Graduate Student Spotlight: Seokweon Jeon

This Graduate Student Spotlight features Seokweon Jeon, a PhD Candidate in Religion at Harvard University. Check out our interview with Seokweon below!

1) Tell us a bit about your research interests. How do the study of Asians and Asian Americans and the study of religion intersect in your work?

I am a religious historian specializing in modern America, with a particular emphasis on migration, borders, and citizenship (abbreviated as ‘MBC’), the intersections of religion with U.S. imperialism, and the religious aspect of Asian American neoliberalism. The central piece of my current research is on the critical roles that religion and Asian immigration played in shaping the modern American understandings of the border, citizenship, and national belonging.

Members of APARRI, many of whom have contributed to this discourse, are familiar with the series of immigration laws enacted between the 1880s and 1920s that articulated a new public and political vision of desirable/undesirable immigrants that were rooted in racial and religious hierarchies. However, scholars’ preoccupation with the “old versus new” European immigration paradigm often sidelined Asian immigration. Likewise, scholars of American immigration and ethnic history tend to acknowledge religion as a determinant of nativism but haven’t fully explored how religious ideas and forces contributed to a racialized, oppressive immigration system, broadly, and to the early anti-Asian movement, specifically.  And for me, these limitations are emblematic of how the violent history of anti-Asian racism and the religious (re)making of modern American citizenry hasn’t gotten a full telling.

My dissertation — Sacred Borders, Divine Hierarchies: American Liberal Protestants, US Immigration Policymaking, and the Fashioning of Asians as “Undesirables,” 1882-1924 — addresses this gap. This project delves into the significant, yet overlooked influence of American liberal Protestants in the creation and expansion of racially restrictive and religiously selective US immigration policies between 1882 and 1924. By retracing the processes through which liberal religious forces helped to frame immigrants from Asia as “undesirable” and “unassimilable” immigrants, this project asks why the unprecedented arrival of Asian immigrants after the 1870s powerfully challenged, but ultimately failed to subvert, the popular narrative that the ideal American citizen should be white and Protestant. Using the era’s political, cultural, and religious constructions of ‘(un)desirability’ of immigrants as a prism, this project reconsiders the unique historical position Asian/Americans (my dissertation uses the term ‘Asian/Americans’ to highlight the connections, conjunctions, and mutual formations of people, symbols, ideas, and objects that moved between Asia and America) occupied in American racial, political, and religious landscapes.

In my view, this dissertation project makes two significant contributions to the intersectional study of Asians and Asian Americans and the study of religion. First, by examining the underexplored role of liberal Christianity in shaping the modern American system of migration control and the regulation of citizenship, I hope my research will deepen our understanding of the critical roles that religious (more specifically, liberal Protestant) ideas, symbols, practices, and communities played in shaping the modern American understandings and practices of national belonging. This will also contribute to debates on how US immigration-citizenship policies have emphasized specific religious, racial, and ethnic dimensions of national identity, and how they have operated as means of nation-building.

Secondly, it presents a more nuanced, comprehensive portrayal of Asian/American agency amidst the era’s exclusionary climate. Although the existing literature offered key conceptual vocabularies and frameworks to study the exclusion and marginalization of Asian/Americans between the 1880s and 1930s, existing scholarship hasn’t fully captured the breadth of Asian/American experiences, practices, and resilience. And my project explores the possibility of placing religion at the center of Asian/Americans’ creative strategies and resistance against the criminalization of Asian immigrants. As much as religion was central in immigration restrictionists’ effort to make the ideas and practice of screening and criminalization of Asian/Americans look benign, benevolent, and virtuous, my research foregrounds religion’s role in fostering anti-racist solidarity and self-determination among Asian/Americans who contested such discriminatory ideologies and actions.

2) What drew you to study religion in the first place?’

My journey into the world of religion was as much a product of my environment as it was of my innate curiosity. I grew up as a son of a Methodist pastor. Unlike the typical South Korean Protestant milieu, which often eschews inter-religious dialogue, my parents embraced it. On the Buddha’s birthday, it was a tradition for me to visit local temples, where I’d spend the day immersed in conversations with monks, nuns, and the temple community. Such visits were frequent, driven by my dad’s penchant for engaging with temple headmasters and other religious figures in our town.

My parents held a deep respect for anyone from different religious walks of life, often inviting them into our home. It was not uncommon for people to arrive unannounced as early as 6am, seeking conversation with Pastor Jeon, and my family welcomed them with the same warmth, offering tea and a meal, fostering dialogues that spanned a spectrum of spiritual perspectives.

Our family’s summer house by the seashore became another venue for interacting. My parents extended hospitality to all — backpackers, nuns, students, and homeless people — whenever they needed a place to stay. There, every new visit unfolded into an evening of shared stories, revealing the diverse tapestries of their lives and spiritual journeys. This environment was where my fascination with storytelling and the personal meanings of religion and faith traditions began to flourish.

These experiences sowed the seeds of my academic interests. When the time came to choose my college majors, I gravitated towards two majors: Theology, drawn by my diverse religious upbringing and a burgeoning curiosity about faith’s role in people’s lives, and Sociology–because I liked people. Of course, it didn’t take a week until I found out sociology is not about socializing, and religious studies is less about the divine than it is about human experiences.

3) What has been the most rewarding, surprising, or interesting part of your work as a graduate student?

Leading the Asian American and Pacific Islander Studies Working Group (housed in the Committee of the Ethnicity, Migration, and Rights) at Harvard University from 2020 to 2023 was a profound joy. I organized approximately thirty workshops, public lectures, and community events that delved into the histories, literatures, cultures, and the contemporary realities of Asian American and Pacific Islander communities.

