The Seoul Queer Culture Festival returned with full flair on Saturday, sending rainbow waves through the South Korean capital just weeks after the country booted its conservative president and welcomed a more liberal replacement. But as the drag heels clicked on the pavement, resistance was still very much part of the soundtrack.
For the LGBTQ crowd in South Korea, visibility is survival. Despite decades of pushback, this year’s festival theme — “We never stop” — made it crystal clear: queer Koreans aren’t backing down. Hwang Chae-yoo, the event’s head organizer, didn’t hold back. “Hate grew under the last administration,” she said. “Policies ignored us. That’s why we’re louder now — we’re not going anywhere.”
While Seoul simmered in the summer heat at a steamy 31°C, festivalgoers in crop tops, bold makeup, and rainbow flair danced, posed, and called for rights they still don’t legally have. Same-sex marriage remains unrecognized, and anti-discrimination laws continue to be stalled — largely thanks to pressure from conservative religious groups. Booths from embassies, university clubs, and LGBTQ organizations lined the streets, offering everything from pride pins to legal advice.
President Lee Jae-myung hasn’t made explicit promises about queer rights, but his election has sparked fresh hope. His predecessor’s impeachment opened the door to potential change, though activists know better than to count on political saviors. Still, the community is watching closely — and marching louder than ever.
One attendee, 44-year-old Hong Il-pyo, strutted in drag, summing up the vibe. “It’s changed a bit,” they said. “People say, ‘we know you exist, just don’t show it.’ But I want it to be, ‘you exist, and let’s thrive together.’”
Of course, no Pride is complete without its haters. Just blocks away, counter-protesters waved signs screaming “Homosexuality Stop” and “Destroys Families.” But unlike years past, there was no clash. Just a silent, familiar standoff between love and fear. Police said only 7,000 marched — organizers claim over 30,000 showed up. Either way, the message was loud: queer Koreans are done playing small.
For South Korea’s LGBTQ community, the march wasn’t just a party. It was resistance wrapped in sequins. It was protest on a parade float. And it was a reminder that queer joy in hostile spaces is revolutionary — especially when legal protection still feels like a distant dream.
Until the laws catch up, the queens, queers, and allies of Seoul will keep showing up — glitter first.