‘Jewelry Alley’ in Jongno hides labor abuses behind glittering storefronts

Behind the glittering displays of gold and diamonds that line the jewelry stores of Jongno’s famed “Jewelry Alley” in Seoul lies a shadowy world of abuse, neglect and exploitation.

Hidden just above street-level boutiques, the cramped workshops where Korea’s fine jewelry is made tell a very different story, one of toxic chemicals, unpaid labor and systemic disregard for workers’ rights.

For Kim Jeong-bong, 44, it’s a story he knows all too well. He spent nearly three decades in the Jongno jewelry district, starting as a teenage apprentice in 1998. Despite his years of experience, Kim said the working conditions have barely improved since his first day on the job.

“Back then, we handled hydrochloric acid and cyanide without any protective gear. It’s still the same now,” Kim said in a recent interview, recalling the suffocating fumes and metal dust that filled the unventilated rooms where he and his colleagues worked. “There are no windows, no masks, no gloves, just chemicals and bare hands.”

Kim’s experience is not unique. Korea’s jewelry manufacturing industry, estimated to be worth more than 20 trillion won ($14 billion), largely operates out of small-scale, poorly regulated workshops. Around 800 of these businesses are clustered in Jongno alone, producing roughly 70 percent of the nation’s fine jewelry.

A recent survey by the Korea Metal Workers’ Union found that more than 67 percent of jewelry workers are not enrolled in mandatory health insurance plans. Over 41 percent said they had never received any workplace safety training.

Others reported being exposed to cyanide, hydrochloric acid and hydrogen peroxide with no information about the health risks.

Kim said he was paid in cash for most of his career, with pay stubs that listed only his name — no salary details, no hours worked, no deductions. “We’re invisible. No paper trail means no rights,” he said.

In January, Kim was abruptly fired by his employer, who cited business difficulties. But Kim believes the real reason was his union activism. He challenged the dismissal at the National Labor Relations Commission and won, but by the time the ruling came down, the company had shut down and disappeared.

‘Fake five-person firms’ and legal gray zone

A key tactic used by jewelry manufacturers to avoid labor regulations is the so-called “fake five-person firm.” Under Korean labor law, many protections — such as severance pay, holiday leave and restrictions on arbitrary dismissal — apply only to businesses with five or more employees.

To evade these rules, workshop owners routinely underreport staff numbers, misclassifying full-time workers as part-timers or freelancers.

“The factory had more than 15 people, but on paper, we were all part-timers or temps,” Kim said. “When labor inspectors came, we were told to say we were just helping out for the day.”

Many workers receive no sick leave, no paid holidays and no overtime. In one case, Kim said he worked late into the night from Monday to Thursday, only to be told not to come in on Friday so the employer could avoid paying overtime.

Fellow jeweler Kim Se-jong, 50, who began working in the industry in 1994, said he has never once been provided with proper protective equipment. “I’ve handled deadly chemicals every day for 30 years. Nobody tells us what we’re inhaling. There’s no training, no information, nothing,” he said.

Injury, debt, silence

Injuries are common. One of Kim Jeong-bong’s colleagues had several fingers severed in a machine accident. The employer paid one month’s salary and the hospital bill, then fired him.

Others suffer in silence, fearing blacklisting in the tight-knit industry. Workers who protest unfair treatment often find themselves unable to get hired elsewhere. “Once you speak out, word spreads. You’re done,” Se-jong said.

Even basic financial services are often out of reach. With no formal employment records, jewelry workers struggle to obtain bank loans or purchase used cars. Kim described them as “ghost workers” — present in the economy, but absent from its protections.

From shop floor to protest

On May 1 Labor Day in 2018, Kim realized he had had enough. “I looked around and thought, why are we the only ones working on a national holiday?” he recalled. He began organizing a union, quietly distributing flyers after hours.

In June this year, he staged a 43-day sit-in outside the Seoul Regional Employment and Labor Office, demanding better protections for jewelry workers.

Holding a worn copy of the biography of Jeon Tae-il, the young garment worker who self-immolated in 1970 to protest labor abuse, Kim said he was ashamed that the same demands were still being made more than half a century later.

Government vows action, but doubts remain

On July 24, the Ministry of Employment and Labor announced its first major response to the crisis. The ministry will require all jewelry businesses in Jongno to conduct self-inspections and comply with labor laws.

If violations are found and not corrected, formal inspections will follow. The government also plans to subsidize specialized health screenings for workers exposed to hazardous materials.

But advocates remain skeptical. “The problem is that self-inspections won’t change anything,” the Jewelry Branch of the Korean Metal Workers’ Union said in a statement. “These business owners have ignored the law for decades. Without stronger enforcement, nothing will change.”

Kim agrees. “We’re not asking for new laws,” he said. “Just enforce the ones we already have.”

President Lee Jae Myung, himself a former teenage factory worker, once soldered necklaces in a workshop similar to those in Jongno. Kim hopes the president hasn’t forgotten his roots.

“You made it out,” Kim said. “But many of your juniors are still stuck in the same place, still risking their lives, still being exploited. We need you to see us.”

This article from the Hankook Ilbo, a sister publication of The Korea Times, is translated by a generative AI and edited by The Korea Times.