Asia
Inside Seoul’s hidden lesbian nightclubs
For a few hours, women can gather without fear of discrimination

SEOUL, South Korea — Hongdae, a neighborhood in Seoul, South Korea, is known for its vibrant nightlife and indie music scene. By day, it’s a shopping and café mecca. By night it’s a crazy, alcohol-fueled playground. What’s easy to miss — and not even many Koreans living in Hongdae know about — is that hidden in plain sight, there are also secret lesbian clubs where women can gather and be themselves without fear of judgment or discrimination.
“Hongdae is the lesbian area of Seoul?!” my good friend blurted out when I told him over dinner. He’s been a resident of Hongdae for more than seven years but had never noticed. Most Koreans don’t know any LGBTQ people as Korean society is conservative and not accepting of homosexuality. Hongdae’s reputation as a more free-thinking, hipster haven makes it a perfect location for openness — albeit in private.
In South Korea, homosexuality is not illegal, but it is not widely accepted, especially in more conservative areas of the country. Seoul is more open compared to the countryside but not open enough for lesbians to be open. Same-sex couples cannot legally marry or adopt children and discrimination against the LGBTQ community is still prevalent.
Allen, a Korean woman in her 20s says, “There is a very strong homophobic atmosphere [in Korea] regardless of generation.”
Despite these challenges, the LGBTQ community in South Korea has been gradually (very gradually) gaining some visibility and acceptance in recent years such as an LGBTQ dating reality show “Merry Queer” following lesbian, gay and transgender couples. Seoul’s gay Pride parade — which last year drew thousands of participants despite protests from conservative religious groups — shows a shift in thinking too. However, it’s not enough progress as lesbian and bisexual women are still meeting in the dark.
One way in which the community has been able to connect and support each other is through secret lesbian clubs. Goon Young* is a Seoul freelancer in her mid-20s. Growing up she was constantly told that being straight is “natural” which left her feeling confused about her sexuality. “I thought I was bisexual when I was in college. I figured out that I don’t like men only about two years ago.” Goon Young enjoys hanging out at Hongdae’s lesbian club scene regularly.
These clubs are not advertised openly and are often hidden in inconspicuous side-streets, or in basements behind mainstream clubs.
One of these secret clubs is close to an infamous drinking spot for foreigners and when some foreign men were turned away for not being women, they looked visibly confused. It’s a large, luxe club with a strict no photograph rule. There’s table service and the DJ blasts Korean rap such as Jay Park and Zico.
This club and most of the others won’t easily pop up when you search on your phone’s map so usually lesbians need to get to know another lesbian to ask around for the exact location. This typically involves going to an LGBTQ bar first, or meet-up group and making friends there, as blurting out to your work buddies “Oh, by the way, is anyone else here gay?” wouldn’t go down too well in Korea. Goon Young concurs, “I’m pretty open to people that I love, someone like my mom or friends, but you can’t really tell people who are coworkers or someone [you] just met.”
Discrimination and stigma against the LGBTQ community persist in many areas of South Korean society, including the workplace and school. Many LGBTQ individuals still face rejection from their families and friends, and some even resort to conversion therapy to try and change their sexual orientation.
Luckily Goon Young’s mom is supportive, but not entirely convinced. “I came out to my mom — who loves me — last year. She still loves me and cheers me up when I have heartbreaks with girlfriends. But she says she still can’t take it seriously and gay things are not ‘natural,’ she always tells me to meet some good guys and date them even though I always reply to her that I don’t like men.”
The lesbian nightlife scene’s purpose is truly to create a safe space and respect the privacy of all. There’s so much trust in these clubs that “lonely heart” style personal ads are displayed on the big projector screen behind the DJ in the first club where I partied. After all, queer dating isn’t as straight-forward in a country that prizes straightness.
Inside these clubs, women let their guard down and can be themselves. They can dance, drink, and socialize without fear of being judged or harassed. Legally speaking, South Korea doesn’t have comprehensive LGBTQ anti-discrimination laws so the fear of physical safety for the LGBTQ community really means that a “safe space” carries much more weight than a “safe space” in a country where there’s more acceptance of gay rights.
