Analysis , | 09/15/2025 : In the Tunnels of Seoul’s Underground

One hundred days on from his inauguration as president in early June, Lee Jae-myung is projecting an image of himself as a man committed to dialogue and social welfare. When it comes to foreign policy, he made his mark at the very outset of his tenure as president. Guided by the maxim that “There is no peace too costly — it is always preferable to war”, Lee is seeking to revive the country’s previously dormant dialogue with North Korea. On the domestic front, he has introduced some initial social policy measures, including what are known as “consumer vouchers”. These cash vouchers form part of an economic stimulus package that aims to boost consumer spending and send a clear message that the government is taking the concerns of its citizens seriously in an era of rising living costs.

Yet despite this, South Korea remains plagued by political unrest. In the wake of the attempted coup by Lee’s predecessor, Yoon Suk Yeol, who sought to suspend the opposition-dominated parliament by declaring martial law so that he could govern on his own, the country’s political climate remains volatile, even after the most recent elections. Although Lee, the Democratic Party candidate, beat his strongest opponent by a sizeable margin, he narrowly missed out on achieving an absolute majority, receiving 49 percent of the votes. The eastern part of the country in particular maintains a fierce loyalty to the conservative party of the ousted former president Yoon.

The Long Shadow of Patriarchy

If we want to truly understand the social conditions in the country, however, we must look deeper than the latest news reports. Even a simple morning trip on Seoul’s underground can tell us a great deal about the social reality in the country. In an overcrowded carriage where the air is thick with the smell of coffee and summer rain, you might witness, for example, an older man as he shoves a young woman out of the way and slumps himself down onto the pink-upholstered seat that is normally reserved for pregnant people — and nobody says a word. Or a young woman on her way to work who would rather remain standing — even though she can scarcely keep her eyes open following a 12-hour night shift — because she is afraid that sitting down might make her seem “disrespectful to older people”.

As the reality of men’s and women’s everyday lives diverge, so do their socio-political attitudes.

These kinds of scenes are a regular occurrence, and they all evidence an unwritten rule: that respect is allocated on a hierarchical basis, according to age and gender. It is in these everyday moments that the long shadow of Confucianism is revealed — and with it, the reason why political reforms often rebound against the invisible barriers of tradition and patriarchal assumptions.

Gender equality has been legally enshrined in South Korea for decades: discrimination is prohibited, pay parity is ensured, and maternity leave is mandated. However, it is clear that legislation alone is insufficient for effecting real social change. The country’s patriarchal legacy continues to be felt to this day: obedience is valued more highly than criticism in the workplace, women continue to perform the lion’s share of the care work in the domestic sphere, and in everyday life, many people conform to prevailing social expectations rather than fulfilling their own needs.

These kinds of cultural patterns serve as a point of orientation in a country where any deviation from a prescribed norm that is determined by tradition is extremely unpopular. At the same time, however, they also severely curtail people’s individual liberties. For women, as well as for socially marginalized minorities, this means that every step towards achieving actual equality demands a twofold approach: tackling both the legal barriers and the deeply engrained rules that determine how people coexist in South Korean society.

Modern-Day Performance Pressure, Premodern Hierarchies

Since the end of the Korean War in 1953, the country has experienced a period of development that is among the most impressive examples of modernization in the world. From the ruins of the war, an export-oriented industrial nation emerged that has now become one of the world’s foremost technological powers. Samsung, Hyundai, and LG are some of the world’s leading companies, yet they were virtually unheard of in the 1960s. And when it comes to gross domestic product (GDP), the country of 52 million is ranked twelfth in the world.

But at the same time, this rapid development also harbours a major contradiction: While its economic growth and technological progress present an image of South Korea as a modern nation, in their daily lives, many of its citizens encounter obstacles that curb the pace of social change. Given how abruptly South Korea was catapulted into the modern era, the disparities between formal equality, economic progress, and the realities of everyday life are more prominent today than ever before. This tension is especially evident in the country’s demographic trends. South Korea has a birth rate of 0.72 children per woman, the lowest in the world. Even in Germany, the rate is almost twice as high at 1.35 children per woman. The ramifications of this demographic shift will be tremendous.

Despite the fact that these movements for democracy and women’s rights were able to fight for some important cornerstones of legal equality, the issue of gender inequality is far from resolved.

