Korean cultural holidays, all of the Korean Chi-nese minorities in his village would gather together to celebrate and eat traditional Korean food. Swept up by nostalgia, the young man went on to describe:

When someone in our village turned sixty years old, the whole village would have a huge celebration for that person. Or when someone got married, we would also have a feast in honor of the newlyweds. Only the Korean Chinese would celebrate though. We didn’t include the Han Chinese in our gatherings. We would just eat and drink and celebrate together in our community.

After having lived among other Korean Chinese in such a communal setting for so many years, many Korean Chinese minorities feel lonely and isolated when they come to the cities. A few Korean Chinese organizations, however, provide a space where the Korean Chinese can regularly congregate together. As a result, numerous Korean Chinese, regardless of their religious status, have also flocked to the church, particularly in large cities like Beijing.

For the South Koreans and Korean Chinese, church involvement does not end with Sunday worship, but encompasses numerous activities that extend throughout the week. The following demonstrates a typical week for an avid churchgoer:

On Sundays, activities start at 8 a.m. We come at around 7:50 or 8:00 a.m. to pray, read the bible, and prepare for Sunday worship. Service begins at 10:20 a.m. . . . In the afternoon, they serve in various groups. Those of us who are in the choir or praise team, practice for next week starting at 3:00 p.m. So in total, for people like me, on Sundays alone, we spend about seven hours at church… And on Saturdays, I am involved in Family Prayer meetings and breakfast fellowship at church in the morning, and then in the afternoon, I have choir practice. . . . On Mondays, the church is open for individuals to come and pray on their own. On Tuesdays, we have intercessory prayer meetings. On Wednesdays, there is the women’s group, on Thursdays, we have our outreach program, and on Fridays, there is small group bible study.

Time commitments to activities at church clearly outweigh those to other organi-zations. Few organizations rival the institutional complexity and size of the church. Thus, there is strong evidence supporting the notion that, for many Koreans, the church acts as the primary social institution in the enclave.

Ethnic Solidarity and the Mobilization of Transnational Resources in the Church

First Presbyterian

First Presbyterian, established in 2007, started with a membership of about twenty Korean Chinese minorities. In a span of just a few years, it grew rapidly to reach several hundred members. Two worship services are held. One is conducted in


Mandarin for the Han Chinese congregation in the morning, and a second service is held in Korean for the Korean Chinese community. More than 300 Han Chinese and about 200 Korean Chinese minorities regularly attend services. The Han Chi-nese members consist largely of young, well-educated elite, whereas the Korean Chinese population represents a diverse range of socioeconomic groups, from the highly elite to those employed in low-status positions. Sunday worship is held in a run-down office building tucked behind an alleyway. Like most underground churches, there are no signs or other physical markers nearby indicating where worship services are held.

Historically, Korean Chinese underground churches have received large amounts of financial support from churches in South Korea seeking to engage in missionary work in China (Kim 2010). The majority of these South Korean churches sponsor Korean Chinese churches in remote villages in northeastern China. For instance, one South Korean church I visited in Seoul sponsors several Korean Chinese mi-norities who had started attending their church while working as low-wage laborers in Seoul. When Korean Chinese workers decide to go back to China, the church provides them with significant amounts of financial capital to build churches where they live. According to an interview with a church elder:

When new [Korean Chinese] people come to our church, we teach them about the bible. . . . While these people are in South Korea, they join our community as fellow brothers and sisters in Christ and after a period of time, they go back to China. And so, naturally, they start churches in the places where they live. These churches are built organically and naturally, and the leaders at these churches are people who had been members of our community in Seoul.

This particular church supports twenty different Korean Chinese underground churches scattered throughout China, primarily concentrated in the three north-eastern provinces. Each month, the church sends about US$3,000 to each of these underground churches in addition to a significant lump sum early on to fund the construction of new church buildings.

More recently, however, Korean Chinese churches, particularly those in large cit-ies like Beijing, have started to assert their financial and institutional independence from South Korean churches. This is the case for First Presbyterian. Pastor Park, the senior pastor at First Presbyterian, explains that by remaining autonomous, he is able to run the church as he sees fit, rather than succumb to pressure from South Korean pastors oblivious to their needs.