Collaborating with a diverse array of scholars and community leaders provided me with a keen awareness of the significance of community engagement, the necessity for academia to respond to community needs, and the value of producing knowledge and resources that extend beyond academia.

Furthermore, teaching Harvard’s inaugural course on Asian American and Pacific Islander studies with Prof. Eleanor Craig, a scholar in religion and ethnic studies, for the past two spring semesters has been particularly rewarding. It was an opportunity to not only apply my training and expertise to foster a rich educational experience but to also gain insights from our students’ varied backgrounds and perspectives.

4) How has your experience with APARRI impacted you, whether professionally or personally? Are there any memorable experiences or moments that stand out?

APARRI has been an invaluable intellectual resource that my home institution could not provide. As my research intersects transpacific migration and Asian American history through a religious lens, I often found it challenging to study these topics at my university—particularly given the lack of a dedicated institutional body or program that is dedicated to the study of APA communities and their religions in the past, present, and future. When I commenced my Ph.D. at Harvard in 2019, there was only one tenure-track professor specializing in Asian American Studies. Finding mentorship, engaging with like-minded colleagues, and discussing and enriching my projects were continual challenges. However, APARRI introduced me to an intellectual community that valued, supported, and validated my inquiries and curiosities.

I appreciated APARRI’s commitment to fostering interdisciplinary collaboration among senior scholars, early career researchers, graduate students, and practitioners. The meetings provided a unique opportunity to present my research to experts in APA religions and communities, who, although they might not share my methodological or thematic approach, asked pivotal questions and offered fresh perspectives on my work. This dialogue encouraged me to consider the broader ‘big picture’ I aimed to illustrate.

One of the most significant aspects of my experience with APARRI was the opportunity to develop mentorships with more seasoned scholars in my field. Their generosity with their time and insights was astounding, regardless of their professional stage, discipline, or research background. Forming personal relationships with those I had long admired was transformative as well; I finally felt a part of something larger.

Additionally, APARRI provided a rare chance to connect with fellow graduate students nationwide working on APA religions and communities. The number of colleagues I’ve met and forged stronger ties with through APARRI is immeasurable.

Moreover, APARRI has been a fantastic place to connect with fellow graduate students from all over, who are just as passionate about APA religions and communities. It’s amazing how many conference buddies I’ve made along the way—our shared enthusiasm for our research makes every gathering feel like a reunion of kindred spirits. I’m genuinely excited for all the future collaborations and laughter-filled coffee breaks and dinners at conferences as we journey through academia together. Here’s to the adventures ahead with my new scholarly squad!

5) What do you like to do for fun?

For fun, my downtime is often spent jogging by the Charles River, attending performances at the Boston Symphony Orchestra, and playing the piano.

Having grown up as a pastor’s child, playing an instrument was a given—my choice was the piano, and my brother went with the drums. What began as a means to support our family’s ministry, the piano quickly became much more than that—it turned into a steadfast companion during times of vulnerability and uncertainty. It offered refuge from the weighty expectations of pastoral family perfection. The piano taught me life’s essential virtues: patience, perseverance, the value of mentorship, the humbling truth that some things remain elusive despite our best efforts; and the acute realization of how far your imagination and creativity can take you.

When it came time to choose between art-focused paths and conventional schooling, or between majoring in art or other subjects, I always chose to keep the piano as a personal passion rather than a professional pursuit. That choice has been one of the best of my life. I still play regularly, and composing music has been a lifeline, keeping me grounded during the pandemic and the demanding years of my doctoral studies.

6) Lastly, if you were able to go back in time to when you first started graduate school and give yourself a piece of advice, what would you say?

I’m what you might call a ‘pandemic PhD student.’ I started my PhD program in fall 2019, which means I had only one semester before the pandemic changed everything. Since then, my graduate school journey has felt like a continuous struggle to gain control of the uncontrollable and unpredictable, a struggle shaded by a persistent fear and uncertainty about the future. If I could send some advice back to myself at the start of graduate school in fall 2019, it would be this: embrace your own unique brilliance (and I mean that in the humblest way possible) and acknowledge the inherently collaborative nature of academic work.

I spent far too much time in my first three years wrestling with self-doubt, constantly comparing myself to others in the program or the field and worrying about not doing ‘good enough.’ I didn’t give myself enough credit for my achievements. I was always looking forward, focused on where I thought I should be heading, and I often neglected to appreciate how far I had come. My preoccupation with perfection often prevented me from seeing the value in what I was doing well and the beauty in my flaws. I would remind myself not to let the grind of graduate studies tint my worldview so much that I fail to recognize the talents and passion I possess and the remarkable path I’m already on.

I also wish I had sooner realized that research and writing are not solitary pursuits but joint efforts. The isolation I felt in the initial years of my Ph.D. led me to a false notion that my scholarly contributions should be entirely self-generated. It took time to realize that I am not just a creator of original thoughts but a curator and articulator, my work enriched through dialogue with my peers, colleagues, and mentors. Since my writing touches not only on lives disrupted and challenged by the racist and xenophobic currents of their times but also those who still persisted and persevered, I feel a deep sense of gratitude towards the individuals and communities whose stories I’ve tried to piece together and learn from. As such, I am indebted to the rich tapestry of community that has underpinned my academic voyage: the scholars and mentors who have enriched my intellectual growth, and the individuals from history whose narratives have not only served as the bedrock of my research but have also framed the very lens through which I view our past and present.

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