A Purple Heart veteran forced to self-deport after 50 years in U.S.

When Sae Joon Park was 7 years old, he immigrated to the United States from South Korea to reunite with his mother in Florida. A year later, they moved to Los Angeles, where Park would spend nearly five decades—growing up, serving his adopted country, raising a family, and, ultimately, being deported.

On June 23, at 55 years old, Park was forced to leave the only home he has truly known. Despite being a Purple Heart recipient and a U.S. Army veteran who nearly died in Panama during the Noriega War in 1989, Park was deported to South Korea under the hardline immigration policies of the Trump administration. His crime? A decades-old drug conviction tied directly to post-traumatic stress disorder (PTSD) he developed after being wounded in combat.

Park’s story isn’t just tragic—it is deeply unjust. And it reveals the cruelty of an immigration system that fails to consider individual circumstances, no matter how compelling.

After being shot twice in the back during an enemy ambush in Panama, Park was honorably discharged and awarded the Purple Heart. But like many veterans, he returned home with invisible wounds. He suffered from nightmares, sensitivity to noise, and severe anxiety—classic symptoms of PTSD, a condition not yet widely understood at the time.

Park, a legal permanent resident, never became a U.S. citizen—largely due to systemic failures. He said he didn’t fully understand the importance of naturalization while living in the U.S., and there was a lack of guidance or support within the military to help immigrant soldiers apply for citizenship.

Military policy further complicated matters. In peacetime, non-citizens must serve at least one year to qualify for automatic citizenship. In wartime, even a single day of service can make one eligible. However, Park served just under one year, and because the Noriega War was not officially classified as a wartime operation by the U.S. government, he did not qualify under either rule.

To cope, he turned to drugs. His addiction spiraled after enduring the 1992 LA riots and the 1994 Northridge earthquake, eventually leading to an arrest in New York and a conviction for drug-related charges and a bail violation in 2009. He served his time—two and a half years—and afterward, he tried to rebuild.

When he was released, ICE agents detained him and revoked his green card. He fought deportation in court and, as a Purple Heart veteran, was allowed to stay in the U.S. under deferred action, as long as he checked in each year and stayed clean and sober.

He moved to Hawaii, worked as a car salesman, supported his two children, and complied fully with his immigration check-ins. For over a decade, Park lived quietly and responsibly under deferred deportation, reporting regularly to immigration authorities. He never reoffended.

On June 23, Park left the U.S. in tears, saying goodbye to his 85-year-old mother and the life he spent nearly 50 years building.

Park is not a threat to society. He is a combat-wounded veteran, a father, a longtime resident, and a man who made a mistake tied to his service-related trauma—and then spent years trying to make it right.

Deporting him doesn’t make America safer. It simply adds another name to a growing list of deported veterans whose sacrifices have been forgotten.

This is what happens when immigration enforcement becomes detached from context, compassion, and common sense. Park’s case is not isolated. Non-citizen veterans, green card holders, and longtime residents face similar fates—not because they are dangerous, but because their stories don’t fit neatly into a harsh, punitive framework.

A system that treats every case the same, that ignores military service, rehabilitation, or human dignity, is not worthy of the ideals it claims to defend. This is not the America Park risked his life for. And this relentless, one-size-fits-all deportation machine must stop.

By Mooyoung Lee [lee.mooyoung@koreadaily.com]