When hate reaches the school gates

Guro Middle School is on the frontline of a war on immigrants waged by Korea’s far-right

“350 schools nationwide with over 30 per cent of students from immigrant backgrounds.”

“Emergence of schools with 97 per cent multicultural students…”

Schools in areas with large immigrant populations often abruptly find themselves the centre of media attention. News stories such as the ones mentioned above, generally compressed into 20-character headlines stripped of all context, trigger a flood of online comments – ranging from lamentations about South Korea’s demise as a nation to anger over native Koreans being discriminated against.

While the increase in immigrant students is often sensationalised as sudden and precipitate, it’s actually a steady trend that has been occurring for years. According to the Ministry of Education, as of 2025, the number of immigrant students enrolled in elementary and middle schools nationwide will have exceeded 200,000 – a 2.5-fold increase from a decade ago. The overall student population is steadily declining. The makeup of classrooms has already changed significantly. And it’s expected to change even further in the future.

Neighbourhoods with high concentrations of immigrant residents have recently found themselves under attack. Far-right protesters have taken to the streets of Myeongdong and Daerim-dong in Seoul, and Suwon and Ansan in Gyeonggi Province, chanting hate slogans. Guro Middle School, located in Seoul’s Guro District, has been one of the schools on the frontline. But while the school certainly felt the impact of these attacks, it wasn’t entirely defenceless against them. After all, the struggle of getting native Korean and immigrant students to coexist wasn’t something new for the school.

Neighbourhoods where coexistence is a necessity inevitably face challenges, often requiring more resources than are currently available. But they also possess a wealth of experience in terms of solutions. As hate politics surrounding immigrants gains traction, Korean society will likely learn from this experience as it moves forward.

This article presents the tale of Guro Middle School, which we covered over a two-month period, starting last September. But this story is not only about hate; it’s also a record of how to respond to it.

September 17, 2025 — Daerim Station Exit 4

At 7 p.m., people waving flags of the Republic of Korea and the United States of America began to gather behind police barricades. They held up slogans such as, “Have you heard of the benefits for overseas Chinese? This is reverse discrimination against our own citizens”, “Chinese voting rights are making us slaves of China”, and “China Out”. This rally took place in the residential area of Guro-dong in Seoul. “What on earth is going on…” Local residents who had come out after hearing the news were transfixed, a look of bewilderment etched on their faces.

Just then, Guro Middle School teacher Park Bok-hee, who had just got off work, arrived opposite the protesters. She was afraid that students might pass by the protest, as it was only 300 metres from the school. “Why did you permit this protest? Do you know how many schools are nearby?” The police officer controlling the road urged people to “pass by quickly”, as confrontations could arise if they were too close together. The Korean national anthem blared from the speakers the protesters had set up.

News of the planned protests had broken the previous day. The organisers, a far-right group called the People’s Solidarity for Participatory Democracy, had registered to hold a month-long rally near Daerim Station. This came in the wake of President Lee Jae Myung’s criticism of growing anti-Chinese protests in another part of Seoul – Myeongdong, a popular tourist destination – branding them “chaos” and “obstruction of business” for blocking access to the area. On that occasion, the police issued a restriction notice against the protests. So, far-right activists turned their sights to the Guro and Daerim neighbourhoods, with their own large Chinese immigrant populations.

The September protest was the second such demonstration for 2025. On July 11, supporters of Yoon Suk Yeol, the former president, removed from office earlier that year, gathered at Exit 11 of Daerim Station. They marched through the streets, chanting: “Chinese who support the Chinese Communist Party, get out!” Moon Min, who runs a private academy for the children of ethnic Chinese immigrants, had to urgently send a text message cancelling classes. “I think the kids saw it all. I still can’t bring it up with them. I’m not ready to answer their questions either.” While such stark animosity directed against immigrant neighbourhoods has spread in recent years, he never expected it to come “right to our doorstep”. Having made South Korea his home for the last 30 years, he felt helpless. “The kids may not show it right away, but they’re all deeply affected.” The anti-Chinese protesters only stayed in Daerim-dong for a couple of hours that day, but the after-effects were long-lasting.

Two months later, when the same hateful scene threatened to erupt again, many felt the protest had to be prevented at all costs. The day before, upon learning of what was planned, Guro Middle School Principal Cho Seon-yeong sent an urgent letter to the Guro District Office and the police. “Daerim-dong is a residential and everyday space for many immigrant families. Hate demonstrations here can cause serious psychological harm to residents and students.” Fearing that his efforts might be in vain, Principal Cho skipped lunch to write the letter. “We earnestly request that you take the same level of action as Namdaemun Police Station.”

Namdaemun had banned the protests in Myeongdong, which falls under their jurisdiction

The anti-Chinese protesters arrived as scheduled. A man holding a megaphone faced a residential street as he shouted: “We’re not here because we hate the Chinese. We hate them buying our land, nothing else. We’re here to correct this wrong because the Chinese are receiving benefits that should belong to our children.” Dozens of protesters chanted: “That’s right!” The formerly quiet neighbourhood erupted in an instant. Two elementary school students in taekwondo uniforms stared intently at the flags and banners waved by the protesters. “I think we need to take action,” teacher Park Bok-hee muttered softly.

