Apartment living, conflict over noise

I grew up in Korea, surrounded by tall apartment complexes. Whenever I return, I once again find myself living in an apartment — whether rented or borrowed from my sister.

That is the Korean way of living. Government statistics suggest that nearly two-thirds of Koreans live in apartment buildings five stories or higher. Korea’s overwhelming preference for apartments is the product of rapid urbanization, limited buildable land and government-led housing policies that pushed cities to expand vertically rather than horizontally. Over time, high-rise apartments became the standard middle-class home: safe, convenient, modern and a powerful financial asset around which one could build a stable life.

Yet there is one aspect of apartment life in Korea that stands out: the inter-floor noise issue. Noise between floors is taken extremely seriously. Children running indoors is a major no-no. Even a low-decibel vacuum cleaner or the gentle spin of a washing machine can rub neighbors the wrong way and trigger an unwelcome knock on your door, urging you to be more considerate. More commonly these days, residents receive warning announcements or phone calls from the building’s security or management office informing them that someone in the unit above, below or next door has lodged a complaint.

The seriousness of the issue is reflected in the sheer volume of grievances. The Interfloor Noise Dispute Mediation Center receives hundreds of reports every day. These complaints sometimes escalate far beyond tense exchanges. A recent police report shows that violent crimes including murder, aggravated assault and arson stemming from noise conflicts tripled between 2013 and 2022. That such everyday domestic sounds can lead to some of the most severe crimes is a sign of how socially combustible the issue has become.

I have lived in many Korean apartments over the years, and I have been both the victim and the source of noise more times than I can count. I fully understand how delicate the matter is for apartment dwellers. I have also lived in my share of New York apartments—many of them old, drafty and built with walls so thin that you can practically hear a pin drop in the unit next door. Compared to modern Korean apartments, many New York buildings are objectively inferior in terms of construction quality and sound insulation. And yet, in New York, I have experienced far fewer noise-related conflicts. Why?

Part of the answer lies in the nature of high-density Korean apartment life itself. In these massive complexes, people live physically close but socially distant. Even after a decade of living side by side, many residents do not know who their neighbors are. It is perfectly common never to exchange greetings, let alone develop meaningful relationships. When neighbors are strangers, it becomes much easier for small irritations to escalate into full-blown conflicts. A sense of community, even a modest one, acts as a buffer; without it, every minor inconvenience feels like an intentional affront.

Another factor is Korea’s fast-paced, highly competitive lifestyle. Many people return home exhausted, stressed and eager for a moment of peace. Under these conditions, the sound of a child running upstairs does not register as harmless play; it feels like an invasion of one’s limited time to rest. Meanwhile, the family upstairs, whose members may be equally stressed, feels defensive about their precious child’s right to be a child. Both sides become emotionally reactive. Both sides feel their rights are being infringed. And both sides, lacking a relationship or even a simple human connection, assume the worst of each other.

Of course, the noise issue is also structural and technical. Better building materials and improved construction standards would help. Stronger regulations, more rigorous inspections and effective conflict-mediation mechanisms are equally necessary. But those measures alone will not solve the problem. Inter-floor noise in Korea is not only an engineering challenge but a social and cultural one. A society with weakened neighborly ties and high collective stress is far more likely to experience noise as an existential grievance rather than a manageable inconvenience.

In my New York apartment building, the decibel levels are often higher than anything I’ve experienced in Seoul. But I say hello to my neighbors. We exchange small talk. And somehow, despite the thin walls, the noise rarely becomes a source of conflict. It is a reminder that while soundproofing matters, so do human relationships.

Korean apartment life has many advantages, but the country’s struggle with inter-floor noise reveals something deeper about how we live together. Perhaps the best solution is not only better buildings but better connections among the people who live in them.

Min Seong-jae (smin@pace.edu) is a professor of communication and media studies at Pace University in New York.