Another safe space was a tiny club a little walk away from the big, “lonely hearts personals” club. What it lacked in size it made up for in chaotic ENERGY! Nobody was sitting in a corner here and after picking up my free drink included with the entry fee (every club did this), it was hit after hit from rapper Lil Nas X to K-pop group BLACKPINK.
Although lesbian and bi women were dancing wildly, enjoying the night, even within these safe spaces, many club-goers still feel the need to remain cautious as the fear of being outed can be overwhelming.
The last club I went to carried this caution. Located on an inconspicuous street, women were looking over their shoulders when paying in. That is, right up until the elevator doors shut. Once shut, women let their guards down and asked me how I found out about this place. Once inside — free drink handled (every club did Budweiser as a free drink option) — it was a playground of EDM, large opulent bottle service with half-undressed bartenders. One of them was even passing around free shots from one of the stripper pole podiums.
If there’s a lesbian heaven, I think I caught a glimpse of it here.
The cool air hit me as I left for home but nobody walking past suspected that the women leaving this club were not heterosexual. The fact that these clubs are still a secret highlights the need for greater acceptance and visibility of the LGBTQ community in South Korea. While progress has been made in recent years, there is still a long way to go before LGBTQ individuals can openly express their identities without fear of discrimination or being attacked.
“Young people in Korea are pretty open to LGBTQ, [but] of course, there are [some] who hate LGBTQ people. Most of the old people just can’t take it”, Goon Young says.
The existence of secret lesbian clubs in Hongdae and other parts of Seoul is a testament to the resilience and strength of the LGBTQ community in South Korea, also. Despite facing significant challenges and obstacles, these women have found a way to connect and support each other, creating safe spaces where they can be themselves.
Hongdae’s secret world of lesbian clubs offers a glimpse behind the curtain. Despite many hurdles, on a late, spring night in underground Hongdae clubs, women danced and flirted freely for the few hours they could be themselves.
(Editor’s note: Some names have been changed to protect identities of sources. Ash Potter is a freelance journalist based in Seoul.)
India
Opposition from religious groups prompts Indian Pride group to cancel annual parade
Event was to have taken place in Amritsar on April 27

Pride Amritsar, a student-led organization in the Indian state of Punjab, earlier this month announced the cancellation of its Pride parade that was scheduled to take place on April 27, citing opposition from certain religious groups.
The event, planned for the Rose Garden in Amritsar, a city revered as a spiritual center of Sikhism, had faced mounting resistance from Sikh religious organizations, including the Nihang Singh faction and the Akal Takht, the faith’s highest temporal authority. These groups labeled the parade as “unnatural” and urged local authorities to deny permission, citing its potential to disrupt the city’s religious sanctity.
In an Instagram post on April 6, Pride Amritsar organizers Ridham Chadha and Ramit Seth elaborated on its mission and the reasons for the cancellation.
“Since 2019, we have organized peaceful parades and celebrations in Amritsar to connect and uplift the LGBTQIA+ community, with a particular focus on transgender individuals and their rights,” their statement read.
Chadha and Seth highlighted Pride Amritsar efforts in providing guidance, counseling, and job opportunities, which have been met with positive responses. However, due to opposition this year, Pride Amritsar announced the cancellation of the 2025 parade.
“We have no intention of harming the sentiments of any religious or political groups,” the statement read. “The safety of our members is our top priority, and we will take all necessary measures to ensure their protection.”
Chadha and Seth spoke with the Washington Blade about their decision to cancel the parade.
They explained that resistance came from both religious and political groups who labeled the parade and its values as anti-Sikh and contrary to Punjabi and Indian cultural norms. Critics specifically objected to the event’s location in Amritsar, a city regarded as a sacred center of Sikhism, arguing that the parade would disrupt its spiritual purity.
Chadha and Seth stressed Pride Amritsar lacks political, financial, or legal support. Composed of students and young professionals, the group organizes the parade biennially, dedicating personal time to advocate for the LGBTQ community.
“We do it independently, crowdfund the parade and cover the rest with our pockets,” said Seth and Chadha.