Past research provides further empirical evidence that financial support from mega-churches in the homeland has led to significant conflicts between South Ko-reans and the Korean Chinese (Kim 2010; Yoon 2012). This line of research argues that South Koreans in the homeland often feel manipulated by Korean Chinese minorities who, they perceive, exploit their religious cause to obtain extravagant sums of money. On the part of the Korean Chinese, many feel offended by South Korean perceptions of them as money-grubbing individuals.

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In addition, although First Presbyterian regularly sponsors visits from guest speakers and missions groups from South Korea, they do not utilize their trans-national networks for material support. During the six months that I conducted participant observation, we hosted one guest speaker and two missions groups from the homeland. The missions groups met with the Korean Chinese young adults from our church to sing, pray, and speak about the difficulties of the underground Christian movement in the PRC. In addition, deacons helped to organize outreach programs for South Korean guests.

However, it was striking to note that despite their willingness to assist the South Koreans, the members of First Presbyterian did not go beyond their formal call of duty in interacting with them. Confused by this, I asked why they avoided our South Korean guests. One Korean Chinese elder responded:

I feel so annoyed when I see South Koreans make photocopies of little Christian brochures on how to achieve salvation in our office. I think to myself, “who do they think they are? What use is a little pamphlet going to do when they don’t even understand who they are talking to, who they are interacting with?”

As this comment illustrates, at First Presbyterian, the Korean Chinese intention-ally avoid engaging deeply with the South Koreans not only because they want to avoid unwanted interference but also because they generally do not trust their South Korean coethnics. Thus, even though the Korean Chinese potentially have access to transnational resources due to the networks they have with churches in South Korea, they do not mobilize these networks due to the damaged solidarity they have with the South Koreans.

These trends run contrary to current theoretical understandings of ethnic soli-darity in enclaves. As explained earlier, enclave theorists conjecture that coethnics can overcome differences in class and other divisive subcategories because they forge a collective consciousness based on the common set of structural barriers they face as ethnic minorities. In the Korean enclave in Beijing, however, although the Korean Chinese and South Koreans are initially drawn toward each other by cultural affinities, they are often ultimately unable to foster sufficient solidarity to facilitate resource exchange.

Many Korea scholars have argued that the growing hostility between South Ko-reans and the Korean Chinese stems from class differences (Song 2009). However, transnationalism likely accounts for much of the failure among South Koreans to cultivate collective consciousness with the Korean Chinese (Yoon 2012).7

Even though many Korean Chinese who migrate to Beijing represent a more highly educated population than their counterparts in South Korea, discriminatory stereotypes that run rampant in the homeland are keenly felt in the enclave as well. This is largely because the Koreans in Wangjing remain structurally integrated with South Korean society. Both South Koreans and the Korean Chinese in Beijing, actively consume South Korean media daily, have personal experiences living or working in the homeland, and have family members and friends residing in


South Korea. As a result, members of the enclave are either indirectly or directly exposed to negative perceptions of the Korean Chinese in South Korea on a daily basis (Yoon 2012).

To alleviate their distress from being marginalized by South Korean society, Pastor Park devoted much effort to providing the Korean Chinese with a distinct identity rooted in their structural position as middlemen between South Korean and Han Chinese society. Pastor Park teaches his congregation that they must use their intermediary position to spread the gospel in China. He stresses that they are able to effectively carry out this mission because unlike the South Koreans, they are able to connect to the Han Chinese population as fellow Chinese:

I tell the members of our congregation that we need to have a God-centered view of our ethnic identity. I believe that God had a plan for our ethnic group [the Korean Chinese]. It was in His plan for us to leave the motherland and come to China [many decades ago] and live like this.

This sense of purpose that Pastor Park instills in the hearts of his congregation helps the Korean Chinese at First Presbyterian share a common sense of purpose and identity. As one Korean Chinese woman explained:

What is so special about us is that [unlike South Korean missionaries] we do not look down on the Han Chinese. We are able to pray for our land [China] and em-brace this country as we share the gospel with the [Han Chinese] people here. . . . We are able to do this because we were born here.

