[Cover Story ‘Cultural Movement’ #1]
 G_Voice Music Camp Planning Forum Transcript
 : ‘Let’s Do Solidarity, Let’s Date’

   - When, where, and how do minority cultural movements meet one another?

 

 

 

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▲ G_Voice Music Camp Planning Forum (Photo: Gwanghun)

 

As part of the schedule for the April 14 music camp of 'G_Voice', we held the 2018 Music Camp Planning Forum ‘Let’s Do Solidarity, Let’s Date,’ focused on minority cultural movements. G_Voice began as a small chorus group within Chingusai, a Korean gay rights organization, but over 15 years it has grown into a choir of 40 members—building relationships not only through choral performances for sexual minorities but also through connections with a wide range of domestic civil society movements. This forum was created to share the values and outcomes of various cultural movements/activities within Korea’s minority movements and human rights movement circles (including G_Voice), to reflect on the necessity of solidarity, and to seek future outlooks and tasks together.

The Chingusai newsletter team is publishing the transcript of the planning forum below in order to widely share the concerns discussed that day. We extend our deep thanks to the four presenters and to the members of G_Voice for granting permission to publish this transcript. (Editor’s note)

 

Presentation 1 — G_Voice: Outcomes and outlook of G_Voice solidarity activities
Presentation 2 — Women with Disabilities Empathy: How did the LGBTQ human rights movement and the disabled women’s human rights movement come to meet through song?
Presentation 3 — Asian Culture Forum on Human Rights: Migrant rights and community-centered arts movements
Presentation 4 — Queer Culture Festival: How did the Queer Culture Festival end up standing at the very front line of Korea’s human rights movement history?

 

 

Presentation 1 — G_Voice : The current state and outlook of G_Voice solidarity activities

 

More than 100 performances

 

Jaeu Jeon (G_Voice Music Director): I’m Jaeu Jeon, the music director of G_Voice. (Applause)

By last year, G_Voice had performed more than 100 times as a single piece of content. For example, a performance on a stage like <Irregular Fantasy> (directed by Eunyoung Jung, 2016) counted as just one. So if you look at it in reality, we’ve performed far more than that, and our activities keep increasing. And aside from our regular concerts, almost everything else among those is either a collaborative performance or a solidarity performance.

Participation in our regular concerts has also increased a lot. Back in 2006, including staff, we had around 30 people, and about 50 audience members. Now more than 100 people prepare a concert together, and 500–600+ people come to the venue. As for media exposure—when we were first formed in 2003, we appeared at a human rights concert hosted by the Association of Families for Democracy Movement (Min-Ga-Hyeop), so we got covered once then. In 2011, when <Miracle on Jongno>—a film about gay men coming out, made by Chingusai together with Yeonbunhongchima—was released, we were briefly in the media again. In 2013, the year of our 10th anniversary concert, we got media attention because of the incident where we were hit with feces-water at the congratulatory performance for the “ordinary wedding” of Jo Kwang-soo and Kim Seung-hwan. Then what really brought us into the media in earnest was probably from late the year before last into early last year, when the film <Weekends> was released and we were exposed a lot. That’s only counting what appeared on Naver News, so in reality it’s probably more.

It turns out G_Voice’s songs were not made by just one or two people. I thought I made everything myself, (everyone laughs) but there were at least 30 people who participated in writing lyrics, and as many as 14 who participated in composing. If you look at workshop-created songs, there are really a lot. I dug through everything and wrote it all down—if I missed anyone, I’m sorry. (Laughter) I wanted to show that we collectively produce our content. So G_Voice does regular concerts, solidarity concerts, and also produces recordings—we’re recording diligently these days. And we’ve collaborated a lot with artists in film and other arts fields; we’ve done many collaborations with visual arts and music artists as well. Of course, we also drink and hang out. (Laughter)

Now I’ll talk in earnest about solidarity activities. First, I tried to list solidarity performances where we talked about gay/LGBTQ issues inside the LGBTQ+ community, and the gay community specifically. The largest number were, unsurprisingly, culture-related ones—because we’re an arts and culture organization. It looks like we’ve also done queer parades, film events, and book publication events. We once sang as guests at a performance by the non-married women’s chorus A-neun Unni-deul, and we’ve done performances related to anti-hate and HIV/AIDS issues too. In the case of UNICORN, that was an event where vocal teams and music teams within the gay community gathered to do something together. And there were military human rights issues, institutional reform, youth issues, and starting 3–4 years ago we began exchanges with foreign friends as well through events like HAND IN HAND.

 

 

Min-Ga-Hyeop human rights concert, Disabled Women’s School graduation, ‘comfort women’ survivors project, International Day for the Elimination of Racial Discrimination event

 

First of all, in the year G_Voice was founded, as I mentioned earlier, we appeared at the 2003 Min-Ga-Hyeop human rights concert. At the time we shared the stage with Hong Seok-cheon and Harisu. But when we first formed G_Voice, we used to go out and sing at Chingusai events or year-end parties, and we got seriously scolded by members—why do you keep coming out when you’re not good? (Everyone laughs) Then after some time, people started inviting the G_Voice folks to their own events. The beginning of that was when we were invited to the graduation ceremony of the Disabled Women’s School hosted by Women with Disabilities Empathy, who are here with us today. I remember it being around 2010. That became the connection, and when they held protests in Gwanghwamun for abolishing the disability grading system and the family support obligation system, we did solidarity performances several times.

Next, regarding women’s issues: we participated in a project for women survivors of Japanese military sexual slavery (‘comfort women’), and we also did a solidarity performance for a women sexual minorities’ rally. A more recent issue we’ve come to stand in solidarity with is that, thankfully, we were invited to an event for the International Day for the Elimination of Racial Discrimination—so it became an opportunity for us to take more interest in migrant issues and foreign migrant workers, which we had previously paid relatively less attention to. As for labor issues: in 2011, during the Hanjin Heavy Industries situation in Busan, when the union leader Kim Jin-sook held a high-altitude protest, we rode the Hope Bus and did a solidarity performance. That same year, we also performed at ‘Hope Tent: Day 1 of Surrounding the Factory — Warak Christmas,’ held at the Ssangyong Motor reinstatement struggle site in Pyeongtaek.

As for solidarity with religious groups, it turns out we performed for three traditions: Protestantism, Catholicism, and the Jogye Order of Korean Buddhism. (Everyone laughs) Next, prisoner-of-conscience issues: in fact, our first solidarity performance began with prisoner-of-conscience issues, and last year there was another occasion, so we performed at a Gwanghwamun cultural rally related to prisoners of conscience. Also regarding eviction issues: when a noodle shop called Duriban near Hongdae was evicted, many young cultural artists around Hongdae expressed solidarity and performed there, and we also dropped by and performed once. We sang in an open lot, and I remember the conductor conducting while standing on a broken flowerbed as if it were a platform.

 

 

Why do we do solidarity?

 

What I wanted to talk about with you begins now. Why do we do solidarity? What are the desires of G_Voice members who participate in solidarity activities? I went around and asked each person. To feel belonging; to follow because seniors go—those might be the most common. Among them, in the case of our office director, they’re very strong in human rights awareness, so they go with the mindset that they must help solve that issue. Others may go because they want opportunities to be on stage. In any case, there are likely many reasons.

 

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But in the early days, there was some resistance: “I joined because I just like singing with other gay people—why do you keep taking me out to sing about other issues?” There could be various reasons, but the biggest was that with regular concerts, people pay money or invest their time and heart to come see us; but performances on the street or similar places can be seen by an unspecified public who doesn’t know us. So the burden of coming out was, naturally, the biggest. That seems to have been the major issue. Or people might think in their head, “What they’re saying is right; I should support them,” but most cases were probably that they couldn’t follow through to an actual solidarity performance. And maybe some thought, “I’m not even good at singing—should I really stand on that stage?” I hope some people thought that. (Everyone laughs)

Now, that resistance has decreased a lot. I wondered why, and I think most new members now join after doing a lot of studying about G_Voice. Some join after watching the film, or reading media articles, and they prepare themselves: “Ah, if I go there, there might be situations where I have to show my face.” Another reason is that compared to the past, anti-LGBTQ hate has become much more visible, so people feel more rage about these issues: “I can’t take it anymore; I want to speak.” For example, we went to the “ordinary wedding” in 2013 and got hit with feces-water—until then we didn’t know, but after being hit we realized, “Ah, just gathering in the office and singing isn’t enough; I want to tell stories more actively through song.” I think that kind of will might have grown.

Also, at the 2015 IDAHOT event, when we went and sang at the Ssangyong struggle, those people also come and sing to show their support for LGBTQ rights and their opposition to hate. The same is true of Women with Disabilities Empathy and others; and when Asian Culture Forum on Human Rights invites us to their event, it means they also empathize with our issue. So people feel, “Ah, now I can tell who’s on our side and who’s against us.” They said they thought ‘pro–North Korea leftist gay’ was just a ridiculous joke, but maybe it isn’t? (Everyone laughs) Those things reduce the burden and gradually increase interest.

