Results of “Study on Sexual Minority Workers’ Labor Conditions and Mental Health” Presented
By Tari
Published Apr. 29, 2025
Translated by Marilyn Hook
“It was the only place in his world where he
felt the air made way for him. When he arrived, it seemed to shift, to slide
over, like a school friend making room for him on a classroom bench.”—Arundahti
Roy, The Ministry of Utmost Happiness
※ Anjum, the main character in Arundahti Roy’s 2017 novel The Ministry of Utmost Happiness, is born with both male and female genitalia. She [Anjum eventually comes to identify as a woman] escapes from her parents, who are trying to raise her as a son, and goes to live in Khwabgah, a community of hijra (people who are neither conventionally male nor female but a third gender). Anjum feels that Khwabgah is the only place that makes room for her.
A sense that you aren’t safe
It is very important to have a safe space where
you can be comfortable and act naturally. For some, it may be a familiar
neighborhood street, a store that suits your tastes, or a workplace where you
work with people you like. For others, it may be no more than a place where you
live alone, the bed in your room, or your desk. Sometimes, a space that you
thought was safe can feel threatening and scary, and a space that was wide
enough can suddenly feel suffocatingly narrow. The sense of safety varies from
person to person and also changes depending on the time and circumstances.
Tari, this article’s author, presenting the results
of “A Study on Sexual Minority Workers’ Labor Conditions and Mental Health” at
a March 28th event at the Korean Metal Workers’ Union. (Photo credit: Jindol)
“Even if
I was walking hand in hand with my partner, we would let go once we got to our
neighborhood. But I didn’t think that was a big deal. But as those kinds of
things piled up, piled up, piled up, I realized that they were eating me up
inside.”—Participant A
“I was really depressed, and I had no
self-confidence. I was very concerned about the way I walked when I was around
other people, and things like that, and I think I had a harder time than my
friends because I was uncomfortable with people looking at me as a woman.”
—Participant B
“It’s such a small company, and you can hardly
expect things like queer sensitivity or gender sensitivity. Even if you try to prepare
yourself by thinking, ‘This isn’t that kind of place [where one could expect
that],’ sometimes when we’re chatting, or eating together, or talking during
break time, times like that—that kind of prejudice is so prevalent, and I feel
consumed by it. Emotionally.” —Participant C
On March 28th, 2025, the Queer Labor
Legal Support Network and the Gender and Labor Health Rights Center of the
Korea Institute of Labor Safety and Health presented “A Study on Sexual
Minority Workers’ Labor Conditions and Mental Health.” The research participants
were 1) Korean nationals residing in Korea, 2) workers aged between 19 and 65,
and 3) sexual minorities. A survey and interviews were conducted jointly from
March 2024 to March 2025. A total of 720 sexual minority workers responded to
the survey, and 19 sexual minority workers participated in the interviews. The
interview excerpts quoted above appeared in the research report.
Participant A is a lesbian and lives with her
partner. The pair is free to express their love at home, but when they go out
and walk around the neighborhood, they don’t even hold hands. Participant B is
a trans man. He says that even walking feels uncomfortable to him because of
the gazes of people who see him as a woman. Participant C [gender identity not
stated] is gay and is not out at work. They try not to have expectations about
interpersonal relationships at work, but they eventually become emotionally
depleted and exhausted by the rampant homophobic comments.
The feeling of being unsafe narrows the space in
which someone can exist, stifles them, and ultimately makes them ill.
For sexual minorities, what are safety cues and
threat cues?
American psychologist Lisa M. Diamond explains
“social safety” as a concept encompassing trustworthy social bonds, a sense of
belonging, inclusion, and social protection, as well as an essential human
need. People consciously and unconsciously try to prepare for threats they face
(or may face), and as a way to prepare, they constantly stay on guard to
protect themselves in spaces they perceive as unsafe.
