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'Korea is my home': Two young footballers and questions of nation and identity

Published: 12 Feb. 2025, 00:02

Chang Hyesoo

The author is a sports editor at the JoongAng Ilbo.

Serbia, Montenegro, Slovenia, Bosnia and Herzegovina, North Macedonia, Croatia and Kosovo were once a single nation. From 1945 to 1992, they were part of the Socialist Federal Republic of Yugoslavia, and before that, from 1912 to 1945, they constituted the Kingdom of Yugoslavia.

Despite differing political systems — first a monarchy, then a republic — the region was collectively known as Yugoslavia. The last king of the Yugoslav kingdom, Peter II, fled to Britain in 1941 when Nazi Germany invaded, establishing a government-in-exile at Claridge’s Hotel in London. In the summer of 1945, the British government declared the hotel suite Yugoslav territory for just one day. That day, Crown Prince Alexander was born there. After the Nazis were defeated, Josip Broz Tito, who later became Yugoslavia’s lifelong president, abolished the monarchy and established a socialist state. Two years later, Tito confiscated royal property and stripped the royal family of their nationality. After Peter II passed away in 1970, Alexander lost his royal title and became merely the “head of the royal family” or a “pretender to the throne.” In 2001, the government of Serbia and Montenegro restored his nationality, although the nation itself was dissolved in 2006, splitting into Serbia and Montenegro. Born on British soil, fluent in English, educated in the British system and a former officer in the British Army, Alexander now resides in Serbia, advocating for the establishment of a constitutional monarchy.

The story of Crown Prince Alexander came to my attention through British historian Subhadra Das’s book, "Uncivilised: Ten Lies That Made The West" (2024). Born in the United Arab Emirates, raised in England and self-identifying as British, Das, whose parents were of Indian descent, poses fundamental questions about the nature of nationhood and citizenship. “Who gets to decide where someone can or cannot go? Where they can or cannot live?” she asks.

In Korea, two 19-year-old young men — Bato Samuel and Isaac Osei — find themselves confronting similar questions. Samuel, a citizen of Côte d'Ivoire, was born in Seoul’s Yongsan District in 2006. His father, who had traveled to Korea for a performance, found himself unable to return home due to civil war. As a child, Samuel dominated neighborhood football matches and later joined Osan Middle School’s football team. In his first year, he scored a hat-trick against second-year seniors in a practice match. During his time at Osan High School, he led the team to a national championship. When asked about his favorite players, he hesitates between Son Heung-min and Didier Drogba, the legendary Ivorian footballer.

FC Seoul rookie Bato Samuel, during a interview with the JoongAng Ilbo in Champions Stadium, in Guri, Gyeonggi, on Jan. 7. [CHANG JIN-YOUNG]

Meanwhile, Osei was born in Ghana in 2005 and moved to Korea with his family in 2010 when he was five years old, settling in Dongducheon, Gyeonggi. Inspired by his older brother, who was training with a youth football club, Osei began playing as well. In 2019, as a student at Shinhung Middle School, he scored 32 goals in 18 matches in the Gyeonggi regional weekend league, gaining widespread attention. Continuing his football career at Suwon Gyeongmyeong High School, he has always said, “Korea is my home,” and dreams of proudly wearing the Taegeuk mark on his chest. Samuel is more comfortable speaking Korean than French, and Osei prefers Korean over English.

They are no different from their Korean peers. They ate the same school lunches, learned the same subjects from the same teachers and share the same language and thought processes. Yet, under Korea’s nationality law, which adheres to the principle of jus sanguinis, or citizenship by bloodline, neither Samuel nor Osei is considered a Korean citizen. Samuel holds an Ivorian passport, and Osei carries a Ghanaian one. Unlike their teammates, who grew up alongside them, they had to adhere to foreign player regulations to pursue professional football careers — at least until last year.

This year, things changed. The K League introduced the "homegrown player system," which treats foreign nationals as domestic players if they have played for a registered domestic team for at least five years before turning 18, or for three consecutive years. Samuel and Osei became the first beneficiaries of this policy, signing contracts with FC Seoul and Daegu FC, respectively. They now dream of winning the league’s Young Player of the Year award — an aspiration made possible not as foreign “mercenaries” but as homegrown talents nurtured in Korea.

In 2020, the National Human Rights Commission of Korea urged the Ministry of Justice to halt the forced deportation of long-term undocumented migrant children and establish a residency review system. These children did not choose to come to Korea; they have grown up here and formed their identities within Korean society. Forcing them out is unjust. In response to the recommendation, the Ministry of Justice introduced a temporary relief measure in 2021, which is set to expire at the end of next month. Over the past four years, many children have been given opportunities, but many still remain in the shadows. Before it’s too late, a more fundamental and comprehensive solution must be put in place — so that all undocumented migrant children can dream, just like Samuel and Osei.

Translated using generative AI and edited by Korea JoongAng Daily staff.