To understand why the assaults went underreported until the eruption of the scandal, we must look at the culture surrounding victimization in Korea.
In South Korea, victims of sex crimes face a gauntlet of cultural and institutional barriers that often silence them before they are ever heard. Deeply rooted Confucian values, which prize female chastity and social harmony, create an environment where victims fear being blamed, shamed, or ostracized for speaking out. Reporting sexual violence can mean risking one’s reputation, employment, and family standing—an especially cruel reality in a society where honor is communal rather than individual. These stigmas were painfully evident throughout the Burning Sun scandal, where discussions of sexual exploitation were overshadowed by sensationalism and celebrity gossip.
Instead of centering the victims’ voices, the public narrative focused on moral outrage and entertainment value, further demonstrating how South Korea’s social fabric itself functions as a barrier to justice. When discussing the victims of Burning Sun, it’s important to understand the social climate in which these victims were operating during their attempts to seek justice.
““Private,” “a matter of female chastity,” “unimportant,” “shameful.” These tend to be the words showing the attitude towards survivors of sexual violence in South Korea; it’s what suppresses the voices of victims and perpetuates a culture of guilt and silent suffering.”
~ Jawana Kamal, A Culture of Shame and Regret: Exploring the Rise of Digital Sex Crimes in South Korea
The discussion surrounding sexually violent crimes in South Korea is often non-existent. In recent years, the push for victim visibility has increased but, in response, so, too, has the male-driven pushback increased against these topics. They are heavily regarded in Korean society as being “feminist”, which carries such heavy stigmatization that the question of one being a feminist often carries the same connotations as being asked if one is mentally ill. Furthermore, outwardly being identified as a feminist, which could be the result of just existing as a woman with short hair, is actively dangerous.
In 2023, a widely publicized incident occurred where a female convenience store worker with short hair was violently attacked by a man who assumed she was a feminist. The attacker kicked her repeatedly, causing permanent hearing loss. In a landmark ruling, a South Korean court explicitly recognized misogyny as the motive for the hate crime and upheld the attacker’s three-year prison sentence. Additionally, vicious campaigns, often led by men in online communities, target women they accuse of being feminists. These campaigns bombard victims with abuse, threats, and attempts to get them fired from their jobs.
The unfortunate reality for women in South Korea is that studies show that sexual victimization is a significant issue, with figures ranging from 8% of women aged 15-49 experiencing physical or sexual violence from an intimate partner, to a high of 51% for physical, sexual, emotional, and controlling abuse among women aged 20-29. Additionally, a 2015 survey found that 80% of respondents had experienced some form of sexual harassment. Not only is it statistically common to be sexually victimized but going about reporting crimes and getting any degree of justice is also incredibly difficult.
Defamation laws pose a potential obstacle for reporting sex crimes. Beyond that, South Korea also has a rigid definition for what is even considered to be legitimate rape. Under the legal definition, a sexual assault is only considered rape if 1. There is penile-vaginal penetration, and 2. The victim can definitively prove they physically resisted. This means that instances of sexual violence where fingers, toys, or other tools are used (as well as acts of oral or anal penetration) fall under a different legal category, as does rape through means of drugging or other incapacitation.
The latter falls under the category of “quasi-rape”, a grossly offensive way to refer to someone being sexually and mentally violated. The archaic wording assumes that a “real” victim must resist. Many survivors who froze, feared for their lives, or were incapacitated by drugs/alcohol found their cases dismissed for lack of “violence”. The UN Committee on the Elimination of Discrimination against Women (CEDAW) and Amnesty International have repeatedly urged Korea to adopt a consent-based definition of rape; one that recognizes lack of consent, not just presence of violence.
Acts that involve sexual penetration without a penis are prosecuted under Article 298 (Indecent Act by Force), which covers, “A person who commits an indecent act on another by means of violence or intimidation”. “Indecent act” (추행) is a much vaguer and weaker term. It includes forced touching, molestation, and non-penile penetration but, crucially, it’s treated as a lesser sexual offense, even when the act is clearly rape by any other definition.
As of 2025, no full legislative change has yet redefined 간음 (in this context, meaning ‘rape’) to include non-penile acts. The Ministry of Justice has reviewed draft amendments that would replace “sexual intercourse” with “sexual penetration by any means”, aligning Korean law more closely with international standards (like those in Sweden or the U.K.). However, as of now, these legal definitions remain unchanged, which leaves victims of ‘non-traditiomal’ rape, largely including LGBTQ victims such as women who are assaulted by female perpetrators, in a judicial limbo wherein they do not see legitimate recognition of harm caused.
Further issues seen by sexual assault victims in South Korea are complications foreigners are forced to deal with. Foreigners are often intentionally targeted due to the knowledge of these complications, which is included but not limited to police pressuring victims into dropping cases by citing difficulties taking accurate reports due to translation issues. Essentially, police officers often convince foreign victims to retract their reports due to a lack of translators available and/or due to the possibility of translation errors emerging making it ‘impossible’ to make an accurate statement.
Many cases involving foreign victims go unreported due to a variety of reasons, most notably fears of immigration or visa status if they come forward—especially if their perpetrator is an employer, landlord, celebrity, or other person of authority. Foreign victims may also be unaware of procedures or available support resources. And, even if language barriers do not prevent reporting, they can still pose issues with timely evidence collection.