In addition, members of First Presbyterian are able to overcome differences in socioeconomic status within their group because these differences are for the most part organized by age. First Presbyterian has six to ten “small groups,” depending on the fluctuating size of the congregation. Each group is composed of ten or more individuals close to each other in age. Formally, these groups meet at the homes of the small group leader on a weekday for a few hours for bible study and prayer. Informally, members of each small group meet throughout the week to socialize and help each other during times of hardship.

Solidarity is further strengthened by the fact that the Korean Chinese share common experiences according to their age. Members of the youngest small group generally include Korean Chinese youth who attend colleges in Beijing and recent graduates employed in entry-level positions at large South Korean chaebol firms. The oldest cohort is largely composed of elderly Korean Chinese who have returned to Beijing after having worked as domestic workers (for women) or construction workers (for men) in South Korea. These elderly are retired and currently reside with their adult children in Beijing. In-between these two cohorts, members of the middle-aged population largely work as managers in South Korean firms or are entrepreneurs of small to medium-size firms in the enclave. While there is some socioeconomic diversity among the middle-aged population, disparities in income paled in comparison to those of the South Koreans in Beijing. Table 1 displays

Fall 2013 43

Tabl

e 1

Inco

me

Lev

els

of

Ko

rean

s in

Bei

jing

in T

ho

usa

nd

s o

f R

MB

(6.

23 R

MB

~ 1

US

D)

> 3

3–6

7–10

< 1

010

to 2

021

to 3

031

to 4

0<

40

Tota

lN

Kor

ean

Chi

nese

Sam

plin

g42

.338

.112

.7 6

.910

029

1

30 to

60

age

coho

rt39

.830

.117

.521

.610

010

3

Sou

th K

orea

ns

Sam

plin

g10

.110

.110

.123

.213

.613

.619

.210

019

8

30 to

60

age

coho

rt 6

.9 6

.7 6

.723

.415

.816

.423

.410

015

8

not

e: F

igur

es r

epre

sent

per

cent

ages

of

indi

vidu

als

surv

eyed

by

the

auth

or in

201

0.


originally collected survey data on income levels of the South Koreans and Korean Chinese in Beijing.

By regularly sharing their struggles with the members of their small group, the Korean Chinese at First Presbyterian feel reassured that they are not alone, but rather, part of a family. As one member described:

Whenever I encounter some kind of difficulty, for instance, if I feel sick and tell them [the members of my small group] of my condition, they take good care of me. They are proactive in suggesting different clinics I should go to, different medications I should take. . . . And when I experience such thoughtfulness, I feel so grateful. They don’t just tell me what I should do, but they actually make calls to different places for me and they drive me to the clinics. I experience help like this so often.

Similarly, throughout my time at First Presbyterian, I witnessed members jumping to each other’s aid on countless occasions. Personal problems are seen as collective problems.

Trends of mutual reliance that characterizes small group meetings is significant in understanding how the Korean Chinese collectively mobilize resources to gain access to upward mobility, particularly for the entrepreneurs. Of the five members who regularly attended my small group meetings, three were self-employed owners of small firms. As fellow entrepreneurs, these group members frequently exchange practical information that would help improve their businesses. The following excerpt from my field notes illustrates this dynamic during a small group meeting:

As we were sharing our prayer requests, Hee-won spoke of how she wanted to start her own company soon and that she would like us to pray for her about this situation. Ji-soo, who had been sitting quietly next to me started to say how Hee-won should open up a glamour shot photo booth just like the ones she had seen in Korea. She spoke excitedly about how there were none of those in China yet, and all of the places in China were so old-fashioned that taking photos with your significant other was such a hassle. In Korea, she explained, you could just go into a little booth where they had a nice cloth backdrop and take a glamour shot with your boyfriend in just ten minutes or less to get wallet-size photos. Hee-won seemed to think that Ji-soo was onto something and she replied that she had been planning on visiting Korea sometime next month and would have to go look at some of these shops to get a better idea of how such a shop was run.

