Stories of people forming our shared history

Recently, I had the privilege of attending a profoundly moving ceremony at the Korean War Memorial Center in Taguig City, Metro Manila, where educational grants were bestowed on descendants of Korean War veterans. The event – led by Korea’s Maeil Broadcasting Network and the Korean Veterans Association in the Philippines – was graced by two surviving members of the Philippine Expeditionary Forces to Korea (PEFTOK), along with the young scholars who were beaming with joy, pride and purpose.

It was a powerful expression of what we say often, but feel deeply: Freedom is not free. The Korean War will never be a forgotten war. June is the Month of Patriots and Veterans in Korea, honoring those who gave their all for freedom. The Philippines was the first Asian nation to send combat troops to Korea in 1950. More than 7,400 soldiers comprising PEFTOK fought under the United Nations Command, many never to return home. This year marks the 75th anniversary of the Korean War, a solemn reminder of how far we’ve come, and of the sacrifices that built the foundation of Korea-Philippines relations.

In his speech during the 70th Memorial Day Ceremony on June 6th, President Lee Jae-myung reaffirmed this national commitment to remembrance and peace. He spoke of building a nation free from the worries of war, and pledged “extraordinary rewards for extraordinary sacrifices” – a promise to provide greater respect and lasting support to fallen soldiers and their families so that they may live with pride, dignity and honor.

During the scholarship ceremony, I sat down with a 91-year-old veteran, the last Filipino survivor of the Battle of Yuldong, one of the most fiercely fought battles during the war. He recounted the harrowing defense humbly, without embellishment, yet every word revealed a life shaped by war, tempered by resilience and graced by an intense sense of duty. A blessed life, in spite of – or perhaps because of – the ordeals he had experienced.

Listening to him, I realized anew that what we share began not with geopolitics, but with people – with the men who stood their ground at Yuldong; with families who waited at home; with the young scholars now carrying their legacy forward. These are the stories that form our shared history. And these are the reasons our friendship endures, not just in treaties or trade agreements, but in memory, in gratitude and in the quiet resolve to never forget.

This long-standing association continues to evolve in new, highly personal ways. A week later, I had the pleasure of receiving the outgoing Philippine Ambassador to Korea, Maria Theresa Dizon-De Vega, at our embassy. She presented me a copy of Dayò: Stories of Migration, a publication launched by the Philippine embassy in Seoul late last year. It chronicles the stories of Filipinos who have made lives in Korea, and Koreans who have found a home in the Philippines.

I learned that the Filipino word dayò is rich with meaning. It could be a verb, but as used in the book, dayò is one who makes a journey, a decision to go somewhere unfamiliar – a migrant, a foreigner, a guest; someone who, at first, is an outsider, but eventually becomes part of a larger story.

As she handed over the book, it struck me how naturally – how auspiciously – her visit followed the PEFTOK event. For while the Korean War may have marked the beginning of our modern alliance, migration tells the story of how that relationship has matured, becoming richer and more distinctive over time.

Dayò reveals that migration is not merely a matter of movement but of meaningful connections established in unfamiliar places by finding community, embracing differences and building honorable lives. They show how, when rooted in mutual respect and shared opportunity, migration becomes a powerful bridge across cultures. In this way, Dayò celebrates those who embody this bridging spirit: community advocates, multicultural builders, industry drivers, thought leaders and creative champions – individuals whose lives and work continue to inspire understanding between nations and cultures. Ambassador De Vega noted that these unique testimonials are “a living manifestation of the enduring friendship between the Philippines and Korea.”

Migration between our nations is not new, and it is not one-sided. It is a shared endeavor that continues to evolve, enhancing mutual understanding along the way. Yet the links between our peoples began long before modern-day tourism or labor agreements.

I was reminded of this when I visited the Shrine of St. Andrew Kim Taegon in Bocaue, Bulacan. St. Andrew Kim, Korea’s first Catholic priest and patron saint, was a martyr who was executed for his faith. As a young seminarian, he arrived in 1839 and sought refuge while studying in the small Barrio of Lolomboy, Province of Bulacan, Philippines, alongside his fellow Korean cleric and friend, Choe Yang-eop (later the Venerable Thomas Choe).

At the shrine, the only Filipina nun among the members of the Sisters of St. Andrew Kim told me something that resonated loudly: long before the Korean War and PEFTOK, there was St. Andrew Kim, whose sojourn in Bulacan is perhaps the earliest recorded sign of a meaningful correlation between Koreans and Filipinos. I have also written about Moon Sun-deuk, a Korean fisherman who, in the early 19th century, was rescued off the Philippine coast and became the first known Korean to live among Filipinos. These encounters undoubtedly laid the foundation for the friendship we now hold dear.

That day in Barangay Lolomboy, as I listened to the St. Andrew Kim Children’s Choir singing Koinonia – a hymn composed by Korean Catholics for Pope Francis’ 2014 visit – I was overcome by a quiet sense of continuity. The word koinonia means communion, fellowship, shared purpose. It is a prayer for togetherness and a life in service to one another. In a sense, it is this same spirit of koinonia that has sustained Korea and the Philippines through war and peace, migration and memory, struggle and solidarity. It is alive in the voices of the youth, the choices of migrants and the legacy of our veterans.

The term “people-to-people ties” could sometimes be vague. But there is nothing vague about a child receiving a scholarship because his or her grandfather fought in the Korean War, or about a Filipino caregiver changing a Korean family’s life, or even a Korean who opts to live in the Philippines for individual reasons. These are concrete and enduring expressions of our friendship.

We may come from different shores, but our histories are already entangled, and our futures surely will be, too. In the end, we are all dayò. We are all travelers, seeking, offering, becoming something. Let us honor the quiet stories that brought us here, and write new ones, grounded in empathy, dignity and trust.

*      *      *

Lee Sang-hwa is the Ambassador of the Republic of Korea to the Philippines.