Most importantly, as you see more, you become friends. When your friend is truly hurting and suffering, you can’t pretend not to know. I think that was probably the biggest reason we became more active in solidarity. Now when we ask, “Who wants to go to a solidarity performance?” people raise their hands, right? Or not? (Everyone laughs)

 

 

The dilemma between art and movement

 

Second, I want to share a few concerns G_Voice has—things I’d also like to ask advice on from G_Voice members and people from other organizations here. The first is: how should we draw the boundary between movement and art? Are we an arts group, or a movement group? It would be great to catch both rabbits, but it’s really hard, right? Especially when we stand on solidarity stages, we often go out without being fully prepared to build artistic skill, or without enough practice. At those times, we wonder: is it right to go out like this? Should we wait until we have a song we can truly do well, and then bring that? But organizations don’t invite us according to when we feel ready. So when something really important happens, even if we’re not ready, we have to go anyway. What do we do then? That dilemma exists for us.

So up to now, while it’s not 100% and some think differently, there has been a tendency: even if the singing is a bit less polished, when an important issue arises, we can emphasize the movement aspect a bit more and speak out. Also, G_Voice is already slightly off the path that other amateur choirs take. So we don’t always devote that much time to building artistic skill, (everyone laughs) and instead we spend more time cultivating inner character. (Laughter) Instead, in our concert outcomes, we try hard to include our issues or minority issues as much as possible. And if song doesn’t work, then with dance; if dance doesn’t work, then with our faces; if faces don’t work, then even with tears—(everyone laughs)—we try various ways to show things. I think we’ve taken on a very special form of choir.

This was something we didn’t fully realize, but after making the film <Weekends>, or when comparing ourselves with foreign gay choirs that participated in the Asia HAND IN HAND festival, the position we have is quite unique. Many of them just want to sing inside the closet, and their desire to actively express their issues through song seems somewhat less than ours. They even say they learn a lot from us. So even if we’re not the best singers, maybe we can still have pride—that’s something I think.

But even so, no matter how good the intention is, it might not be delivered artistically. For example, last time at the LGBTQ candlelight cultural rally in Gwanghwamun, we sang a song. We could say the sound system was bad or the backing track was bad, but what happened was the tenors and basses were basically singing different songs. (Everyone laughs) I was so flustered, but luckily the sound system was so poor that people at the back of the rally said they couldn’t hear the song at all. (Laughter) I felt it was a huge relief, but still, it was really embarrassing. If it isn’t being delivered at all, wouldn’t it be better to just go out, greet, and come back in? That kind of thought came up. So that’s one concern we always have.

 

 

The boundary between me and G_Voice, and the depth and breadth of solidarity

 

The second concern is: where is the boundary between me and G_Voice? Singing well and performing well matters, but for some people in the gay community, G_Voice is their first debut stage. We also have many very young members. People grow a lot personally through music and life within the group. There is musical growth, but also personal growth through preparing performances together—bumping, arguing, fighting. So for those who’ve been active a long time, they sometimes worry, “Am I G_Voice? Is G_Voice me?” and that can cause huge stress. They struggle with, “I love G_Voice this much—why doesn’t that person love it the same way?” So maybe it has the character of a community like a church.

And the organizational power affects each individual strongly. Put positively, it seems to give a strong sense of belonging, stability, and calm. People say their expression has gotten brighter since coming to G_Voice; that they used to not sleep but now they sleep well—though I’m not sure whether it’s because they drink. (Laughter) And in some cases, someone had been strictly separating their “straight world” life and their “gay world” life, but coming to G_Voice breaks all that. They can feel confused, then go a step further, grow, and find their own ways of living. I wanted to talk about those things together.

Lastly, G_Voice started as a hobby of gay people gathering to sing, but it has now become an organization that cannot be defined only by the desires of each member. We give G_Voice our time and our voices, and G_Voice gives us not only personal growth in life but also the idea that beyond life as a gay person, there is another life—that you can grow more and expand the boundaries of your life. I think that’s a very important and precious aspect. The problem is that it always shows something one step ahead of our capacity, so it’s incredibly hard to chase. So I think overcoming that gap might be our task.

So the spaces where G_Voice does solidarity are widening, but are we going as deep as we go wide? Are we just lending our name? That’s a worry we have. Also, we’re always passive: we go when invited. When an issue arises, why can’t we be the ones to go first? When there’s an issue we care about, or another minority issue, why can’t we propose first? I think we carry those questions. So I hope that by hearing from other speakers today, these concerns can deepen even a little. Thank you. (Applause)

 

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▲ G_Voice’s first solidarity performance, the 15th Min-Ga-Hyeop Human Rights Concert (2003.12.18)

 

Audience Discussion

 

Seok (G_Voice head, moderator): Yes—Music Director Jaeu Jeon has checked in, through the presentation, on the concerns G_Voice carries while doing movement and activities. Those who were dozing off, please wake up. (Laughter) If you have questions about the presentation, or opinions and thoughts about doing activities, please share.

 

Kano (G_Voice member): I want to ask about solidarity. Just 1–2 years ago, we often participated in a solidarity performance and then went straight home when it ended—so it was basically an invited gig that’s honestly embarrassing to call “solidarity.” Regarding what you said about the problem of us going passively when an invitation comes in, I think that although we’re kind of a human rights group, we didn’t really think much about other human rights issues.

So I think it’s right that there should be ongoing solidarity activity about the issue, and then when performance talk comes up we join in—that seems right. But for me too, being uninterested in everyday life and then only showing up when the season comes, in the end, looks not so good. So what direction should we take going forward? If there are educational events in normal times, should we go, do solidarity, and then naturally participate when someone says, “Please perform once”? Or should we respond passively as we do now when invitations come? But I don’t think we can do everything. Even while doing G_Voice activities or Chingusai activities, it’s hard to keep steady solidarity with other organizations.

 

Jaeu Jeon: Rather than a question, you raised a very important point, and I think it’s a concern we should talk about together. I said something similar earlier. Because of points like what you raised, in the past we didn’t often create a space like this within music camp—but we created this space because of that. In everyday life too, let’s prepare ourselves mentally and take interest. And I think the only way we can join in as “G_Voice” is through song. But G_Voice keeps pointing us toward life’s signposts; it keeps poking at life beyond “gay,” making our hearts uncomfortable. At those times, I think changes in one’s personal life also matter. And if it’s hard to join through song when an issue comes up, there could be other ways: issuing a statement, visiting a sit-in site to express support, and so on.

 

Seok: Then, do we have someone who wants to share an opinion or another question?

 

Jonggeol (G_Voice member): Maybe because I personally received a lot of invitations for solidarity performances or invited gigs, and because I’ve thought a lot about invited performances, I often worry: if I bring this to G_Voice, will G_Voice accept it or not? One case that left me personally regretful was Samsung Banolim—because of cases where semiconductor workers died from industrial accidents, they’ve been protesting for 3–4 years. In one situation they invited us, but we were in the middle of regular concert rehearsals and couldn’t do external performances, so we politely declined. But it kept staying with me.

Recently there was also the hunger strike protest by laid-off Ssangyong Motor workers. We did solidarity in the past, but there was insufficient “after-service” after that—we couldn’t keep up. We visited at moments, but there were times when we couldn’t go first again. A movement doesn’t end in one shot; it keeps going. So I did feel regret about those things.

And in one way, I think this was tied to certain goals or desires I had for G_Voice, as the Chingusai office director or as an individual. But I think those goals and desires differ for each person. Some might have a stronger desire for community than for performances; others might have goals centered on Sunday rehearsal. I’ve come to understand that difference. But I also have personal desire.

For me, the kind of performance I want is like what the New York Gay Men’s Chorus did when the issue itself was highlighted: performing live on a morning broadcast. The issue was commemorating victims of the Orlando tragedy on a show like Good Morning America. The performance quality was high and the meaning was so good. I think maybe G_Voice should become able to prepare something like that. That’s my personal concern—and for G_Voice as a whole to take it up, I think we still need time and discussion. Because each person’s goal for G_Voice is so different, we need sufficient discussion about how to achieve things—sharing concerns together. Within that time, I’ll keep going steadily. I’ve been active for 14–15 years now, so maybe at 20 or 30 years, we can sing on a national morning broadcast like ‘Morning Madang.’ So I think strategies for visibility through broadcasts were one goal for G_Voice—but I wonder how much that has been discussed and shared.