The underlying causes of this drop are not only the high cost of living and precarious employment conditions. An increasing number of young women are choosing not to marry and have children because it does not seem possible to have an equitable partnership that way. For women millennials and the older Gen Z cohort, the term “Joseon Hell”, a reference to the old dynamics of the imperial age, has come to epitomize their social situation: they feel trapped in a society in which modern performance pressures are combined with premodern hierarchies.

As the reality of men’s and women’s everyday lives diverge, so do their socio-political attitudes. While women, in light of the blatant disadvantage they face, are leaning more in the progressive direction, men continue to cling to their long-standing privileges, the economic underpinning of which has long since vanished. This trend, which has also been documented in other industrialized societies and has played a significant role in the upsurge of right-wing populism — Donald Trump’s MAGA movement in the US is probably the most prominent example of this — is nowhere so pronounced as in the Republic of Korea. It is no coincidence that the openly anti-feminist presidential candidate from the country’s fledgling Reform Party, Lee Jun-seok, who came third with 8.3 percent of the vote, achievedconsiderable success among male voters under 30, securing 37 percent of their vote.

From Factory Girls to Feminism

When it comes to working hours and job precarity, South Koreans outrank many of the other OECD countries, with women the most disadvantaged. On average, women earn almost one third less than men. This places South Korea last among all industrialized nations with regard to the gender wage gap. Women are also disproportionately highly represented in precarious employment situations. Without this invisible labour, the South Korean “economic miracle” would not have been possible — yet women continue to be excluded from the country’s official narrative of success.

This paradox has a lengthy history. Under the authoritarian military regime, which lasted from the 1960s to the 1980s, women were sent into the factories as an “invisible reserve army” that was expected to work for low wages in the garment and electronics industries. The term yeogong (“factory girl”) was commonly used at the time to refer to young women, most of whom were from poor families, who worked under harsh conditions in the electronics factories — often for 12 hours per day, all while earning a wage that was barely enough to survive on.

With the democratization movement of the 1980s, women started to make their voices heard within the context of political struggle — and, not by coincidence, predominantly as workers and students. The feminist movement consequently evolved in tandem with workers’ struggles and civil rights movements.

If South Korea intends to overcome the rapidly growing social tensions caused by gender inequality, policymakers will have to prioritize this issue.

Yet despite the fact that these movements for democracy and women’s rights were able to fight — often with recourse to international conventions — for some important cornerstones of legal equality, the issue of gender inequality is far from resolved. The question of what social foundations form the basis for economic growth continues to be tackled in a manner that ultimately disadvantages women. The consequences of this are that women are chronically overworked, experience feelings of alienation, and tend to resort to individual withdrawal strategies such as living alone and not having children.

Besides women, there are also other vulnerable groups that are impacted by South Korea’s prevailing social conventions and economic conditions, particularly immigrants from Southeast and Central Asia. The majority of them work in sectors that native-born Koreans avoid: in construction, agriculture, and healthcare. Even though they are responsible for maintaining essential components of the social infrastructure, immigrants are still denied recognition and participation.

Another Kind of Politics?

If South Korea intends to overcome the rapidly growing social tensions caused by gender inequality, policymakers will have to prioritize this issue. This presents President Lee with a major challenge. His strategy of pursuing above all else social programmes in the country’s domestic policy and détente in its foreign policy has come up against some invisible walls that he will not be able to dismantle by decree alone. One need only step foot on one of Seoul’s subway trains to understand just how deeply engrained hierarchy and subordination are in the country’s collective conscience — and why any reforms will inevitably encounter barriers that are situated less in parliament than in the fabric of society itself.

Lee’s assertion that “there is no peace too costly” and that it is always “preferable to war” can also be interpreted as an appeal inwards: maintaining the social balance is always a better strategy than constantly struggling for status, recognition, and equality. This means that South Korea’s litmus test will begin not at its border with North Korea, nor in negotiations with Washington and Beijing, but on its streets, in its offices and homes — and on its subway.

During his first one hundred days in office, Lee Jae-myung has certainly laid the groundwork. However, it remains to be seen whether the president will have the courage and support to declare war against the country’s deep-seated social hierarchies.

Translated by Louise Pain and Marty Hiatt for Gegensatz Translation Collective.