When asked by the Blade why Pride Amritsar did not approach the High Court or local authorities to protect the parade, despite the Supreme Court’s 2018 ruling that decriminalized consensual same-sex sexual relations, Chadha and Seth cited significant barriers.
“Pursuing legal action in India requires substantial resources, both financial and temporal,” they explained.
Chadha and Seth also noted that such action could lead to public shaming and unwanted publicity for participants, potentially harming their careers in Amritsar. They therefore chose not to pursue legal recourse.
Chadha and Seth said Pride Amritsar does not have any plans to hold alternative events.
“We are still exploring options, but we are likely not holding any events this year,” they said, citing significant harassment that organizers faced and the need for time to plan how to best serve the local LGBTQ community moving forward.
“Our evaluation of what the biggest challenge is has changed after this year,” said Chadha and Seth to the Washington Blade. “The biggest challenge, by far, seems to be education. We need to educate the community about what the community is, does, and why it exists. Why we do parades. Why we dance. Why calling someone ‘chakka’ is harmful. How we actually fit into religion and fall within the guidelines.”
Chadha and Seth said organizing the parade in Amritsar since 2019 has been an uplifting experience, despite continued opposition.
“The moment you join the parade, chant a slogan, or sing a song, it’s transformative,” they said. “Fear vanishes, and a sense of freedom takes over.”
The cancellation of the 2025 Amritsar Pride Parade has sparked concerns among activists in Punjab, as the Indian Express reported.
The Punjab LGBT Alliance and other groups expressed concern that the decision to cancel the parade may strengthen opposition to future LGBTQ-specific events.
Myanmar
LGBTQ advocacy group joins Myanmar earthquake relief effort
March 28 quake killed thousands, devastated country’s second-largest city

A powerful earthquake that rocked Myanmar on March 28 unleashed devastation across the central part of the country.
The U.S. Geological Survey measured the quake at 7.7, and pinpointing its epicenter roughly 10 miles west of Mandalay, the country’s second-largest city. A 6.4-magnitude aftershock jolted the area 12 minutes later, compounding the destruction and deepening the crisis for a nation already strained by conflict.
The earthquake struck with terrifying intensity near its epicenter, wreaking havoc on Mandalay and the nearby city of Sagaing.
Mandalay, a bustling city of approximately 1.5 million residents, bore the brunt of the destruction. Among the most striking losses was the 12-story Sky Villa Condominium, which collapsed, leaving scores trapped beneath the wreckage. Rescue workers scrambled to pull survivors from the rubble, but the rising death toll underscored the tragedy’s magnitude.
In Sagaing, which is located closer to the epicenter, more than 70 percent of buildings sustained damage. The Ava Bridge, an essential artery spanning the Irrawaddy River, collapsed, cutting off a critical connection to Mandalay. The earthquake’s shallow depth of less than seven miles amplified its power, reducing homes, temples, and schools to rubble.
The earthquake’s death toll continues to climb, with at least 3,649 confirmed dead, more than 5,000 injured, and approximately 145 people missing. Amid the widespread devastation, questions loom about the impact on vulnerable populations. The Washington Blade reached out to Colors Rainbow, an organization advocating for LGBTQ rights in Myanmar, to understand how the crisis has affected one of the nation’s most marginalized communities.
Colors Rainbow Executive Director Hla Myat Tun spoke about how his organization is working to address the crisis faced by Myanmar’s LGBTQ community in the aftermath of the earthquake.
Colors Rainbow has implemented a system of multipurpose cash transfers, directing funds to local LGBTQ partner organizations. These grassroots partners, in turn, provide essential support to affected individuals that includes emergency cash assistance, food, non-food items, clean water, and basic emotional support tailored to the immediate needs of their communities.
“We estimate that around 500–800 LGBTQ individuals have been impacted in the affected areas, particularly in Mandalay Region, Sagaing Region, and southern Shan state,” said Hla Myat Tun. “So far, we have been able to directly assist around 80–100 LGBTQ individuals.”