Here, we see how Ji-soo, a successful entrepreneur, uses her knowledge of South Korean culture and society to inform Hee-won, who is less exposed to the homeland, on a potentially lucrative ethnic business that caters to wealthy South Korean consumers. Ji-soo was able to accumulate extensive expertise on South Korean culture and society over the years, traveling to South Korea about twice a month to visit her mother and to select a new batch of Korean CDs and DVDs to import for her shop in the enclave. Whereas other Korean Chinese speak in strongly accented Korean, Ji-soo is able to speak and behave in a manner that

Fall 2013 45

allows her to hide her Chinese background if she wishes to do so. Thus, for our small group, Ji-soo was often the go-to person whenever someone had a question about a new trend in South Korea or encountered a problem dealing with a South Korean business partner or client.

As this example illuminates, although the Korean Chinese often experienced barriers in gaining direct access to transnational resources through contact with South Koreans, I argue that many are still able to benefit from the tremendous amount of transnational capital that circulates within the enclave economy by collectively mobilizing resources within their in-group. Many Korean Chinese, like Ji-soo, have acquired familiarity with particular tastes, preferences, and needs of South Koreans through personal experience working in South Korean firms in the enclave or for a select few, in the homeland itself. Moreover, those who have been able to acquire cultural expertise are willing to pool together their knowledge to help other Korean Chinese who are more isolated from South Korean contact.

Antioch

Antioch, the South Korean church where I conducted field research, is a state-sanctioned mega-church. The leaders at Antioch learned the importance of main-taining harmonious ties with the Chinese government from the mistakes of their predecessors. Hence, they strictly enforce state regulations during services and church activities. Due to successful efforts in maintaining peace with the govern-ment, Antioch has grown to secure over 2,000 members in a short span of time, making it one of the largest Korean churches in the enclave. Members are shuttled to weekend activities and Sunday worship services by a series of church buses, and events are held in one of three large sanctuaries on the church grounds.

South Korean churches in Beijing generally receive more direct institutional support from partner-churches in the homeland than do Korean Chinese churches. This especially applies to Antioch. Antioch maintains strong institutional affilia-tions with a well-known church in South Korea. The headquarters in Seoul was first established in 1985 with the main focus of training missionaries to spread the gospel to the world. In 2011, the church grew to become one of South Korea’s largest churches with 25 branches, a congregation numbering more than 75,000 members, and 1,220 missionaries dispatched to countries around the globe. Some South Koreans in Beijing who did not attend Antioch suggest that the church had been able to rise so quickly in fame and size due to its strong affiliations with the headquarters in Seoul. As a South Korean pastor of an underground church commented:

Antioch represents a type of “brand.” It’s part of a very famous church in South Korea. Subconsciously it taps into an image as a church that is modern and sophisticated. If you go to Antioch, you feel this atmosphere of a First World country. I think that the people who go to Antioch are attracted to this type of image and ambience.


Antioch’s headquarters in Seoul owns a publishing house that supplies its branches overseas with a diverse array of spiritual texts for various programs at the church. I will elaborate on one program in particular, which targets South Korean women.

The Women’s Ministry at Antioch aims to provide South Korean women at Antioch with the social resources and support to help deal with the many problems they face as mothers, wives, and migrant women in Beijing. In the words of one South Korean woman:

Generally, we talk about our children’s education and problems we have with our husbands. But mostly, we talk about our children’s education. . . . Many of our children go to international schools, which are completely run in English. For children who have only attended school in South Korea, suddenly, they find themselves having to learn English in addition to Chinese. . . . We talk about how to deal with these types of stress that our children encounter here. Because that is what our children struggle with the most, the mothers in our ministry come together and listen to each other’s experiences and try to help each other.

At Antioch, the South Korean women meet with one another regularly to discuss their problems and exchange information on how to better overcome the struggles they face. But while the Korean Chinese at First Presbyterian are largely able to collectively mobilize resources, South Korean entrepreneurs at Antioch surpris-ingly find themselves alienated at church. Instead, the major benefactors of the programs at Antioch are privileged South Korean wives of business executives dispatched by chaebol firms to Beijing. In contrast, the entrepreneurs, representing the most vulnerable population, encounter significant obstacles in mobilizing the transnational resources available at Antioch.