 

Jaeu Jeon: Let me add one thing: today too, schedules overlapped. There’s the Sewol Ferry April 16 rally today, and there’s a citizens’ choir festival where civic choirs similar in character to G_Voice do a small performance in front of Gwanghwamun. We were invited too, but because we’re here at music camp to study more and strengthen community consciousness, we couldn’t go. I think both are important. And since today’s topic is solidarity, it’s okay to speak even more strongly about solidarity.

 

Seok: As you said, focusing more on how we do solidarity—given the time, it’d be good if just one more person shares.

 

Aquarius (G_Voice member): What I’m going to say is about an experience that made me personally uncomfortable. It wasn’t within the group. I’m seeing a partner now; he used to work in a metals-related industry. He knew I was in G_Voice, and we talked about solidarity activities. I hadn’t done solidarity performances with the metalworkers’ union, but I had been doing solidarity without fully knowing the context, and because I went to solidarity performances often, I assumed, vaguely, that it must be “good solidarity.” But my partner didn’t have such a positive view of that solidarity. Because there are a lot of issues around the metalworkers’ union—people talk about “elite unions,” and so on—he talked about what he experienced in the field, and said he wasn’t sure whether it was right to do solidarity with them.

It hurt, and my thoughts got complicated. I also thought about how much I had actually been thinking about these issues. Even if I look things up alone, it wouldn’t be just me in the group who has these concerns. But those contexts aren’t shared by all members. So I thought: it’s important to do a lot of solidarity, but if members don’t understand the movement’s context and the context of our participation, it might not have that much meaning. So depth matters, but it also matters how much members understand the context of movements and solidarity.

 

Jaeu Jeon: I agree. It feels like we’re all saying similar things: will we go knowing things only superficially, or will we have more depth? How much depth is appropriate? Those questions are here. Honestly, I think the gay community is similar too. It’s diverse—very different people. Even among those in the community who have certain ideas, the ones who like singing, and among them, the pretty ones join G_Voice—(everyone laughs)—and in the community too, there are people with no interest in human rights awareness at all, and people who vote for Park Geun-hye or Lee Myung-bak. And even then, we can’t dare say that person is a bad person. Because there are so many different people, I think we can decide after holding many concerns and moving forward.

 

Seok: Yes. Overall, it seems many members are thinking, when we do solidarity, what kind of mindset we should have. Keeping those concerns, we’ll move to the next presentation. Ms. Jinhee Lee from Women with Disabilities Empathy will present under the title “Doing Art with Strangers: A Practice Room That Fails, Rehearsals for Living Life, Struggles That Change the World.”

 

 

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Presentation 2 — Women with Disabilities Empathy : A practice room that fails, rehearsals for living life, struggles that change the world

 

 

2003 founding of Dancing Waist; 2011 founding of Seven-Colored Rainbow

 

Jinhee Lee (Women with Disabilities Empathy, Secretary-General): Hello. I’m Jinhee Lee from Women with Disabilities Empathy. While Director Jeon was presenting, I was surprised because his “character” felt similar to what we do in Dancing Waist. (Everyone laughs) It’s like continuing to say self-contradictory things. “We don’t do this for artistic perfection, but still, isn’t this too much?” But also, “We must have movement-ness, so artistic perfection isn’t that important.” But also, “Still, this should be improved.” (Everyone laughs) It’s like a tightrope walk—should we call it a minority cultural movement? Like two sides of a coin that can flip easily—those feelings are what I wanted to share first.

I came once in 2011, to music camp, and now I’m here again after seven years. The concerns you had then and the concerns you have now feel quite different in tone. Probably stories about Dancing Waist or Seven-Colored Rainbow have also changed a lot since then. Dancing Waist was founded in 2003, the year G_Voice was founded, and Seven-Colored Rainbow was founded in 2011.

What I prepared today is “How did the LGBTQ movement and disabled women’s cultural movement meet?”—but rather than saying something grand, I think we can talk about how similar the textures of what we do are to the textures of what G_Voice does—how similar the sites, the scenes, the trajectories of concerns are.

 

 

The gaze on stage and the gaze in everyday discrimination are similar

 

I mainly brought examples from Dancing Waist and Rainbow. After a Dancing Waist performance, the most common things we hear are like: “You worked hard,” “It was moving,” and suddenly, “I love you,” from someone you just met. (Everyone laughs) It’s an expression of warmth. But in fact, just as in migrant movements people say “You seem Korean,” “Your Korean is so good,” thinking it’s encouragement though it’s another face of discrimination, we become awkward about what expression to make each time we hear those things. And while performing, we wonder whether we are being seen not as individual beings, but only through the identity of a minority group—“disabled women”—and whether our other facets are not seen. It’s not that we hate that identity. It’s not that identity and I are separate. But the gaze directed only at the group caused considerable discomfort.

Those concerns we experience on stage aren’t merely small mistakes by “well-meaning” people. As we do disabled women’s movement, we think: why are people with bodily differences treated as abnormal in society? Chasing the reasons, we find that society labels some people “normal” and others “abnormal,” and if you refuse to chase an intangible standard stage called “the norm,” you end up pushed outside the norm and outside the system, becoming someone discriminated against. So we often felt that the sensation and gaze we face on stage are identical to what we feel when we meet people who blame us, pity us, or don’t understand us when we do anti-discrimination movement.

So when people see our cultural arts performances, some say: “Disabled people must do it because they have nowhere to go, because they have a lot of time from morning to night,” or if there’s a “genius” artist, they say: “Disabled people are originally good at concentrating.” (Everyone laughs) A funny analysis. So we get evaluated only as idle people, or as “geniuses” because of disability-related immersion—so terms like “healing” and “therapy” are often used to describe disabled people’s art.

But when I look at the reactions people have when we stand in the street, and when we stand on stage, and at the reactions of people who oppose us or don’t know us well, I realized: standing on stage is highly political. Revealing my experience, my body, my story requires immense courage and decision. It’s a challenging act that confronts society’s “normal” norms. So even though we don’t say every day with headbands and flags, “This is political!”, the moments where we smile and sing, smile and move our bodies, fight, redden our faces, and conflict—those processes themselves are desperate moments of living our way within sharp social conditions.

 

 

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From being “seen” to living as a subject who “shows”

 

Especially for disabled women, there’s often an expectation that we will be “inspiring,” that we will “move” people. So within discrimination, we are not subjects who show—we are those who are seen, evaluated. We think we aren’t given conditions to speak as ourselves. So “doing art” for people who live exposed to the gaze that hates, discriminates, or pities them—living with a body that is “seen” and continuously reduced to a minority identity—extends from everyday life to the practice room and to the moment on stage. Fundamentally, I think that as people doing cultural movement, the decisive motivation is rejecting being a “seen” being and choosing the life of a subject who “shows.”

Of course, not everyone says this in words—our performers don’t either. But I want to talk later about how we got hints that we are thinking this way. So “doing art”—singing, acting—is a process of building a life as a subject, building a life we want to live as ourselves.

 

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This is a performance scene from Dancing Waist. I think it’s very different from the kind of scenes you see on TV programs like <Unbelievable Story> or <Surprise>, or documentaries that frequently feature disabled people. So we focus on that difference in our artistic activities and movements. Dancing Waist is mostly women with physical disabilities, and since two years ago women with developmental disabilities have also joined. And then we face concerns: when women with physical disabilities and women with developmental disabilities communicate, the beginning of difficulty is communication itself—between a woman with physical disability who has a speech impairment, and a woman with intellectual disability.

I think G_Voice might be similar. From the outside, people just see us as one lump. But if you look inside, each person is so different—orientations, desires, all very different. So the dynamic created by arguing, debating, conflicting inside—that force is huge. We inevitably become stronger. In this process, there were times when women with developmental disabilities challenged themselves to understand what women with physical disabilities and severe speech impairments were saying; and women with physical disabilities don’t automatically understand the characteristics of developmental disabilities—disabled people don’t all understand each other. After going through those times, we became sturdier. Outside, people think we are all the same, but as you listen, you see how we discover each other’s differences and grow.

So Dancing Waist is now 15 years old. We reached an agreement: “We do disabled women’s cultural movement.” The decisive reason we reached that agreement is that for five years, we didn’t recruit new performers. But the timing was also funny: even if we recruit, people don’t come. (Everyone laughs) So we thought, “Let’s do well with the people we have,” and six performers stayed. Through that, discussions deepened. Our recent concerns are: what is technical training, and what is artistic completeness and achievement?

We say: rejecting the images society expects from the stage itself, and showing movement that reveals disability and rights—that act of showing itself is resistance and a cry for human rights. And next: we think the standard of artistic achievement for us is very different from the point of non-disabled people’s art. For example, if a non-disabled actor aims for good vocalization and clear pronunciation, the artistic achievement for a disabled performer is not practicing pronunciation to “overcome” a severe speech impairment; it is finding what themes harmonize with the characteristics of that speech impairment—that is our artistic achievement. We are in the process of agreeing and debating through such content.