In particular, socially stigmatized minority
groups are highly vigilant because they expect others to pose a threat to them,
and they do not easily let down their guard because they know that others will
not protect them. Maintaining this high level of vigilance continually makes
them more likely to become exhausted and experience chronic anxiety and
depression.
However, the level of this vigilance is not
fixed. In other words, as the threats to someone decrease and their sense of
safety increases, their vigilance will also naturally drop. Dr. Diamond
explains this by distinguishing ‘safety cues’ and ‘threat cues.’ So, what are
the threat cues for sexual minorities? Let’s look at some cases introduced in
the “Study on Sexual Minority Workers’ Labor Conditions and Mental Health.”
⯈ Examples
of objective experiences of social threat
- Witnessing or experiencing discriminatory laws
or policies
- Witnessing or experiencing violence or
harassment
- Being publicly rejected by my family members
- Hearing people make derogatory jokes about
sexual minorities
- Being legally disadvantaged because the wrong
gender is listed on my ID card
⯈
Examples of subjective experiences of social threat
- Fear of exclusion or violence in public places
- Fear of being cut off from my family
- Fear that my identity will not be respected
- Fear of being bullied by those around me
- Concerns about disadvantages due to my ID card
listing the wrong gender
Now let’s consider the opposite: what are some
objective and subjective experiences of safety cues for sexual minorities?
⯈
Examples of objective experiences of social safety
- Legislation that punishes crimes against
sexual minorities and prohibits discrimination
- Seeing friends/colleagues/media criticize discrimination
against sexual minorities
- Seeing sexual minority pride flags in
businesses or government offices
- Being treated with consideration when being asked
about my interpersonal relationships, life, and interests
- Receiving positive support when coming out or
sharing other meaningful information about myself on social media
- Seeing other people coming out as sexual
minorities
⯈
Examples of subjective experiences of social safety
- Knowing that people are not allowed to harass
me and that there are people who will protect me if that happens
- Knowing that I can surround myself with others
who understand my experiences and can offer support and protection
- Knowing that I do not have to face
discrimination or hide my identity in public places
- Knowing that people in my workplace understand
and respect diversity
- Knowing that I am not alone
To make a safe place for us in the workplace
In the neighborhoods where we live, in the
public spaces we must pass through to get to work, and at the workplace where
we spend the most time during the day, sexual minorities do not often feel
safe. However, that does not mean that we can just stay at home, or commute by
car, or not work. Ultimately, sexual minority workers go out, walk on streets
where other people are walking, and build relationships with our coworkers,
even if it is not safe. We live our lives while maintaining a constant and high
level of alertness.
As time goes on like this, invisible wounds
accumulate, we become susceptible to burnout, and we experience depression. The
results of the “Study on Sexual Minority Workers’ Labor Conditions and Mental
Health” revealed that depressive symptoms are more commonly suffered by sexual
minorities (24.6%) than by the general population (4.9%).
“A terribly lonely island. I’m a terribly lonely
island.”—Participant D
“I think it’s clear that for me, community is a
window that lets me breathe a little.” —Participant E
“The people I came out to were people who seemed
to be somewhat (queer-)friendly, who gave off that vibe. I was a little selective,
but I did keep looking for the right moment to come out. Because I was so
frustrated. And compared to when I wasn’t out, I think it is a little less
awkward being at my workplace now.” —Participant F
Tari (left) and Mun-yeong Yang participating in the
discussion after their presentations on the “Study on Sexual Minority Workers’
Labor Conditions and Mental Health”
Sexual minority workers are exposed to various stresses due to social stigma, but they do not passively let themselves be swallowed up. Even when they feel like a “lonely island” in the workplace, they actively seek out lovers, friends, and communities outside of the workplace that can support them, or they may choose to find a new job where they can feel safer. Or, they find allies in their workplace by coming out, and respond actively when problematic situations arise.
Sexual minority workers are trying to expand the
spaces where they can spend time, expand comfortable and safe spaces, and
create breathing room for themselves.