On the surface, although the programs at Antioch seem to foster solidarity within the South Korean community, upon closer examination, it becomes apparent that the socioeconomic gaps separating South Korean entrepreneurs from the elite business executives have led to the formation of significant class tensions within the community. As one South Korean man put it:

You can’t see [the tensions] with your eyes. It’s in a sense invisible, but keenly felt. It’s hard for South Korean chaebol employees and their wives to become close to ordinary South Korean [entrepreneurs and their families] in Beijing.

Like First Presbyterian, the Women’s Ministry at Antioch is organized by small groups, whereby women are divided according to the age of their children. In contrast to First Presbyterian where members share a common set of worries, at Antioch members face a distinctive set of issues depending on their husbands’ status, largely due to the distinct educational trajectories of South Korean children according to class.

Wives of entrepreneurs are unable to send their children to the prestigious in-ternational schools to which the wives of South Korean chaebol employees send their children. These “A-level” international schools charge from 180,000 RMB

Fall 2013 47

(US$28,500) to 200,000 RMB (US$31,600) per year. The students who attended these “A-level” schools are taught by Western faculty and strive to gain admission to selective universities in America. While South Korean chaebol employees receive generous stipends for their children’s education, the vast majority of South Korean entrepreneurs cannot afford to send their children to these schools and thus, send their children to Korean private schools, where the tuition was ten times less at about 20,000 RMB (US$3,000) per year, or Chinese public schools in Wangjing, which charge Korean students 5,000 RMB (US$800) per year.

Because South Korean children attend different schools according to their socioeconomic status, or perhaps more accurately, according to whether or not their fathers are employed by chaebol firms, the types of problems South Korean mothers face in raising their children also differ as the educational trajectories of their children are worlds apart. Mothers of children attending elite schools discuss which after-school SAT or TOEFL program in Wangjing is known to help their children attain high enough scores to gain acceptance into Ivy League colleges. These after-school programs charge an additional 2,000 RMB ($US300) per month, amounting to 24,000 RMB (US$4,000) per year per subject. When these figures are juxtaposed with the average salaries of South Korean entrepreneurs, the gaps in class and lifestyle become strikingly clear. According to my survey data, the total tuition fee for a month of afterschool programs surpasses the median monthly income for South Korean entrepreneurs, which ranges from 10,000 RMB to 20,000 RMB. These differences make it difficult for South Korean women of similar age cohorts to feel a sense of solidarity with one another. Instead, the wives of South Korean entrepreneurs become acutely aware of their relatively disadvantageous position.

In addition to facing a disparate set of problems, the wives of elite South Korean business executives socialize exclusively among themselves. As one South Korean pastor pointed out:

The wives of South Korean entrepreneurs do not have time to socialize. They are busy working around the clock with their husbands. On the other hand, life for the wives of men who work for chaebol firms is so easy in Wangjing. They don’t have a care in the world. In Korea, they used to run errands, clean the house, and take care of the children. In Wangjing, they can afford to hire a housekeeper to clean their house and take care of errands, and a driver who will take them places. These women have time to go to expensive restaurants for lunch and get their hair done everyday. They have time to go to bible studies and other church functions during the week. All the while, I only see the wives of South Korean entrepreneurs on Sunday for worship service.

When I asked Deacon Kim, a member of my small group, why the two groups socialized in such separate circles, he seemed baffled by my question. Deacon Kim, a high-level executive at Samsung, took for granted that the South Korean entrepreneurs and chaebol employees socialize in separate circles:

Deacon Kim: What do you mean? We might go to the same church, but we have nothing in common with them.


Me: Why do you have nothing in common? Mr. Park [a South Korean entrepreneur] and you, for instance, both volunteer in the praise team with me. Don’t other people attend bible study and other church activities together?