 

 

Minorities also have the right to fail, and the right to hold agency over life

 

Anyway, as you can hear, we also have many complicated and noisy things internally. Even so, why didn’t we collapse? I want to talk about that. I think we didn’t collapse because failure is guaranteed in the practice room. This is what our performers said. One performer lived in an institution for a long time, and she said: when teachers or friends from the institution meet her now, they say, “You’ve become smarter than before,” “You speak well now.” That’s funny in itself, (everyone laughs) but then how did they see her back then? That’s uncomfortable. (Laughter) While saying that, she also feels she’s changed. Another performer says: at Empathy, they tell you to worry, think, debate, share opinions—she says she’s tired, “Why do we have to do movement? I came here to be the main character. Why do you keep making me uncomfortable? I’ll do this once and never again.” But strangely, her body keeps coming here. (Everyone laughs) “I’m sleepy to death from meds, but I’m here again.” (Laughter) This pull.

So I think it’s not that disabled women come because they have nothing to do; it is a political decision to break from a past life. Times when survival required being a “good disabled woman” who listened well to staff; times when the body might have been easier but one had to be non-subject to receive assistance; times when if you opened your eyes wide and said you didn’t want something, no one would kindly care for you—maybe the body was easier then, but she declares she doesn’t want those times to return. The practice space becomes that declaration.

Why do I call it a “practice room that fails”? If disabled people fail, people say, “That’s how disabled people are,” right? I think failure is not permitted for social minorities. Because people try to find the cause of failure in that minority status: because you’re disabled, because you’re a migrant, because you’re LGBTQ, because you’re a woman. That reduction happens. So you must be extra careful to not fail, under pressure to look “normal.” Disabled women too. But in this practice room, I think many practices of living as oneself are possible. So we can’t help but fight a lot. So I think our practice room is moving toward an invisible completion. And that invisible completion is practice in holding agency on the stage. It’s also a process where people with little experience of being exposed in public, or for whom exposure felt threatening, create a public stage together.

One performer said: “Outside the stage, I’ve never once done things the way I planned; but inside the stage, with a script made from my story, I can decide the beginning and end. I’m practicing a life with agency on the stage.” Those experiences are so important. When I first met G_Voice, Dancing Waist, and Rainbow, I think the feeling on stage—the one moment of being on stage—we don’t remember it because we wanted to look pretty. I think we can’t forget the equal sense we felt, the sense we made with the people who came to see us. And when Rainbow, Dancing Waist, and G_Voice meet, I feel we sense, without words, that they also know that.

 

 

People who didn’t speak down on first meeting

 

We met G_Voice through Dancing Waist and the Disabled Women’s School, and then met in earnest through Rainbow. It’s not that Rainbow was perfectly prepared with the awareness “we must not discriminate against sexual minorities,” and then met G_Voice; in fact, Rainbow members were all different too. But meeting G_Voice, I think they did long preparation to be together. Starting about four years ago, they began by attending each other’s performances, and last year Director Jeon and the conductor came and did a workshop together. Through that workshop, I think we had time to learn each other’s minority status.

The process of meeting to make something, and fighting and conflicting while making something—those are challenges to society, and building such a community can be an important issue in each person’s life. It can be time to discover one’s own minority status. And solidarity, I think, is discovering and learning about another person’s minority status. It’s not that Rainbow started meeting with a perfectly correct awareness of “don’t discriminate against sexual minorities”; rather, through meeting G_Voice, they came to know them as friends—as relationships, as beings with faces. We do lots of education and workshops saying “this is what discrimination against sexual minorities is,” but that can remain an abstract sense.

But when Seven-Colored Rainbow met G_Voice, what surprised them was: first, G_Voice members did not speak down; they were kind and respectful. Wherever they go, people always speak down; people are always “teachers.” But women with intellectual disabilities are always placed in relationships where they are not friends but “a woman with intellectual disability” and “the teacher guiding her.” G_Voice—30 people at once—formed a completely different relationship over about three weeks. So Rainbow members felt strongly: “The way they treat and look at us is very human-rights-oriented; there is respect.” So they probably contact you often—please don’t misunderstand. (Everyone laughs) There’s no other meaning. (Everyone laughs) You all know. So please don’t misunderstand; think of it as an echo of equal treatment. (Laughter)

They were the first people we met who didn’t give feedback like “I love you” right after a performance, but gave different feedback. About solidarity—should we study a lot before going out, prepare before going out, when are we prepared—these are concerns we also have internally. But at some point, as you go out, bodily experiences you can’t obtain through learning become important. And the feeling of fighting together. Especially the stage at the 20th anniversary ceremony of Women with Disabilities Empathy this February felt even more special. There were several incidents a few days before the stage, right? Those incidents made the reasons for solidarity clearer.

So Rainbow members say things like: “G_Voice should take care of their throats.” If you write that, misunderstandings can happen. (Everyone laughs) It’s not that your voices are bad; it’s health concern, (laughter) because they worry your condition might worsen. And they also say: “G_Voice practices a lot—more than we thought—more than us. Let’s learn through G_Voice.” (Laughter) They didn’t know that when alone.

 

 

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The sense of a community that conflicts yet is safe

 

How did we come to do solidarity? I think it was fateful. And through actually meeting, we experienced the smiles of respect, the KakaoTalk messages, the photos—remembering those. So solidarity wasn’t completed; in a way, solidarity between Rainbow and G_Voice may just now be beginning in earnest. They say they want to make songs together, go to rallies together.

There will be countless conflicts in this process. That conflict, paradoxically, seems like what keeps us safe—keeps our community safe. This is something one Rainbow member said: “People say women with intellectual disabilities are stupid and can’t remember well, but sad things never leave your head forever. Aren’t non-disabled people the same?” They asked me that. So I think Rainbow and G_Voice came to know a “community that can share any memory, that conflicts yet is safe.” And because they knew that, they could meet. That was too long—sorry. (Applause)

 

Seok: It feels like G_Voice and Seven-Colored Rainbow are very similar. Listening earlier, I kept thinking, “This is a G_Voice story.” (Laughter) There were many such points. Then if you have questions or things you want to share about what was said, we’d be grateful.

 

Audience Discussion

 

Jaeu: I’ll ask one easy question. I really love Seven-Colored Rainbow performances, but I also find Dancing Waist performances so fun. Watching Dancing Waist made me realize how much I had lived with only one set of values—how there can be a different perspective in viewing art. I’m curious about how you write the script. Who intervenes to what extent, what stories you use, how much time you take, things like that.

 

Jinhee Lee: It differs by work. Usually something created through workshops takes a few months. We do “scene-making”: someone tells a life story around a theme, and others do improvisational theater with that person as the protagonist. Then an activist in charge or a playwright facilitating the workshop stenographically records everything. From that, we find key scenes; we find lines from what performers said in improvisation. Our playwright has been with Dancing Waist from the beginning and is quite famous in theater circles. But in our work, they say they can’t do anything unless Dancing Waist gives the “source”—the performers continuously speak, move, and talk, and we create from that. So we do workshops for months. Recently it’s gotten a bit faster. Sometimes a disabled woman director writes a first draft, and then the playwright makes it more dramatically fun.

 

Baro (G_Voice member): Hello. I joined G_Voice not long ago, and this is also new to me, but if there are performances similar to G_Voice’s regular concerts, please tell me where they are.

 

Jinhee Lee: I’ll promote. This year we’ll have two performances at the Daehangno Eum Center. In July, we’ll do <Complaint Overload Radio>, and this time we’re preparing a one-woman play by a disabled woman performer. That will likely be in November. Please come watch then.

 

Baro: Can I find it on your website or somewhere?

 

Jinhee Lee: Yes—seems like you haven’t visited our website. (Everyone laughs) Sorry— I always say what’s in my heart. (Everyone laughs)

 

Jaeu Jeon: Jinhee, do you appear too?

 

Jinhee Lee: If we don’t have enough performers, I go on stage. I usually play non-disabled roles—bad non-disabled roles—(everyone laughs)—unequal social worker roles, that kind of thing. Please come watch. (Laughter)

 

Seok: Then we’ll take one last question.

 

Ssagae (G_Voice member): When performing with Rainbow, someone left a strong impression. They said they used to go to church, but don’t anymore. A pastor was preaching and made a lot of hateful remarks about sexual minorities, homosexuals, and they were so angry they ran out, and after that they stopped going. I remember that so strongly. Even though we also try to keep interest beyond our own identity, I realized they also make that effort in everyday life—they do that kind of education. That thought stayed with me.

 

Jinhee Lee: Yes—we do workshops and programs a lot, and we try to talk a lot. Activists work every day, so we naturally have more information and more time to think, but members have relatively less time. At Empathy, we believe what drives the movement is members’ opinions and voices, so we try to create lots of time to talk.

