Manhattan's Invisible Korean Power
A few years ago, I thought I lived in a non-descript part of Midtown Manhattan.
But the longer you live in New York, the more you realize that few parts of New York are without hidden histories and discreet present-day mechanisms that are woven into the very fabric of the city. Every now and then an errant thread pokes through the concrete and pricks through the well-worn soles on your New York-know-it-all-isms.
It was about 5 a.m., and the putrid smell of vegetables and sewer water mixed to form a sobering shot to the nose after a night of Manhattan bar-hopping with friends. Rounding the corner of 31st Street and Broadway, the familiar neon of Asian restaurant signs dimmed under the harsh glare of morning sky reflecting off the hard edges of karaoke bars and ramen shops. One block to go and I'd be able to plop face down into dreamland. Suddenly, halfway down the street I hear what sounds like crunk-meets-j-pop leaking from a car up ahead. As I get closer, I see them. Seven Korean 20-somethings dressed in a mash-up of Mafioso a la Gap attire glaring at me as though I had wandered into the wrong part of town. Unbeknownst to me, in a way, I had. Naively, I barked, "'Sup?" as I made my way past. This monosyllabic threat only seemed to stoke whatever fire I had first lit by merely being in their presence. One of them yelled something at my back, which, due to hangover ears or language barrier, I was unable to understand. But the content of the retort was clear-watch it, smart-ass.
The next block and a half was possibly one of the most delicate strolls I've ever had in Midtown as I pretended not to have a care in the world, proceeding to my apartment, secretly expecting the group to break the sidewalk détente and give me a full-interactive-translation of anything I might have missed. Thankfully, nothing happened. But the encounter had left a permanent impression on me.
The next day I stopped by the local Korean-owned café I frequented and told the story to the owner, one of the locals who I'd befriended during my time there. This was my introduction to the name Korean Power, or K.P. According to my friend, I had narrowly missed having an unfortunate accident at the hands of K.P., one of the East Coast's most notorious Asian street gangs.
This was also my re-introduction to Korea Town. Upon moving to 31st and Madison, I'd heard talk about the area's Korea Town moniker, but I didn't take it seriously. This was Midtown Manhattan, center of the universe for business-just a couple of blocks away from the Empire State Building. The few Korean restaurants I happened to notice in passing didn't seem to warrant the same import as Chinatown. Most native New Yorkers know that you don't get lost in Chinatown, because even though nothing will happen to you-probably?you never know for sure. But Korea Town was a new mystery.
Up until then, none of my Korean friends had ever mentioned anything about the dark side of Korean New York. But in this instance, my friend flat out admitted to paying K.P. for permission to do business on that street. Despite his perfect English, GQ attire and wide ranging intellectual gifts, he also seemed to think there was no way to avoid figuring K.P. into his budget. That day I spent several hours listening to my friend's colorful K.P. tales.
Apparently, Korea Town, and K.P. are far more real than many New Yorkers know. One of the rare high-profile K.P. incidents occurred in 1993 when five members of K.P. were arrested in an apartment at 50 West 34th Street and charged with extorting hundreds of Korean owners of restaurants, shops and karaoke bars for about $250 a week at each location. As recently as March of this year, authorities arrested Gina Kim and Geeho Chae for running an underground Korean prostitution ring. The surprise piece of the puzzle was the arrest of police officers Dennis Kim and Jerry Svoronos for allegedly assisting the illegal venture.
Crime stats reveal that there are criminal elements in virtually every immigrant community in New York. But the normally squeaky clean public profile-stereotypical or not-of most Asian communities in New York can sometimes obscure the truth that lies just inside the doorways of some of Manhattan's most prominent addresses. I spent another year in my Korea Town digs before moving on. But whenever I veer into the East 30s, unlike the thousands of tourists gawking at tall buildings and snapping up plastic NYC souvenir curios, my eyes unconsciously scan the many stark doorways and narrow alleys that lead into a world few New Yorkers even know exist. Manhattan's invisible Korean Power.