Deacon Kim: I suppose we do serve on the praise team together. But the entrepreneurs never really open up and share what is actually going on in their lives in front of us. And outside of those activities, it’s hard to go out to eat or hang out with them. We just have such different lifestyles. I feel bad going to an expensive restaurant because I know that they probably can’t afford it. At church, we’re nice to each other because we share a common faith, but honestly, our relationship is not very intimate. Outside of church, I only socialize with other men who work for other major South Korean companies. We go play golf on the weekends and drink at nice bars. We just live in two different worlds.

Thus, while Antioch offers a variety of services and programs for the South Koreans in the enclave, the South Korean entrepreneurs, representing perhaps the most vulnerable population, are unable to benefit from these rich resources. Instead, they largely feel alienated from the South Korean community due to income and lifestyle gaps. Those who are able to effectively access transnational resources from the church are the families of South Korean chaebol executives, who are already in a privileged position.

Complications from Frequent Transnational Migration

Whereas bounded solidarity is forged by a sense of common fate, enforceable trust emerges from structural embeddedness within the enclave community. It is not based on emotional bonds or a collective consciousness, but, rather, on participa-tion within overlapping social networks and organizations, creating pressure on coethnics to abide by a common set of social norms. This protects individuals from social deviance and allows them to mobilize resources more effectively.

Both South Korean and Korean Chinese churches in Beijing struggle to overcome the complications caused by their constantly fluctuating membership, an inherent trait of transnational populations. Farewell parties and welcome banquets are part of everyday life at both First Presbyterian and Antioch. At Antioch, I watched South Korean college students leave the enclave to return to South Korea once they had obtained their degrees, South Korean executives of chaebol firms leave once their short-term assignments in Beijing had ended, and South Korean entrepreneurs leave when they were unable to overcome cultural and linguistic barriers in the PRC to sustain their businesses. The transient na-ture of the South Korean community is reflected in the following conversation I shared with a South Korean woman who regularly attended Women’s Group meetings at Antioch:

Fall 2013 49

Me: About how long would you say most of your members stay in China?

Woman: About an average of three years, probably. Three years for the most part, for those who stay longer, maybe five years . . .

Me: What proportion do you think make up this group of people who stay in China for more than ten years?

Woman: Not many.

Me: Can you give me an estimate?

Woman: Of the people who have lived here for over ten years, some are South Korean expat workers who are employed by the chaebol firms and some are entrepreneurs, but to give you a percentage . . . it’s very small. Even if you include everyone, I know maybe ten [out of about 200] people. Maybe not even as many as that.

This particular woman had served Antioch since 2006, and after having resided in Beijing for a mere four years, she was easily one of the most veteran members of her organization.

While members of First Presbyterian also represent a highly mobile population, they are different on two important accounts. First, mobile members are largely concentrated in the young adult population who leave China to obtain further training, education, or work experience in South Korea. Second, those who leave Beijing plan to return and ultimately, settle permanently in China. This difference in orientation toward the host society palpably shapes patterns of movement and the ways in which individuals approach relationships at church.

Deacon Lee, to whom I became close to during my time at First Presbyterian, first came to Beijing in 1990 to obtain his college degree from a highly selective university. He was nineteen years old when he first arrived and has lived in Beijing for more than twenty years. Deacon Lee’s mother went to Seoul in 1994 to work as a domestic for a wealthy South Korean family after his father passed away in 1991. She was able to obtain a visa through one of her relatives in South Korea. Deacon Lee explained that because his mother has naturalized and taken on South Korean citizenship, he could easily obtain South Korean citizenship as well. During our conversation, I probed further on why he did not take the opportunity to live in South Korea with his mother:

Deacon Lee: Who’s gone to South Korea [out of the people we know at our church]?

Me: Aren’t there a lot? There are a lot of Korean Chinese people who . . .

Deacon Lee: Those people are from the countryside. They’re country bumpkins. Out of college-educated Korean Chinese, who do you know who has gone to South Korea?

Me: There’s no one?

Deacon Lee: Very few people who have graduated from college go to South Korea.


Me: Aren’t there people who start entrepreneurial businesses in South Korea? I heard that some Korean Chinese coethnics go to . . .