Hla Myat Tun told the Blade that Colors Rainbow is actively gathering data to assess the specific challenges that LGBTQ people are facing in the aftermath of the earthquake.
Preliminary observations, he noted, point to heightened vulnerability among LGBTQ people, driven by social exclusion and limited access to mainstream humanitarian aid. Hla Myat Tun, however, emphasized more comprehensive information is necessary to fully understand the scope of their needs and vulnerabilities in this crisis.
“We are partnering with international LGBTQ and feminist organizations that focus on displaced communities,” said Hla Myat Tun. “These partners provide emergency funds, and we coordinate with local LGBTQ groups to deliver aid directly to affected individuals on the ground.”
Addressing reports of military restrictions on humanitarian aid, Hla Myat Tun explained how Colors Rainbow is managing to reach LGBTQ people who are in conflict zones and areas the military junta controls. Hla Myat Tun highlighted the importance of the organization’s trusted local LGBTQ partners, who are embedded in these regions. Their presence and established networks, he said, are vital in navigating restricted areas and ensuring that aid reaches the LGBTQ people who are most in need.
Hla Myat Tun also provided insight into how Colors Rainbow is tailoring its relief efforts to meet the LGBTQ community’s specific needs.
He said his organization is gathering information directly from LGBTQ people through close coordination with its local partners, relying on both formal and informal communication channels. Hla Myat Tun told the Blade his team conducts daily check-ins via quick telephone calls, ensuring a continuous flow of information to guide their response efforts despite limited internet access, electricity and other challenges.
“Our approach is collaborative — we set strategies and share responsibilities to respond flexibly and safely, based on the rapidly changing local context,” he said. “Personal stories are being documented, but for security reasons, we are cautious about sharing them publicly.”
When asked whether staff or volunteers had harassment, discrimination, or violence while delivering aid — a concern given the precarious legal and social climate for LGBTQ people in Myanmar — Hla Myat Tun said there have been no reported incidents thus far.
“So far, we haven’t received any reports from our staff or local partners about harassment or violence while delivering aid,” he noted, emphasizing Colors Rainbow remains vigilant and has implemented robust safety protocols to protect all involved.
Colors Rainbow relies primarily on funding from international LGBTQ-focused partners. He noted, however, humanitarian funding specifically dedicated to LGBTQ communities remains vastly under-resourced, relative to the pressing needs on the ground. Hla Myat Tun said this shortfall severely limits the scale and reach of Colors Rainbow’s efforts.
“While Myanmar’s legal framework remains outdated, societal attitudes — especially during the civilian government — have shown signs of progress,” said Hla Myat Tun. “We have seen positive change thanks to the work of local LGBTQ organizations.”
“In the current crisis, many communities are working together despite legal barriers. However, in areas without LGBTQ-led organizations, inclusive humanitarian responses are still lacking,” he added. “There’s an urgent need for international humanitarian actors to understand and implement LGBTQ-inclusive practices in Myanmar.”
When asked about long-term strategies to support the recovery and resilience of LGBTQ communities as Myanmar rebuilds, Hla Myat Tun affirmed Colors Rainbow is deeply committed to fostering resilience. The organization’s initiatives include leadership development, community empowerment through training and workshops, sub-granting programs, and organizational development support. He also highlighted Colors Rainbow’s advocacy for LGBTQ-inclusive policies and collaboration with ethnic groups to promote an inclusive federal democracy, and specifically thanked Outright International, a global LGBTQ and intersex rights group, for “amplifying our work.
“This kind of international attention shines a spotlight on the challenges LGBTQ communities in Myanmar are facing and helps open doors for more support,” Hla Myat Tun told the Blade. “It also boosts visibility and solidarity, both locally and globally, which we deeply appreciate.”
India
LGBTQ poets included in India’s premier literary festival
Sahitya Akademi seen as mirror of government’s cultural agenda

India’s premier literary institution on March 7 announced it would allow LGBTQ poets to participate in its marquee Festival of Letters in New Delhi.
The Sahitya Akademi, often seen as a mirror of the government’s cultural agenda, for the first time allowed these poets into a high-profile poetry reading at the Rabindra Bhavan. They shared the stage with more than 700 writers across 50 languages.