“‘Coming out’ is something that you can choose
not to do, after all. It’s hiding [one’s identity] and then saying, ‘I want to
come out.’ But for transgender people, the term ‘coming out’ doesn’t quite fit
us. Because [our identities] can become known in different ways. And our
appearance changes….” —Participant G
“I actually revealed (my identity) a few times,
but I didn’t get fired or anything because of that. But I think I just had a
strong feeling that ‘they don’t believe me.’ […] One of the things I heard a
lot (after coming out) was, ‘You’re pretty, you’d be prettier with long hair.’
But I want to be handsome, not pretty.”—Participant H
For non-cisgender workers, such as transgender
or non-binary workers, coming out does not mean the same thing as it does to
cisgender sexual minority workers. Their physical appearance may reveal their
identity so that ‘coming out’ is rendered moot, or people may not believe their
revelation about their identity because they are passing as their assigned
gender.
Even for cisgender sexual minority workers,
coming out in the workplace does not mean that all kinds of discrimination and
hatred will disappear all at once. Sometimes, coworkers will leave sexual
minority workers out of light conversations about how each other’s spouses are
doing, and when a colleague who knows about the sexual minority worker’s identity
leaves and a new person joins the company, they are faced with the difficult
task of coming out again.
In this way, creating a safe ‘my place’ in the
workplace is not something that can be done alone. Just as the air naturally
flows back to accommodate someone, so people must make space for others. There
needs to be someone who listens carefully to the stories of sexual minority
workers, and if there is a colleague going through a medical transition, there
needs to be someone who watches this process with a supportive gaze. We all
need to constantly signal safety to each other and actively create space for
each other. Only then can everyone lower their boundaries and exist in the
space where we all deserve to be.
A workplace full of safety cues
A signal of safety may be a legal measure like
an anti-discrimination act, but it is also important that there be someone who
affirms the identity of sexual minorities, shares anger about discrimination
against sexual minorities, and continuously conveys the message that they are
not alone. When there is an ally who can stand up and speak out against hate
speech when it happens, when there is someone who can change the mind of another
who previously had no actual knowledge of or experience with sexual minorities,
sexual minority workers can breathe, and can exist more fully in that space.
“If [non-queer people] start actually seeing
queer people around them more often and just realize, ‘Ah, they’re just people
like me,’ then it won’t be that hard to live as a queer person. A society where
people will no longer ask what ‘queer’ means or be able to never use the word
‘queer.’ […] When it doesn’t matter at all whether a person is dating a man, a
woman, or a trans person. They’re just respected for who they are.”—Participant
H
Tari’s office workstation, featuring a pride flag
and laptop stickers supporting queer rights, veganism, and animal rights.
I started a new job last week. The scale and
atmosphere of my new workplace is quite different from what I’m used to. I pay
attention to other people’s glances and comments, and I’m on guard. Nervous.
Luckily, I have family, a partner, and friends who support my identity. I have
people who will curse out anyone who says something hateful to me, and I
believe that I’m not alone. Still, I’m afraid.
I know that I won’t be disadvantaged because of my identity, and I don’t
have high expectations for interpersonal relationships at work, yet I keep shrinking
away.
I think back to F’s words. On Monday, I brought
my laptop covered in stickers supporting queer rights, veganism, and animal
rights to work. I was afraid that someone might see the stickers and say
something, but I also hoped that someone else would gain strength from seeing
them. On Thursday, I wore a necklace supporting transgender people. I hoped
someone would notice. On Friday, I put a rainbow flag in my pencil case. Little
by little, the space that felt like someone else’s space has begun to feel like
my own. I want to reveal my existence as much as I can. I want to breathe with
others in the space I gained that way. Queer people are working next to you at
this moment.
About the Author: Tari loves walking her dog every
day and expanding her safe spaces. She spends each day finding space to breathe
in and squeezing in as much happiness as she can with her loved ones.
*Original article: https://ildaro.com/10170
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