Deacon Lee: Well, there are probably some who do, but not a lot. People who are capable stay in China, why would they go to South Korea to work [in the low-wage labor market]? Maybe there are a few who go to South Korea to open some kind of entrepreneurial firm, but most of the people who go are usually middle-aged men and women from the countryside who have nothing better to do. . . . Ah, I guess there are a few young Korean Chinese who go to South Korea to study abroad. People who graduate from universities in China don’t go to Seoul. Why would they want to go to Korea to work in such harsh conditions? For what? To make a few thousand dollars? I wouldn’t go even if they offered to give me US$5,000.

Deacon Lee is an extremely successful entrepreneur in Beijing. He owns several real estate properties and drives a European sports car to church every Sunday. When I asked him whether he had ever considered going to South Korea to live, he was indignant that I had grouped him with other middle-aged Korean Chinese individuals from the countryside who went to South Korea due to the lack of op-portunities they faced in China. These sentiments were echoed by the interviews I conducted with various Korean Chinese pastors in the enclave. Like Deacon Lee, college-educated Korean Chinese minorities at First Presbyterian view China as their home. They are transnational migrants insofar as they regularly to to South Korea for business and to visit family, but their relationship to the homeland is clearly distinct from that of South Korean migrants who remain emotionally and socially rooted in South Korea.

The South Koreans view Beijing largely as a temporary home. During an in-terview with a pastor of a South Korean underground church, he remarked that in the six months he had served the church, about 10 percent of his congregation had left to go back to South Korea. Moreover, he noted that an ambience of instabil-ity always hung over their heads due to their “sojourner orientation,” to use Edna Bonacich’s (1973) term:

No one comes to China thinking that this is the place they want to settle in for the rest of their lives. . . . People come here thinking that they’re only visiting temporarily, so there’s no sense of emotional stability. They are always a bit anxious, wondering how they will go back to Korea, how the move will affect their children’s education, their retirement plans, and so on.

The highly volatile nature of the South Korean population holds implications for the attitudes that the South Koreans have toward relationships within their com-munity. Unfortunately, because departure and uncertainty have become inherent in the nature of relationships in the enclave, South Koreans do not feel motivated to invest themselves deeply in relationships with other coethnics in the enclave. Relationships are accepted as transient within this community. It is likely that the high levels of volatility are connected to the frequency of scams and deception

Fall 2013 51

within the community. Personal ads of con men are frequently posted in major Korean magazines and the South Koreans interviewed spoke of how they were careful in their interactions with other South Koreans. As one South Korean man explained:

The South Korean man I met didn’t ask me for money directly, but I could sense something was a bit off. . . . We met a couple of times for drinks and he started explaining how he was starting this business and needed to borrow some money. And as we shared beers, he asked me to help him. . . . Or there are people who explain that they are in some kind of crisis situation and urgently need to borrow 1,000 or 2,000 RMB.

The ephemeral nature of relationships within the enclave and expectation that members of the community can, at any time, quickly pack their bags and move back to South Korea lends to the lack of enforceable trust among South Koreans in the enclave. Due to the suspicious attitudes with which South Koreans approach relationships, there is often less willingness to engage in risky behavior to help each other in times of need.

In addition, the highly fluctuating nature of the population makes it difficult for organizations to efficiently sustain and carry out operations. For instance, the fol-lowing excerpt from an interview with a South Korean pastor illustrates how South Korean churches struggled to maintain trained staff to lead church activities:

It seems as if once someone is ready to become a leader or an active member of the church, they have to leave. People who undergo training have to stay around to serve more actively and take on more responsibilities at church, but they end up leaving just as they’ve finished training. So when new members join our church, we train them from the very beginning again. But these people end up leaving too, after a few years. People are constantly dropping out of the congregation. It is a vicious cycle of training people and then watching them leave once they are ready to serve.

This problem of maintaining a core leadership to sustain their organizations is particularly acute for organizations that are small in size. Due to high turnover rates, such organizations are unable to reap the benefits of the time and money they invest in training their staff. The lack of small to medium-size organizations in the enclave affects the South Korean entrepreneurial population most detrimentally, as entrepreneurs often rely on such organizations to provide them with a source of contact and accumulated know-how.