 

And that person actually changed churches. Along with discriminatory remarks about sexual minorities, the pastor also said things like “don’t vote for that,” “vote for the Christian party,” even the year before last. But because the person’s mother was a deacon at that church, they couldn’t quit quickly, so it was very hard. Still, they eventually broke away. And they moved to Seomdol Hyanglin Church. When they moved, they wrote this on the first offering envelope: “Lord, I attended OO Church, but OO Church discriminates against human rights and discriminates against sexual minorities, so I came to attend Seomdol Hyanglin Church. Still, God, please protect me.” (Applause)

 

Seok: That’s so moving. Hearing about Dancing Waist and Rainbow, you may have felt points of resonance, and also thoughts like what solidarity we’ve done and what solidarity we want. Holding those thoughts, we should now think about what we do going forward. Let’s take a short break and continue with the next presentation. (10-minute break)

 

 

 

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Asian Culture Forum on Human Rights : Dreaming of a village where ‘everyone enjoys’ while respecting differences

 

Migrants’ right to enjoy culture

 

Jungeun Lee (Asian Culture Forum on Human Rights): Hello. I’m Jungeun Lee, working at Asian Culture Forum on Human Rights. We’re based in Dodang-dong, Bucheon. We are a civic organization doing migrant rights movement, and our organization name includes the word “culture.” When we talk about migrants’ rights, we talk about universal human rights. Usually when people hear “migrant,” they first think of migrant workers—and they’re depicted as people who do nothing but work endlessly regardless of weekends or holidays. But among the rights humans should enjoy is the right to enjoy culture in everyday life. There’s prejudice against that.

So the name ‘Asian Culture Forum on Human Rights’ reflects the meaning that migrants’ cultural rights—being respected for their own culture and rightfully enjoying it, as well as their rights as residents/citizens—are important. On the other hand, we also create points of contact mediated by “culture and arts” so that migrants and long-term local residents can communicate. But we’re not a place that professionally does arts activities, so I wondered whether it’s appropriate for me to present here. I feel a lot of pressure, but I’ll share our community experiences in a comfortable way.

Before that, on March 18, G_Voice stood in solidarity with the ‘2018 Joint Action for the International Day for the Elimination of Racial Discrimination.’ You supported us for two consecutive years and gave a wonderful performance, and I was so grateful—I think I should start with thanks. (Applause)

When we evaluated this year’s event, we heard about meaningful reactions from migrant communities. Among those who came to the rally for the first time, many people apparently watched the G_Voice choir performance with intense focus. Seeing solidarity with migrants’ human rights issues through performance—somehow they seemed to feel emotions beyond gratitude; the first meeting itself… I’m so nervous right now—my face is turning red. (Everyone laughs)

 

 

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Migrants and long-term residents in the local community

 

Asian Culture Forum on Human Rights has an organizing direction like what’s summarized above. Our office is in Dodang-dong, Bucheon, which is an old downtown area. Because there are many small-scale businesses, the proportion of migrant workers living nearby is high—about 18%. So if you walk around the area, you can easily meet migrants. Not only migrant workers, but also migrants who formed families through marriage, refugees, and their second-generation children live here. A traditional market sits at the center and the village forms around it. In this market, you can see restaurants where you can taste foods from various countries and grocery shops selling diverse ingredients. Our office is inside the market.

Even though migrants and long-term residents coexist in this space, there is almost no direct meeting as neighbors. People pass each other on the street, on the bus—meeting someone with different skin color and appearance—but without real interaction. Even in the residential neighborhood, it was similar. We began thinking: when people with different cultures live together, how do we create points of contact?

(Looking at the PPT screen) In survey results about images commonly associated with migrants, it was hard to find positive ones. In findings from investigations on hate speech toward migrants, you see expressions like: “dirty,” “noisy,” “smelly,” “a group that comes to someone else’s country and steals jobs,” “uncivilized,” “ignorant,” “lazy but money-hungry,” “potential terrorists”—especially used to refer to Muslims—and “pitiful people sold here to have children,” used toward marriage migrant women.

As with hate speech toward sexual minorities, when there is no direct exchange or communication and understanding is lacking, vague stereotypes and prejudices take hold. Media representation also contributes a lot. If a migrant-related crime occurs once, reporting continues day after day, and “migrant group = crime” becomes imprinted.

“Dirty, noisy, smelly” are unrelated to reality; they’re “vibes.” Why do people feel that way? It’s discrimination based on skin color. Even among migrants, people feel more distance from those with darker skin than those with lighter skin. There is a case: in the same situation, someone speaks English and asks for directions, but responses differ—people are more unfriendly or brush off a darker-skinned person, while they kindly guide a lighter-skinned person. Korean society is very insensitive to skin color and racial discrimination.

Because stereotypes and prejudice are vague yet strong, the gaze toward migrants becomes deeply hateful. So how can people develop openness toward those with different skin color, race, and country of origin? Research results show that by age, adolescents’ acceptance was higher than adults’, and those with experience in multicultural education or activities had relatively higher multicultural acceptance.

We can also find that in our area. In an old downtown area where many migrants live, even market merchants often treat migrant customers with discriminatory attitudes—reacting defensively, and so on. As we created diverse chances to meet, people naturally developed interest in other cultures. For merchants, there began to be recognition that speaking down casually in an unfamiliar relationship is wrong.

 

 

What multiculturalism includes: human rights, cultural diversity, and minority sovereignty

 

We use the word “multicultural” a lot these days. But “multicultural” isn’t just about nationality, race, or skin color—it refers to a society where diverse cultural differences are respected: region, gender, sexual orientation, religion, education, academic background, occupation, and more. In Korea, as the phrase “multicultural family” was created, “multicultural” became associated first with marriage migrant women and marriage itself, and there is a tendency to treat them as beings who “need help” unconditionally.

But what multiculturalism must include is: human rights—the most universal human rights; cultural diversity—recognizing and respecting difference; and beyond universal rights, emphasizing ‘minority sovereignty’—especially for those who are excluded and marginalized. We began thinking about how to practice that in the local community. I’ll talk about that process and its outcomes.

As I said earlier, acceptance increases through meeting—so we have to keep creating points of contact. In the local community, it takes time to communicate and exchange, and to understand difference through experiences of meeting. In situations where people used to feel awkward and keep distance when encountering migrants with different skin color, through various chances they begin to recognize the person’s existence, and start to think: how can we coexist as neighbors living together?

The goals of mediating local cultural and arts activities are as follows. First, for migrants, it strengthens identity regarding their own culture. It starts from the idea that “Because you came to Korea, you must learn and enjoy only Korean culture” is wrong. Second, for long-term residents, it aims at ‘interculturality’—understanding and respecting other cultures through exchange. Through this, the local community aims for social integration as a space where migrants and long-term residents live together. The biggest purpose is to secure equal rights as residents living in the area.

Now I’ll focus more on actual cases. We began holding a village festival. Since 2012, once a year, under the name “Gangnam Market Village Festival.” In our second year, we made a campaign poster printed on the back. It says: “Even if our hometowns differ, if we live here, we are Bucheon residents.” The people on the poster are all migrant and long-term resident merchants in the market. In speech bubbles above their heads are the names of their hometowns. In Korea, there isn’t really a concept of “citizenship” in everyday life; rights differ depending on whether you have nationality or not. But what we mean is: if you live here together, as residents, rights should be equal.

 

 

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Multiculturalism is a goal for both migrants and long-term residents

 

To convey that it’s a festival where all residents gather and enjoy together, the faces featured on the poster change every year. So people say, “Oh, that person was on it this year,” “Should I be on it next year?” The images show market merchants and residents of all ages mixing warmly. The origin of the name “Gangnam Market” is unclear. (Everyone laughs) For our interpretation, we set that year’s theme as “The swallow that brought a gourd seed.” In the folktale Heungbu and Nolbu, the gourd seed a swallow brings becomes the source of prosperity for Heungbu’s family. We thought of migrants—beings who moved from their home countries—as “swallows.” The phrase “the swallow that brought a gourd seed” suggests that as migrants move with their own purposes, their being and cultural uniqueness carried from their countries are conveyed 그대로. We compared that diverse culture to a “gourd seed.” We should be grateful for that existence—because it enriches us. That’s the meaning we put in.

During the festival, both participants and organizers include both migrants and long-term residents. Migrants share their home cultures by making food at booths, doing games, and so on. As mentioned earlier, many children and adolescents with migrant backgrounds live here too, and they staged a scene from Heungbu and Nolbu as a yard play. On that day, the market becomes a site where people show off their talents and exchange with residents. It’s a small stage laid on mats in the neighborhood, but through these cultural and arts activities, young people meet others, communicate, and gain an opportunity to present themselves confidently as subjects.