Culture and Tourism Minister Gajendra Singh Shekhawat kicked off the Festival of Letters with Mahesh Dattani, the acclaimed English-language playwright famed for his provocative works, as the main guest. Dubbed Asia’s grandest literary gathering, the Sahitya Akademi took place over six days under the “Indian Literary Traditions” theme.
The 2025 Festival of Letters showcased a sweeping range of voices — young writers, women writers, Dalit authors from marginalized castes, Northeast Indian scribes, tribal poets, and LGBTQ poets — cementing its reputation as a literary kaleidoscope.
Kalki Subramaniam, a leading transgender rights activist and author, on March 9 chaired a literary session titled “Discussion on Literary Works of LGBTQ Writers in the 21st Century,” which spotlighted contemporary queer voices.
“It was enriching to listen to the profound thoughts of LGBT writers from various parts of the country in their speeches,” said Subramaniam. “The session was particularly memorable with the participation of A. Revathi Amma from Tamil Nadu, Reshma Prasad from Bihar, Sanjana Simon from New Delhi, and Devika Devendra Manglamukhi and Shivin from Uttar Pradesh and Aksaya K Rath from Orissa.”
Subramaniam discussed how global politics shape gender rights and the persistent erasure of trans identity, urging a unified push for solidarity within the LGBTQ community. She stressed the vital need to elevate queer works and writers, casting their voices as essential to the literary vanguard.
“It was a pleasure to meet great writers from around the country in the festival as well as meet my writer activist friends Sajana Simon and Revathi Amma after a long time,” said Subramaniam.

The government on March 12, 1954, formally established the Sahitya Akademi. A government resolution outlined its mission as a national entity tasked with advancing Indian literature and upholding rigorous literary standards; a mandate it has pursued for seven decades.
The Sahitya Akademi in 2018 broke ground in Kolkata, hosting the country’s first exclusive gathering of trans writers, a landmark nod to queer voices in Indian literature.
Hoshang Dinshaw Merchant, India’s pioneering openly gay poet and a leading voice in the nation’s gay liberation movement, on March 9 recited a poem at the Festival of Letters, his verses carrying the weight of his decades-long quest for queer recognition. He later thanked the session’s chair for welcoming the community, a gesture that underscored the event’s third day embrace of diverse voices.
The Sahitya Akademi in 2024 honored K. Vaishali with the Yuva Puraskar for her memoir “Homeless: Growing Up Lesbian and Dyslexic in India,” a raw account of navigating queerness and neurodivergence. Vaishali in a post-win interview reflected on India’s deep-seated conservatism around sexuality, noting she wrote from a place of relative safety — an upper-caste privilege that shielded her as she bared her truth. The award, she said, was the Akademi’s indelible seal on her lived experience, a validation no one could challenge.
The Sahitya Akademi’s inclusion of LGBTQ writers in its main program this year jars with the Bharatiya Janata Party-led government’s conservative stance, which, in 2023, opposed same-sex marriage in the Supreme Court, arguing it erodes Indian family values. Yet, under Shekhawat, the Sahitya Akademi’s spotlight on queer voices at the Rabindra Bhavan suggests it could be a tentative crack in a regime typically rooted in tradition.
The Festival of Letters hosted a translators’ meeting on March 10, spotlighting P. Vimala’s 2024 award-winning Tamil translation of Nalini Jameela’s “Autobiography of a Sex Worker,” a work steeped in marginalized voices that include queer perspectives.
This platform gained significant support from the BJP-led government, with Shekhawat securing a 15 percent budget increase to ₹47 crore ($5.63 million) in 2024. In Tamil Nadu state, however, Dravida Munnetra Kazhagam’s Chief Minister Muthuvel Karunanidhi Stalin, has long opposed such cross-linguistic efforts, fearing dilution of Tamil identity amid decades of anti-Hindi sentiment — a tension the Sahitya Akademi’s inclusive showcase sought to bypass.
‘The Akademi is very inclusive and has a friendly festival ambience,” Subramaniam told the Washington Blade.
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