Gaoli bangzi and Korean-Chinese people / joseonjok

“Did our ancestors leave Korea because they wanted to become Korean-Chinese?” asks Joo Seong-man, a young Korean born in China. He came to South Korea in 1995 and has been naturalised for twenty years. Watching the anti-Chinese protests near his home on September 17 last year, he was reminded of the “difficult” history of Korean-Chinese people. “They were forced to move to China during the Japanese colonial period because life was difficult, and they fought for independence. The Korean government has long labelled those who returned to their homeland as ‘illegal residents’.”

The Overseas Koreans Act established legal, economic, and residency rights for foreign nationals of Korean descent, often providing quasi-citizenship privileges

The Overseas Koreans Act became law in 1999, but it excluded Korean-Chinese people, because “Koreans who moved overseas before the establishment of the Republic of Korea” were not covered. Seeking to resolve his undocumented status, Joo Seong-man held candlelight vigils on the streets and petitioned the National Assembly. He fought relentlessly until his residency status was gradually upgraded to the Visiting Worker (H-2) visa and then Overseas Koreans (F-4) visa. “They say we received preferential treatment, but that’s a complete lie.” He has worked in everything from shoe shining to construction, in automobile factories and landscaping. Generally, the only industries open to him were ones with severe labour shortages.

Then, just when things seemed to be getting a little more manageable, a wave of hatred erupted in Guro and Daerim. Immigrants from China such as Joo Seong-man have clustered together in these areas of Seoul, forming a Chinese commercial and residential neighbourhood. According to the Ministry of Justice’s monthly statistics report, Chinese immigrants living in Seoul’s Guro and Yeongdeungpo districts number 46,000 and 44,000 respectively, accounting for 12 per cent and 11 per cent respectively of the total population in the area. Joo Seong-man now runs a health supplement business targeting ethnic Koreans who have immigrated from China. “Without Chinese people, even Korean restaurants would be deserted,” he says. Yet banners opposing visa-free entry for Chinese nationals were hanging in these same neighbourhoods.

Gaoli Bangzi 高麗棒 – an ethnic slur for Koreans, referring to the ancient Korean dynasty Goryeo and a word
meaning ‘stick’.

Joseonjok Chinese citizens of Korean ethnicity, primarily living in the northeast of China, descended from immigrants who came there in the late 19th and 20th centuries (Korea was known as the kingdom of Joseon until 1910). 'Joseonmal' is the official name for the Korean language in the DPRK.

Guro hasn’t been the only area facing this issue. Anti-Chinese protests also erupted in Ansan and Suwon, small cities in Gyeonggi Province, just outside of Seoul. There, supporters of Yoon Suk Yeol who had staged an anti-Chinese rally on Yang-kkochi Street in Jayang-dong, Gwangjin District, Seoul, clashed with street vendors. There were reports of Chinese tourists and students being assaulted on the streets and on buses. Yoon Suk Yeol’s party, the People Power Party, has proposed “Three Shopping Prevention Laws for Chinese”, which would restrict Chinese citizens from participating in medical, electoral, and real estate purchases.

“When I was in China, I was called ‘gaoli bangzi’. The term ‘joseonjok’ was originally a name I was very proud of, but in Korea, it seems to be used as a derogatory term,” says Joo Seong-man. Having experienced double discrimination in both China and Korea, he was at a loss as to how to respond to this latest wave of animosity: “It’s probably not easy for everyone to express their true feelings.” As the hatred against ethnic Koreans from China began to spread, many residents remained steadfastly silent.

September 18, 2025 — Guro Middle School administrative office

The next day, the school’s administrative office was inundated with phone calls. The principal’s letter requesting the closing down of the hate rally had been reported in the media, generating unprecedented interest.

It is rare for a principal to step forwards like this. Voices demanding to speak to “the principal of Guro District A Middle School” clamoured on the other end of the telephone line, angrily asking whether they had got through to the right school. For two days, Principal Cho Seon-yeong worked tirelessly to prevent the school itself from being identified. “But that doesn’t mean the school can remain silent on this issue. It’s an issue that involves many of our students and parents.”

Of the 437 students at Guro Middle School, 55 per cent are from immigrant backgrounds. The majority were born in China, or are the children of Koreans who recently immigrated from China. Just three years ago, this figure stood at less than half (46 per cent) of the overall student population, but it has been rapidly increasing. Since 2014, when ethnic Koreans in China were allowed to bring their spouses and minor children into the country, schools in Guro and Yeongdeungpo districts have seen a surge in new transfer students. Principal Cho Seon-yeong explained: “More than half of these students were born in Korea, but
their parents haven’t acquired Korean citizenship due to the difficulty of the naturalisation process.”