We also did a parade. Because of the area’s characteristics, if you come here you can see many cultures at a glance. As you can see in the photos, the festival now looks joyful, but the beginning was quite harsh. Especially market merchants’ reactions were cold. Because they misunderstood a “multicultural festival” as “a festival only for migrants,” many said, “It doesn’t concern us,” “Why must you do this in the market?” and shook their heads. Since we used spaces all around the market, we needed cooperation in advance, but even when merchant association officers tried to persuade them, many were stubborn. But as one year, two years of experience accumulated, thinking began to change. “Multiculturalism isn’t only thinking about migrants; we must live together,” “Our village has multicultural elements, so we have this characteristic; we should use it well.” People began to align. Market merchants then led the parade holding signs that said “Hello” in various languages—symbolizing welcoming the festival.

 

 

People standing on stage together

 

The merchant association even organized an “apron ensemble.” They said they wanted to do something too, but because they had to practice by carving out business hours, it would be hard to learn something grand; since they like singing, they wanted to have fun singing—so they made an apron ensemble and performed. And in separate spaces prepared by the organization, people met other cultures through films. A migrant worker band was also organized. I mentioned cultural rights at the beginning. Among Myanmar and Cambodian migrant workers, some used to play guitar in their home countries. But here they were too busy working and had stopped. They said they wanted to play together again, and a good opportunity came; we collaborated with artists to form a band, and they performed at a party at the end of last year. They sang Korean songs and Myanmar songs.

There are days we run talk programs where people speak about life in this small space, and we also cook and eat neighboring countries’ food together. Food makes meeting easier. So we do these activities often. We recreated Vietnam’s beer street locally—an event called “Didi Party,” where we made various neighboring-country foods and sold them at low prices while drinking beer outdoors. And adolescents also did a musical. There were several reasons that led to doing a musical, and one of them is G_Voice. (Laughter) Two years ago I watched the film <Weekends>, and I was deeply moved by seeing, in condensed form, the activities of G_Voice that I had only heard about. I thought: if we connect that experience—embedding one’s own voice, containing one’s own story, forming a community, and building solidarity—to migrants I meet and to adolescents with migrant backgrounds, perhaps we could do it in our own way.

Since we can’t do professional cultural arts activities ourselves, collaboration with artists was necessary. About half of these friends have migrant backgrounds; the other half are children of long-term residents. Among them, maybe about three sing really well and love it? (Everyone laughs) So the pitch was often off, (laughter) and although they loved dancing and singing, early on they lacked motivation for why they “had to” do a musical, and the burden was huge because it was their first attempt. The plot of the musical was about the hardships and stress that children of multicultural families experience—and it was based on their real experiences. As middle and high schoolers now, they created the story by recalling elementary school days. There were many twists and turns during rehearsals, and even up to the dress rehearsal we worried: can they really go on stage? But the kids were truly made for the stage. That was what we trusted. Once on stage, they receive focus, and they transform as if by magic—shining, bright, releasing their talents and abilities fully. That day was like that. The venue was a small theater, but it was packed, which made them even more excited. They adapted the work <Dog Poop> by author Kwon Jeong-saeng: Dog Poop sits in the playground listening to children’s worries; the kids also listen to one another’s conflicts and build solidarity; at the end, Dog Poop melts its body to bloom a dandelion; everyone looks at the flower and closes the show with their hopes. Once again, we thank G_Voice for giving us courage. (Applause)

Adolescents with migrant backgrounds sometimes have migration experiences themselves, but often they have migrant backgrounds through their parents. As they grow, they experience identity conflicts. We expect that in migrant rights movements, second-generation movements will become stronger. First-generation migrants already struggled just to adapt to Korean society. But these youth were born and raised here, educated and grown under conditions equal to long-term residents, so they have resources. And the moment they recognize their identity, they can become beings who lead their own movement. We don’t “inject” that into them, but we think that simply being able to stand proudly through such experiences is already something great. When you look at the youth on stage, each one is smiling brightly. We’re preparing again this year, but they’ve already forgotten how excited they were on stage and at the start of this year they complained, “Do we have to do that again?” saying they hate it. (Everyone laughs) Still, if they practice hard and go on stage, I think the same scene will be produced again. We perform at the end of October, and if you have time, I’d like to invite you—it’s far, but I hope you’ll come. (Applause)

Just as G_Voice has stood in solidarity with us for the International Day for the Elimination of Racial Discrimination, solidarity among minority movements is being emphasized more and more. For us, this isn’t just about gratitude for inviting you and having you come; it also became an opportunity to think about how the migrant rights movement can stand in solidarity with the direction the LGBTQ movement—and G_Voice—will go. So I hope we all hold hands and go with strength along the road we must go. Thank you. (Applause)

 

 

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▲ G_Voice Music Camp Planning Forum (Photo: Gwanghun)

 

Audience Discussion

 

Seok: Thank you. I really want to go to the events you mentioned. If anyone has questions related to what was shared, please ask.

 

Kano: I enjoyed it, and I’m curious: when I ride the bus past Hyehwa, I often see a Filipino market open there. And there’s also the Itaewon World Food Festival—events like that happen in various places. Are those events building communities with migrants in that area, or are they more like schedules that each area runs separately?

 

Jungeun Lee: As you said, the Filipino market opens every Sunday in front of Hyehwa Catholic Church. The reason is that the Philippines is predominantly Catholic, and migrants gather around churches for religious life. Hyehwa Catholic Church is large and offers Mass in Filipino languages, so people gather there every Sunday, and a market forms where they sell their home foods. In Seoul and elsewhere, communities also form around areas where migrants live densely. For example, many Chinese migrants live in Guro and Daerim-dong; Dongbu Ichon-dong has many people with Japanese backgrounds; and Itaewon seems to be an annual event held once a year. Seongbuk-gu also holds similar events, and these days there are many events under the name “multicultural.”

One issue is that sometimes “multicultural” can be consumed as a label. Some think that simply listing various countries’ cultures makes it multicultural. But I think more effort is needed to weave into local communities the mindset of respecting each other’s cultures and the attitude of trying to understand.

 

Sander (G_Voice member): That was interesting, and since we also have members from migrant or multicultural-family backgrounds, and there must be sexual minorities in migrant communities too, it felt like our world is widening, and I liked that. I’m curious: those communities also each bring their own “gourd seeds,” so they can’t be uniform groups. When you run a movement, there must be a lot of collisions—different positions, communication not easy, maybe like Women with Disabilities Empathy. What kinds of issues did you face, and how did you overcome them?

 

Jungeun Lee: As everyone said earlier, when we claim a minority’s rights, there’s a tendency for the diversity within the group and individuals to fragment. What you said applies to migrants too. Because class and hierarchy differ by country of origin and background, it’s very difficult to speak in one voice when claiming rights. So we do have conflicts.

For example, marriage migrant women can obtain stable residency as “a spouse of a citizen,” while migrant workers often cannot. So for migrant workers, stable residency is the most critical issue in rights struggles, and government policy and institutional problems are big. Even in migrant support policy, support for migrant workers is very narrow; many resources focus on “multicultural families.” There are many gaps there too. Also, it’s important to recognize migrants not as one group but as people with diverse internal identities. Because positions and situations differ, solidarity can loosen at times. The key is to keep communicating, connecting, and gathering while focusing the movement. It’s an important question, but it’s not easy to answer on the spot. And as you said, there are certainly sexual minorities among migrants. How to build solidarity going forward will be an important issue.

 

Seok: Thank you. Then, due to time, we’ll quickly move to the next presentation. We’ll continue with a presentation by Holic from the Queer Culture Festival.

 

 

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Presentation 4 — Queer Culture Festival : A history of the Queer Culture Festival

 

Evolution of Slogans at the Queer Culture Festival

 

Holic (Queer Culture Festival): Hello. I’m Holic, and at the Queer Culture Festival I handle film festival work. Nice to meet you. I really wanted to come today. I also work at the Queer Culture Festival, but the place where I mainly earn a living is the Korean LGBTQ+ Culture and Rights Center (KSCRC), where I work as an activist. There was a book talk event, and I got an invitation call, but I wanted even more to meet the G_Voice members, so I abandoned our event and came here. (Audience exclaims)

First of all, I wanted to share some thoughts about cultural movements, and I also wanted to take this opportunity to express my gratitude to G_Voice—for raising your voices at the Queer Culture Festival and at so many sites of struggle.

I spent a long time thinking about how to tell this story. The Queer Culture Festival may look very large now, but if you look at how it first began, you can see how something gradually becomes a movement—how a cultural movement can become a human rights movement. You can actually see this just by looking at the changes in its slogans. The Queer Culture Festival is often recognized mainly as a parade. But I’ve heard that when it first started, the parade began almost by accident. I wasn’t there at the time, but back then it was organized by a joint organizing committee called Rainbow 2000. At that time, there was no parade, no party, and no film festival. There were only special events, theater performances, and discussion forums.

