South Korea's LGBTQ Milestone Sparks Christian Pushback

Bright neon lights illuminate a lively street in Hongdae, Seoul. (Credit: Cindy Shan)

In Seoul’s streets, Rhee Sooyoung now carefully maintains her long hair, a strategic change from the short style she once preferred. The 25-year-old bisexual woman has learned to modify her appearance and behavior to avoid detection. When she dated her girlfriend, they never held hands in public, knowing their every move would draw unwanted attention.

For Rhee, every public appearance requires thoughtful calculation. Who she’s seen with, how she presents herself – all must be monitored in a society where being queer often means living in shadows.

“I’m afraid of bumping into someone I know, afraid they might think ‘maybe Sooyoung is not heterosexual, maybe that girl next to her is her girlfriend,'” said Rhee. “It was really scary to even have the possibility of being considered as a queer woman.”

Her daily vigilance reflects the profound tension in South Korean society, where Christianity, though practiced by only 20% of the population, wields significant social and political power. This influence was on full display Oct. 27, when hundreds of thousands of Christians gathered in Seoul Plaza to protest “Everyone’s Marriage,” a campaign challenging the ban on same-sex marriage that gained momentum after a July Supreme Court ruling which granted same-sex partners health insurance benefits. This marked the country’s first legal recognition of LGBTQ rights.

The protest’s power was amplified by political support. Seoul Mayor Oh Sehun sent a supportive video message to the event, demonstrating how religious influence shapes policy in a country where President Yoon Suk Yeol’s administration has become known for its broader pushback against gender equality. Even as polls show growing acceptance of LGBTQ rights among younger Koreans – a 2023 Pew Research report found 61% of Koreans under 35 express support for same-sex marriage – the alliance between religious conservatives and political leadership presents a formidable barrier to change.

Christianity’s influence in South Korea dates back to the Korean War era, when church membership surged, and religious organizations positioned themselves as bulwarks against communism. Wondong Lee, a research fellow at Inha University’s Center for International Studies, explained that this historical alignment allowed Christian groups to establish themselves as moral pillars of society.

“By presenting issues like LGBTQ+ rights, reproductive rights, and family policies as moral concerns, they appeal to conservative segments of society, successfully building broader coalitions with other conservative organizations, ” said Lee. This framing has enabled Christian groups in the country to extend their influence beyond their immediate religious base, shaping social norms and policies that persist today.

“I knew that many politicians would partner up with Christian institutions to save up their votes,” said Nam Eunwoo, 25, a former queer activist and recent sociology graduate from Ehwa. “But seeing all the photos of people protesting against LGBTQ people in the center of Seoul City, it was just disturbing.”

However, Joseph Yi, associate professor of political science at Hanyang University, suggested a more nuanced view of Christian-LGBTQ relations in South Korea.

“Gays-as-threat narrative among Christians competes with an outreach narrative that sees gays as needing Christian outreach,” he explained.

These competing narratives led many pastors to avoid the open discussion in churches until events like the recent Supreme Court ruling pushed the issue to the forefront. Unlike in the United States, where LGBTQ+ rights are frequently politicized, Yi noted that in South Korea, the topic is often left out of mainstream political campaigns.

But the impact of Christian influence extends beyond politics and into public spaces. The Seoul Queer Culture Festival, traditionally held at Seoul Plaza at City Hall, was forced to relocate last year.

“Korean government agencies and public institutions make excuses to prevent the LGBTQ+ community from accessing public spaces, which is also influenced by persistent complaints from hate groups,” said Yang Eunseok, the festival’s executive director.

For young queer women navigating this landscape, safe spaces have become increasingly precious. Nam found refuge in Seoul’s Mangwon-dong neighborhood, known for its queer-friendly atmosphere, where small bookstores display Pride flags and regularly host queer community meetups.

But these spaces exist in a country where attempts to pass anti-discrimination legislation have failed multiple times over the past decade. The tension between progress and resistance plays out most painfully within families.

“Even my mom knows I am queer, she is not very open and very supportive about it,” Nam said. “She pretends she did not hear anything, she would just ignore. She acknowledges the fact that I am with my partner, but that’s it.”

The struggle for acceptance becomes even more poignant when South Korean queer individuals experience different realities abroad. During her six-month exchange program in the U.K. last year, Rhee encountered a society where being queer felt markedly different from home. Her English friends would casually ask if she had introduced her girlfriend to her family — a question that never occurred to her.

“I just never thought of that kind of life, that I can introduce my partner to my family, introduce my partner to my coworkers, introduce my partner to other people who doesn’t know me well,” she reflected. “It’s considered to me as such a personal thing.”