May 1st rolls around in Korea, and most people barely blink. It’s not a public holiday for everyone — unless you work for a labour union, or happen to be in a company that still remembers the reason behind the date. For many, it’s business as usual: alarm clocks, morning coffee, packed subways, and another day behind a desk.
But head to places like Seoul Station or Gwanghwamun, and you’ll find a different kind of energy. Workers in red vests are already setting up. Union flags flutter. Microphones screech to life. The chants begin.
Some people walk by, earbuds in, pretending they don’t see it. Some pause, just for a moment, watching the signs go up — words calling out unfair wages, dangerous work conditions, long hours with no overtime. You can hear the frustration in their voices, as well as a strange kind of pride. Because in Korea, speaking up at work isn’t easy. Most people don’t. Most can’t.
It’s a country that moves fast. The pressure to be the best — or at least survive without rocking the boat — is heavy. So for many workers, Labour Day isn’t a party. It’s a reminder of the rights they don’t always get, and the jobs they can’t afford to lose.
But still, they show up. Some march. Some hand out flyers. Some stand quietly with signs, eyes firm, backs straight.
And elsewhere? Office workers glance at the date on their phone, then keep typing. A delivery driver peels away from the curb, running another order. A convenience store clerk yawns and flips the sign to “open.” Labour Day goes on — not loud, but not forgotten either.
[Photo by Khanh Nguyen]