Then, by chance, at an independent arts festival—what is now the Fringe Festival—someone suggested, “We’re doing a parade; would you like to come out and join us?” Since it was our first time doing a parade, we decided to try it. But it rained that day. So no one from the independent arts festival came out—only us did. (Laughter)  About seventy people marched around Daehangno twice. That was the very first parade. It was raining, but we alone marched earnestly, holding rainbow flags. And if you look at the terminology used back then—gay, lesbian, bisexual, transgender, open plaza—everything was mixed together. Today we use the term “queer,” but back then, it wasn’t yet consolidated.

 

Queer Culture Festival Slogans by Year (2000–2017)

 

- 1st Queer Culture Festival, Rainbow 2000: Shout it loud: “I am a homosexual”

- 2nd Queer Culture Festival, Rainbow 2001: Just take one step out—let’s have fun

- 3rd Queer Culture Festival, Rainbow 2002: Don’t stop—this is just the beginning, heartbeat racing!

- 4th Queer Culture Festival, Rainbow 2003: Move!

- 5th Queer Culture Festival, Rainbow 2004: Freedom and equality for all

- 6th Queer Culture Festival, Rainbow 2005: Queer climax

- 7th Queer Culture Festival, Rainbow 2006: Proud and dignified queer happiness

- 8th Queer Culture Festival, 2007: This Is QUEER

- 9th Queer Culture Festival, 2008: Burst! Queer Scandal

- 10th Queer Culture Festival, 2009: Ten years off your life

- 11th Queer Culture Festival, 2010: OUTING – Currently stepping out

- 12th Queer Culture Festival, 2011: In praise of queer

- 13th Queer Culture Festival, 2012: Queer love song – Forming family ties

- 14th Queer Culture Festival, 2013: THE QUEER – We are here

- 15th Queer Culture Festival, 2014: Love is stronger than hate

- 16th Queer Culture Festival, 2015: Love, resist, queer revolution

- 17th Queer Culture Festival, 2016: QUEER I AM – Fighting for our existence

- 18th Queer Culture Festival, 2017: There is no later—we change it now

▲ Past Queer Culture Festival slogans (2000–2017)

 

When you look at the second festival, the first slogan was “I am a homosexual,” and if we used that slogan today, it would cause an uproar. (Laughter) The second slogan was “Just take one step out—let’s have fun.” Maybe people weren’t taking even that one step, so that’s why it was written that way. (Laughter) At the time, we even held an exhibition on the streets of Hongdae—at the Hongdae playground. In the first year, we had the parade, discussion sessions, theater, and movement performances. The film festival began in the second year, starting with just one film, screened at a place called Théâtre Chou in Hongdae. The party that year was a dance party held in Itaewon.

Back then, we decorated the stairways with rainbows and tried, in our own way, to make things look nice. When the parade was held in front of Hongdae, about 200 people participated—quite an increase from seventy. It was held in September. While preparing this presentation, we searched for old photographs and organized the history, and it felt like studying all over again. As many of you know, the origins of the queer parade lie in the Stonewall uprising. In the U.S., police regularly raided a bar called the Stonewall Inn, extorting money, and on that particular day—when Judy Garland had died—the LGBTQ patrons, already grieving, finally erupted. When the police came again, people shouted, “Why do we have to keep being beaten, harmed, and extorted?” and they poured into the streets. That incident became the origin of queer parades around the world. In Sydney’s Mardi Gras, Han Chae-yoon and Kang Myung-jin once went just to “check it out,” and rumor has it that’s how they ended up doing this work ever since. (Laughter)

 

The Emergence of Red Ribbons Signifying Refusal of Media Coverage at the Festival

The slogan of the 3rd Queer Culture Festival was set as “Don’t Stop—It Starts Now, Thump-Thump.” It was held from June 6 to 8, 2002. That year again, separate gay and lesbian parties were held in Itaewon, and the film festival expanded from a single screening to twelve films, held at Artcube. A lecture by Professor Douglas Sanders, along with photo exhibitions and other programs, were also part of the festival. What is especially important to note at this point is the following. You may or may not remember, but although today many people participate confidently in parades despite the ongoing threats of outing and media exposure, back then, simply appearing in the media or joining the parade itself was deeply frightening. Because of this, the organizers distributed red ribbons. If you tied one somewhere on your body, it signaled: “Please do not photograph this person.” This so-called red ribbon movement continued for quite some time. That year, the parade took place in Itaewon, with around 400 participants.

The slogan of the 4th Queer Culture Festival in 2003 was “Move.” Building on the earlier slogan “Just take one step out,” it was now time to actually move—hence the slogan. As before, the festival included a parade, dance parties, exhibitions, a film festival, and discussion forums. What deserves special attention that year were the World HIV/AIDS Photo Exhibition, a Stonewall Uprising commemorative forum, and a film festival screening seven films. About 600 people participated in the parade. At that time, some performance groups still appeared with their faces covered. At the very front of the parade, members of Chingusai marched in the lead, leaving behind images that would become especially memorable year after year.

The 5th Queer Culture Festival in 2004 adopted the slogan “Freedom and Equality for All.” You may notice that the tone of the slogans began to change significantly from this point. At the time, the Queer Culture Festival did not operate as a permanent organization but rather as a planning committee. Individuals joined the committee in their personal capacity, and although they each belonged to different organizations or professions, the festival was run entirely by volunteers. So while the Queer Culture Festival may appear quite large, even today its CMS and regular monthly donations do not exceed 2.5 million won per month. The conditions have always been extremely precarious. Maintaining full-time staff has also been difficult, and currently Director Kang Myung-jin is serving as the sole full-time worker. By securing funding from institutions such as the Korea Culture and Arts Foundation, the festival was able in 2004 to receive 10 million won, which made it possible to hold events around Jongno and Gwanghwamun. It rained that year as well, but participants marched proudly, visibly exposed. (Laughter)

The 6th Queer Culture Festival in 2005, titled “Queer Peak,” was particularly notable for its beautiful poster. The overall look became more polished, with a pink-toned aesthetic. During the 7th Queer Culture Festival in 2006, under the slogan “Proudly, Queer Happiness,” torrential rain poured down. Around 600 people still participated in the parade. That year also featured discussion gatherings and a Condom Café, operated in collaboration with iSHAP. In 2006, Choi Hyun-sook organized an event provocatively titled “Are You Not a Man Without a Penis?” At the time, there was also the Transgender Rights Solidarity “Earthworm,” which played an important role in raising awareness about transgender and LGBTQ+ rights. That year, a salsa dance team composed of non-queer members performed on stage—something that would be extremely difficult to imagine today. If a general salsa team were invited to a Queer Parade stage now, there would likely be an uproar. But back then, it was simply the atmosphere of the times. During the parade, volunteers carried massive rainbow flags, and when it rained, their weight became overwhelming. It remains a very vivid and exhausting memory.

 

 

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The Gap Between Leather Gear in 2006 and Thong Shorts in 2014

 

That year, there were also people who showed up at the parade wearing leather outfits typically associated with SM communities. Pretty radical, right? These days, the Queer Culture Festival is often framed through incitement as “a perverts’ festival,” “an obscene festival,” and so on. But back in 2006, this kind of attire was possible. By 2014, even with far less exposure than that, there were cases where police arrested participants on the spot for minor offenses during the parade. That’s the kind of shift we’re talking about.

The 8th Queer Culture Festival in 2007 was held under the slogan “This Is Queer.” This was the year the festival finally moved into Cheonggyecheon Plaza. About 1,000 people participated in the parade. It was also the period when the festival shifted from being called the Rainbow Film Festival to adopting a more formal identity as the Seoul LGBT Film Festival. If we were to point to the most historic moment of that year, it would be this—although the Queer Parade wasn’t very widely known at the time, so the incident passed rather quietly. John Cameron Mitchell visited Korea. The reason he ended up on the Queer Parade stage was almost accidental: someone from the Queer Culture Festival organizing team happened to spot him while walking through Insadong. (Laughter) They stopped him and asked if he would come up on the festival stage, and he ended up singing two songs from <Hedwig>. Quite a few people in the audience had come through John Cameron Mitchell fan cafés. If he came now, the timing would be perfect—but back then, he may have come a bit too early. Still, it remains a genuinely historic moment.

In 2008, the 9th Queer Culture Festival was held under the slogan “Blazing! Queer Scandal.” These days, slogans are selected through open submissions, but back then they were created internally by the planning committee. When deciding how to come up with a slogan, they often used words that were trendy at the time—“blazing” was a popular term back then. (Laughter) Hyun-gu and Chae-yoon from iSHAP served as the event hosts. What was then known as the Korean Gay and Lesbian Human Rights Alliance—the predecessor of today’s Solidarity for LGBT Human Rights of Korea—also marched with their flags.