This is especially important in regards to the prevalence of sexual assault via GHB drugging. GHB is a popular ‘roofie’ drug in South Korea and it has a very short metabolic rate. By the time most victims, foreign or domestic, wake up, realize they’ve been sexually assaulted, and are able (mentally and physically) to get themselves to a hospital or Sunflower center, the GHB has already cleared itself from the victim’s system. This was a particularly poignant obstacle with the Burning Sun victims who were slipped GHB, as South Korea does not have the judicial framework to handle forced drugging cases.
[Note: In South Korea, Sunflower Centers (officially called Sunflower Centers for Women and Children, or 해바라기센터 in Korean) are government-funded crisis centers that provide medical, psychological, legal, and investigative support for victims of sexual assault, domestic violence, and child abuse.]
In order for a case to even make it to court, the prosecution must prove they have enough evidence to guarantee a win against the defendant—in the context of sexual assault cases, this includes witness testimonies, a confession from the defendant, and/or admissable medical evidence from a rape kit such as a DNA (semen) sample. South Korea does not often adopt testimonies from psychologists as admissible evidence and its credibility is determined by the judge’s personal discretion. That means a psychologist could not interview a victim and testify that their mental condition is consistent with having been drugged with guarantee that the judge would accept it as reliable evidence. Which, in tandem with GHB’s metabolic rate and Korea’s requirements for proof of resistance, many cases are thrown out due to the defense not being able to definitively prove that a “real” rape occurred.
These are just the tangible structural obstacles victims face. The first and foremost hurdle victims must overcome when making the decision to report is the social barrier which prevents most victims from speaking out. Deeply tied to cheong 정 (loosely defined as relational obligation) and nunchi 눈치 (loosely defined as common sense), the pressure to maintain social harmony often leads victims—especially female students or workers—to stay silent. Victim-blaming is deeply entrenched in Korean society, with it being commonplace to accuse victims of “lacking 눈치” for placing themselves in the position to be assaulted in the first place.
This involves questioning the victims’ dating preferences, clothing choices, decision to drink, penchant for clubbing, etc. Instead of blaming the perpetrator for committing the indecent act, society shifts blame onto the victim for “inviting” the act to be done to them. The shame that comes with being identified as a victim of sexual assault isn’t limited to chastisings for loosing sexual purity, either. Victims are often accused of [attempting to] ruin the lives of those they accuse, which can lead to an atmosphere of distrust following the victim. This distrust can result in loss of employment, school scholarships, familial ties, and so on.
This goes doubly so for members of the LGBTQ community who have been victimized by someone of the same sex. Since Korea has a popular disapproval of being LGBTQ, victims face reactions ranging from outright disbelief that the assault happened at all, to expressions of blame (such as statements implying that the victim was asking for it by “being that way”). Furthermore, reporting sexual assault runs the risk of outting the victim, which most people are not willing to do due to the very real possibility of being blacklisted from employment and housing opportunities.
There’s also a distinct lack of LGBTQ-specific resources for victims to access. While Sunflower Centers are, in theory, open to anyone of any sex, gender, or sexuality, the staff may not be explicitly trained to deal with LGBTQ victims and may carry personal biases or perpetrate unintentional micro aggressions. Unfortunately, at this time, there are no assault care centers specifically for members of the LGBTQ community. This especially becomes problematic when considering the phenomenon of ‘corrective rape’ perpetrated against lesbians. Corrective rape is when a male would-be ‘savior’ rapes a woman who he has identified as a lesbian in an attempt to ‘fix’ her sexuality.
While there are no studies documenting the prevalence of corrective rape in South Korea, it is a fear that lesbians globally live with. In particular, South Africa is one of the only countries to put forth a legitimate effort to study these instances and have reported a rate of 10 women per week are correctively raped or gangraped in Cape Town. The lack of documentation in South Korea does not imply the absence of such crimes, but rather reflects a broader silence surrounding both sexual violence and queer identity. Without inclusive education or specialized victim support, many survivors are left to navigate trauma in isolation, further reinforcing the cycle of fear and invisibility.
South Korea’s failure to provide adequate protection for LGBTQ victims mirrors its broader unwillingness to confront sexual violence as a systemic issue. Whether victims are women, foreigners, or queer individuals, the recurring pattern is one of disbelief, dismissal, and institutional inertia. The cultural emphasis on preserving social order often outweighs the pursuit of justice, turning the act of reporting into a socially deviant choice rather than a moral imperative. This dynamic not only shields perpetrators from accountability but also reinforces the nation’s reputation for prioritizing collective reputation over individual safety.
The culmination of these factors creates a justice system that is functionally inaccessible to the very people it claims to protect. Legal definitions lag behind international standards, medical evidence is constrained by biological limitations, and survivors face stigma at every level of the process—from police reports to courtroom proceedings. Until South Korea dismantles the cultural and institutional hierarchies that define who is worthy of belief and protection, meaningful progress will remain out of reach. The Burning Sun scandal, and the muted response to its victims, exemplifies this intersection of moral hypocrisy, media exploitation, and judicial neglect; A pattern that continues to define the country’s treatment of sexual violence to this day.
In reference to Burning Sun, and when it comes to reporting other such clubs in South Korea for sexual violence occuring on the premises, all of the hurdles stood in the way of victims coming forward. As stated earlier, the placing of Burning Sun in a spotlight created a sort of safety net for victims to come forward, one where their voices were already, finally, being highlighted and listened to. Even with that spotlight, 99% of the reporters still chose to remain anonymous and never fully told their stories. Understanding these hurdles is the only way to begin deconstructing them and creating an environment in which victims don’t need sensationalistic news in order to be heard. Especially when that sensationalistic news, when it’s done getting its clicks and views, quickly forgets the very victims it claimed to care about.
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