A Strictly Educational Visit to Suwon’s Red-Light District

Fire-breathing, all-knowing American social critic Camille Paglia has discoursed on, among other topics, the so-called world’s oldest profession: prostitution. According to Paglia, “The prostitute is not, as feminists claim, the victim of men, but rather their conqueror, an outlaw, who controls the sexual channels between nature and culture.”

Consorts, concubines and gisaeng—women from lower class families who were trained in the arts of sex along with witty conversation, music and poetry—dutifully played their roles in the history of this still-patriarchal country. Korea’s first brothels were opened in 1904 in Busan by the stealthily invading Japanese. While prostitution was declared illegal in 1948 at the time the Republic of Korea was founded and numerous laws have since been passed to eradicate or at least regulate it, the “industry” continues to flourish.

On a recent Saturday afternoon, my friend Kim Kon-woo was waiting for me outside exit 13 of Suwon Station. I had been told of the city’s red-light district and decided to go have a look. We hoped to convince one of these women to talk to us about her life. The area was seedy but not excessively so. All along three or four streets were what you might call presentation rooms with sliding glass doors and fluorescent lights. And in each of them, a woman—or sometimes two—stood or sat. She looked at her smart phone, checked her makeup and tried to act both alluring and nonchalant. On the wall of one room was a sign that read, “No Foreigners.”

Kon-woo and I strolled and talked about what we were seeing. Did they despise their customers, had they joined the sex-work lifestyle willingly, and how did they truly feel? We had come to Suwon prepared for this rather harsh scene, and neither of us was shocked. On the contrary, we looked at the ladies with genuine compassion and respect.

First we went into a pharmacy which was run by a 75-year-old woman. She informed us that her store had been in operation for more than 30 years. As for the sex trade that went on all around her, she claimed to be unbothered. “The prostitutes are human beings too,” she asserted. “They have their own business, just like I do.”

We knocked at two or three of these rooms, stated that we sought not fornication but conversation and were turned away. Finally, one of the prostitutes warily agreed to cooperate. I will call her “Ms. X.” She was willing to give us 15 minutes, but it would cost 70,000 won. Considering that her usual rate was 80,000 won for 30 minutes of perfunctory sex, we did not get much of a bargain. Nevertheless, we paid and entered.

On each side of a darkened hallway was a series of small rooms. We stepped into hers. It had a bed, of course, but the three of us sat on the floor in a rather intimate triangle. I told Ms. X that we were not judgmental and had not come to rescue her from a life of sin. We merely wanted to understand things from her perspective.

Her attire (full-length skirt and blouse) was demure in comparison to that of her colleagues, most of whom were provocative and showed lots of skin. She was 38 years old, a native of Gangwon Province, divorced and the mother of a male high school student who hopes to become a doctor. “I graduated from high school and took a few courses in college before dropping out,” Ms. X said. “I worked in a cosmetics shop before, but the money was not good. I’ve been doing this now for two or three years.”

Had she been sexually abused as a girl? No. Her first sexual encounter took place at the rather typical age of 20, and she has no boyfriend. On most weekdays, she services one to three customers. Weekends are much busier, however, as an average of 15 guys share her bed in that room.

She sighed and said, “The most I’ve had in one day is eight. I am ashamed of what I do, and it gives me no pleasure at all. I keep it a secret from my son, my parents and my friends. They think I am still working at a cosmetics shop. I live in fear that somebody will walk by and recognize me. I hope to quit in a few years.”

Ms. X estimated that she makes 1.2 million won most weekends, half of which goes to her boss. If we’d had more time, I would have asked about that business relationship. I assume she does not pay taxes. Most customers are respectful, but not all; some get rough or try to dominate her. With a sad smile, she recalled that a few of them have stolen her bras and panties—sexual souvenirs, as it were—and occasionally a man and woman come and pay her to watch them copulate.

She had set an alarm clock, and our 15 minutes were up. As Kon-woo and I departed, Ms. X mentioned that she had never been interviewed before: “This is the first time anybody has shown interest in my life.”

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An addendum to the present story is as follows. I have written a bi-weekly column in the Korea Times since November 2018. I do so without financial compensation, a fact that several friends find perplexing. Park Yoon-bae is the KT editor with whom I correspond. He and I have never met and never even spoken. Park regretfully informed me that this article was “not suitable” for publication, and would I please write another one? I was irked. I told him that I had invested considerable time, effort and even money in putting it together. Furthermore, I had toned it down. I sought not to titillate the newspaper’s readers but to inform them about the soul-deadening experience of one Korean prostitute. (Do the math: 23 customers every week equals 1,196 in a year, so Ms. X has had almost 3,000 since entering the trade in 2017.) Sex for money may be a tawdry matter, but it’s reality. Park would not be moved, and although I considered quitting the gig I just could not. It’s a forum I value.