 

 

The Disappearance of the Red Ribbon Signaling Refusal of Media Coverage

 

After that, the slogan of the 10th Queer Culture Festival in 2009 was “Ten Years Off My Life.” There is honestly so much to say about that slogan. When you’re setting a research topic or framing an argument, you really do end up following the slogan. At the time, we truly felt like we were losing ten years off our lives. (Laughter) So many things happened that year. First of all, we were supposed to hold the Queer Parade, but former President Roh Moo-hyun passed away. His memorial service was held in late April, which meant we were suddenly in an emergency situation, unsure of what to do with the parade schedule. Beyond that, there were many other hardships for the organizing committee. One meaningful development that year, however, concerned the red ribbons I mentioned earlier, which were used to indicate refusal of media coverage. Over time, people began wearing the red ribbons around their necks or using them as decorative accessories, so it became unclear whether someone was wearing a ribbon to refuse media coverage or simply as an ornament. Because of that confusion, we tried switching to stickers instead. If you put a sticker on your face, it meant the media should not film you. But during the parade, the stickers would fall off because of sweat. After going through all of that, the festival organizing committee eventually announced that we would no longer use red ribbons or stickers. It was an important shift.

Moving on to 2010, the festival was held under the slogan “Outing — Currently Going Out.” These days, outing is understood as a crime, something dangerous that exposes a person’s identity. But historically, the term “outing” was used quite differently in the United States—as a positive, activist concept—when politicians were hiding their identities, to assert that they, too, were sexual minorities. That understanding shaped the overall tone of the parade that year. In 2011, the festival was held under the title “In Praise of Queer.” In 2012, the slogan was “Queer Love Song: Forming Families, Tying Bonds.” The idea was to explore wedding performances at the Queer Parade and to center issues such as same-sex marriage and diverse family formations within the Queer Culture Festival.

The 14th Queer Culture Festival in 2013 was held under the slogan “THE QUEER — We Are Here.” An enormous crowd showed up that year. It was held in Hongdae, marking the move from Cheonggyecheon Plaza to Hongdae. What was particularly significant was that the organizers reached an agreement with the Hongdae Merchants’ Association to hold the festival together. Around 10,000 people gathered on Hongdae’s “Walkable Street,” and shops belonging to the merchants’ association even hung rainbow flags to mark the festival.

 

 

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The Emergence of Hate Groups in 2014, and the “Solidarity of Shit”

 

I think the 15th Queer Culture Festival in 2014 was the most important year. As I said, the slogan ends up shaping everything, and that year we went with: “Love is stronger than hate.” From that point on, hate groups began to show up in massive numbers. It was held in Sinchon. Those of you who’ve joined the parade will know this: it’s a route that takes about an hour if you walk slowly, or about twenty minutes if you move quickly, and the march proceeds as a procession—people and trucks together. That year, just as a huge crowd had gathered and the trucks were about to depart, the opposing side laid out 3,000 chairs. They held placards saying that homosexuality would ruin Korea and destroy families, and they lay down in front of the parade procession. The parade was originally scheduled for the daytime, but it kept getting delayed, and we ended up holding the first-ever nighttime parade, at 9:30 p.m.

After that—after the Sinchon parade—the Queer Culture Festival was effectively forced into a situation where it “held a festival together with” hate groups. So we, too, began to set slogans that carried the power of resistance. The slogan of the 16th Queer Culture Festival in 2015 was: “Love, resist, queer revolution!” One particularly striking thing that year was this: in order to hold the festival, we have to file a protest assembly report to secure the venue, and those reports are handled first-come, first-served. There were times when men on the opposing side took turns sleeping outside so they could claim the first spot, which forced us to line up at the Namdaemun Police Station. That year, we finally held the festival at Seoul Plaza, and a truck came all the way from the Tokyo Pride Parade as well. People on the opposing side showed up wearing hanbok. (Laughter) What was funny was that they played music by Tchaikovsky, a gay composer, and danced to it. That’s the kind of large-scale counter-rally it had become.

What was also meaningful was what happened when we went down to Daegu—something G_Voice likely experienced as well. During the parade I was walking toward the back of the procession, and suddenly I smelled shit from behind. People parted like the Red Sea, and someone smeared it on the rainbow flag at the very front—and then smeared the rest of it on their own body. The organizing team blocked the “shit water” and ended up going to the police station. G_Voice members were hit with shit too—so in that sense, we’re comrades bonded by getting splashed with shit. (Laughter)

In 2016, for the 17th Queer Culture Festival, we chose the slogan “Queer I Am, Fighting for our existence,” and we got an enormous amount of abuse for it. (Laughter) In the past, nobody cared what slogan we used, but these days it feels like a lot of people are watching closely. I think that means the festival has grown more significant. The Chingusai truck had gotten much bigger, diplomats from foreign embassies came, and the hate groups on the other side even brought out placards in English.

The slogan of the 18th Queer Culture Festival in 2017 was “There is no later—now we change it!” That slogan came in response to supporters of President Moon Jae-in chanting “later”—as in, why are our human rights always “later,” and why is our love always treated as something temporary? So: there is no later. The situation was, as always, uncertain. One of that year’s posters even said, “Where is this year’s Queer Parade being held?”—because we genuinely didn’t know where it would be held, and that’s why we made that poster. Even this year, to use Seoul Plaza, we have to submit an application 90 days in advance, and whenever we apply there is always competition with other groups. We’re working on coordinating that process right now.

 

 

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The Implications of Minority Culture: We Are Not the Same as You

 

The reason I’ve shown you the parade slogans and their history is this: today, the Queer Culture Festival Organizing Committee may look very large, as if it sits at the center of everything, but in reality it grew out of what individual activists, one by one, sought to change through cultural activism. When I meet people outside, I often hear this kind of remark: “How are sexual minorities any different from us? They’re just the same people as us. Let’s not discriminate against difference.” But that line always leaves me with a strangely uncomfortable feeling. We are different. Right?

Even the phrase “understanding sexual minorities” is a bit odd, but I believe it is important to understand the culture of sexual minorities. That’s why queer films, for example, can make groups of young people laugh together, feel sadness together, and share those emotions. Just as the experience of watching a film changes depending on where it is screened, I think it’s important for people to come to know queer culture itself—not simply to say that they “understand” sexual minorities. From the perspective of the human rights movement, this is why cultural activism is such a crucial point. There are people here already doing this work—G_Voice, Dancing Waist, migrant rights movements, and others—but I want to emphasize that we need to do this work together even more. Thank you.
 (Applause)

 

Audience Discussion

 

Seok: Thank you for your remarks. Because of time constraints, we’ll take just one question.

 

Jeon Jaewoo: What we’re most curious about is when and where this year’s Queer Culture Festival will be held. Could you give us at least a rough idea?

 

Holic: I’ll let you know—at least here… (cheers) Actually, I don’t really know myself. I’m not an informant or anything. (laughter) It’s not a secret, though. There are local elections this year, and there’s also a very important inter-Korean summit, so we have to pay close attention to the political climate. We’ve submitted an application to use Seoul Plaza, and we’re currently expecting July. Since the local elections are in June, we’re aiming for July. We’ve put in dates for the 1st, 2nd, 3rd, and 4th weeks. Because there’s competition, we don’t know which date it will be yet, but the festival is planned for July.

 

Seok: Right—July, July. Please get ready. (laughter) Now let’s have each panelist give a brief closing remark. As I was listening, a common theme stood out to me: moving from being an object to becoming a subject—on stage. Those fleeting moments of sparkle. That feels like a shared point among minority groups engaged in cultural activism.

 

Jeon Jaewoo: Yes, we wanted to devote more time to a full discussion and talk about many things, but unfortunately the next speaker has been waiting outside for twenty minutes already. I hope there will be many more chances to continue these conversations afterward. (Applause)

 

Lee Jinhee: Thank you to G_Voice for continuing to sing—on the streets and on stage. And thank you so much to Lee Jungeun and Holic for joining us today. I’m very grateful to the members of G_Voice for creating a space like this. (Applause)

 

Lee Jungeun: I’m sorry for taking up so much time because I was so nervous. As I mentioned earlier, we in the migrant rights movement will continue to think together about ways we can build solidarity, starting after this session. (Applause)

 

Holic: I think I took up the most time today. (laughter) Thank you so much for creating such a great space, and I’ll keep working to help build a stronger queer cultural scene. Thank you. (Applause)

 

Seok: It’s a shame we couldn’t have the full discussion we had planned today. I hope we’ll have more opportunities to keep talking in the future. With that sense of regret, we’ll bring this session to a close. Thank you. (Applause)

 

 

Audio transcript

Chingusai / Teoul (터울)