Conclusion

In recent years, scholars have noted that migrants exhibit distinct patterns of adap-tation characterized by frequent movement to their countries of origin. As a result, increasing numbers of migrants have settled in “new” types of enclave communities that have helped them to sustain their transnational lifestyles. Transnationalism thus offers the opportunity to revisit earlier work on the enclave hypothesis and


to apply it within this new context, specifically examining how this affects the cultivation of solidarity.

This research provides three key findings. First, I demonstrate that both South Korean and Korean Chinese churches in the enclave have privileged access to transnational resources due to their institutional connections and social networks to partner-churches based in South Korea. Second, I argue that though the South Korean church has stronger access to transnational resources, South Korean en-trepreneurs are largely crippled in mobilizing these resources given sharp wealth disparities that segregate the community. In addition, South Korean migrants largely espouse a sojourner orientation, viewing Beijing as their temporary home. This leads to barriers in deeply investing in relationships in the enclave and high turnover rates in critical positions within minority organizations. Third, I demonstrate that whereas South Korean entrepreneurs face difficulties gaining access to the abundant transnational resources in the church, the Korean Chinese are able to effectively mobilize a smaller pool of transnational resources given strong bonds of solidar-ity and the formation of a collective consciousness in their in-group. Moreover, extended visits to South Korea are concentrated in younger age cohorts, while other age groups engage in transnational behavior only for instrumental means, viewing Beijing as their ultimate place of settlement.

Often, when scholars refer to transnationalism, we rarely distinguish the different patterns of movement that encompasses this broad term. This article highlights the broad implications that distinct types of transnational migration have on migrants’ ability to cultivate solidarity and trust. In addition, it suggests that we should not focus exclusively on the proliferation of transnational resources in various orga-nizations and communities, but on the cultivation of solidarity, which determines how migrants benefit from these resources.

Notes

1. An important exception is the growing literature on transnational organizations (see Portes, Escobar, and Radford 2007).

2. For a more detailed English-language historical account, refer to Lee (1986).3. This mountain range is referred to as Changbai in Chinese.4. This region is known as Jiandao in Chinese.5. In the early 1980s, the Korean Chinese mostly migrated from remote areas to nearby

cities within the three northeastern provinces, Yanji, Shenyang, and Changchun. According to Chinese Census data, in 1990, these provinces still accounted for 98 percent of the Korean Chinese population.

6. I also made several trips to five well-known Korean Chinese churches in Beijing, two of which were state-sanctioned, to conduct interviews and collect survey data. The three underground churches visited were similar to First Presbyterian, with a sizable population of Han Chinese and Korean Chinese members and having discreet locations. Two churches rented out private spaces in large office buildings that were difficult to locate due to the lack of signs in and around the building indicating where services were held. Like Pastor Cho of First Presbyterian, the pastors of underground churches consisted of highly elite

Fall 2013 53

Korean Chinese minorities who had graduated from highly selective universities in China. Some had attended seminary in South Korea, as well. I have made considerable efforts to conceal the identities of individuals referenced in this article by using pseudonyms and attributing them to different, but comparable, occupations.

7. To briefly reiterate, since the 1990s, massive waves of Korean Chinese return migrants have entered South Korea in search of employment. A significant proportion consisted of low-educated Korean Chinese minorities who occupied unwanted jobs in the 3-D (dirty, difficult, dangerous) labor market. They were not only exploited by their South Korean employers, they were also treated as second-class citizens by South Korean society. On the one hand, the fact that negative perceptions of the Korean Chinese are entangled with notions of low social class makes it difficult to ascertain whether they are discriminated against by virtue of their class or their Korean Chinese background. But on the other hand, rather than attempt to disentangle these two factors, it is important to note the very conflation of these two notions in the construction of Korean Chinese stereotypes. It is important to note that to be Korean Chinese has also become synonymous with low social class and the myriad of negative traits connected with this concept (see Yoon 2012).

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Mobilizing Ethnic Resources in the Transnational Enclave in Beijing

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