It starts with a seemingly innocuous trip -- a year teaching English in South Korea, a way to pay off some of the ever-growing credit card and student loan debt that was crushing Young Chun, the American-born son of Korean immigrants. After all, South Korea was a modern, democratic country, no more dangerous for an American than traveling in most of Europe, and probably safer than Mexico, or even parts of some US cities.
However, Young Chun didn't know one very important thing about himself -- some family member had listed him on a family record that the South Korean government used to determine citizenship. As a dual national, he was
subject to the Korean military draft, a nightmare for someone with only a limited understanding of the Korean language and culture.
Unfortunately, his experience is not unique, nor is the problem limited to South Korea. I am a member of a mailing list for scholars of the Slavic languages, and every month or so I'll see a question go through about a heritage speaker of one or another Slavic language who wants to go visit the old country, usually for a study abroad semester or summer. The greatest concerns come up with young men who were born there and brought to the US as very small children, but there have been some concerns about young men who are the sons of immigrants in countries that have birthright citizenship for children of citizens, no matter where they are born, and especially those who do not recognize the possibility of renouncing citizenship for oneself or one's children.