Many students are Chinese nationals but don’t speak a word of Chinese. This suggests they are so naturally blended that it’s hard to tell whether they are Korean or Chinese. Park Bok-hee, a form teacher for Class 5, Grade 2 at Guro Middle School, was hesitant to ask her students about the recent protests. She worried that some children might be hurt by the anti-Chinese demonstrations. When she casually brought the subject up during class, a student scoffed and exclaimed: “They’re pathetic!” This confident response made Park Bok-hee burst out laughing. “I once jokingly told the kids to ‘speak our language’, and they said, ‘Teacher, our language could be Chinese, right?’ I had to apologise for my mistake. The kids are resilient.”

Speak our language 우리말 – This word formerly meant “Korean”. It literally means "our language".  Koreans likewise frequently refer to Korea as “our country”, 우리나라, rather than using its name. In universities, the Korean language department is known as “national language”, 국어.

But even if conflict between pupils didn’t surface immediately, ately, things could easily snowball. Adding to the tension, the People’s Solidarity for Participatory Democracy organisation had already registered to hold yet another rally at Daerim Station Exit 4 on September 25. Communication channels needed to be established
between the school and the wider community.

“More than half of these students were born in Korea, but their parents haven’t acquired Korean citizenship due to the difficulty of the naturalisation process.”



Park Dong-chan, director of the Borderline Voice Research Institute, sent Park Bok-hee a text
message: “How about organising a meeting between teachers from schools in Guro-dong and Daerim-dong and leaders of joseonjok community organisations?” Publicity around Principal Cho Seon-yeong’s
letter opposing hate spurred community organisations to action. Even community groups for Chinese ethnic Koreans, previously cautious about speaking out, became proactive. The hate protests were becoming a catalyst for a stronger community. Park Bok-hee responded: “Let’s meet at Guro Middle School on the evening of September 23.”

People visiting a ‘school to avoid’

Park Bok-hee had previously worked in Guro Middle School from 2014 to 2020, and was four years away from retirement when, in 2025, she received a call from the principal asking her to return: “We need someone on the ground.” In this instance, “on the ground” meant “at a school where the majority of students are from immigrant backgrounds,” and “someone” meant “an expert in multicultural education.”

“The teachers at this school are mostly new to the profession. It’s a tough road for them. It’s a sudden and unexpected turn of events for unprepared teachers,” Park Bok-hee said.

Articles often appear with claims such as: “A school with a multicultural student population exceeding XX per cent has emerged.” The majority of online comments on the articles are about how communication issues slow the pace of teaching, and how native Korean students feel alienated, leading to allegations of reverse discrimination. These comments are often filled with discriminatory and hate-fuelled language. As Korean students leave these schools, the concentration of students from immigrant backgrounds increases. Teachers label them “schools to avoid” due to the heavy workload.

Even Guro Middle School, where the demographic shift has been relatively slow, is not immune to these issues. As a member of the Korean Teachers and Education Workers Union (KTU), Park Bok-hee has worked as a teacher in the Guro area for twenty years. For her, the area has a long history of struggle. “Guro was the birthplace of schooling innovations such as directly managed school meals and group purchasing of school
uniforms.” The schools, which were formed around the Guro Industrial Complex in the 1960s for the children of workers, became a stronghold of the labour movement.

After the decline of the Guro Industrial Complex, the influx of Chinese immigrants went some way to reviving the community. According to the Seoul Metropolitan Office of Education’s 2025 Basic Plan for Multicultural Education, the Guro–Yeongdeungpo–Geumcheon area has the highest proportion of students from immigrant backgrounds, at 29 per cent (6,180 students – the average is around 7-8 per cent, with Gangnam–Seocho having the lowest at 3 per cent). Guro Middle School, which has played an important role in labour history, has now become the frontline where students from different ethnic backgrounds must find ways to coexist.

It was at Guro Middle School in 2014 that Park Bok-hee first became interested in the issue of hate crimes. “There was a Chinese student in my class, and the other kids were teasing him, using the word ‘jjang-gae’. I saw his bright face suddenly wrench. It was an expression I’d never seen before.” At the time, there were only about 20 Chinese students in the entire school. Their names written in Pinyin and their poor grasp of the Korean language became the subject of teasing. The more this happened, the more the children tried to conceal their identity. “The term ‘multiculturalism’ is now used as a stigma, but it literally means ‘cultural diversity.’ People come from diverse backgrounds – religion, language, disability, sexual orientation, even left-handedness – and I think it’s the teachers’ job to teach them how to live with those differences.” Despite the increasing number of transfer students entering the school partway through the year, the school was completely unprepared. In her view, the reason Guro Middle School was facing difficulties wasn’t because of the children. It was because of the lack of adequate support for multicultural education. It was a lack of human resources, budget, and administrative support.

“We fought with the district office, picketed the Office of Education, and caused a ruckus,” she said. The educational infrastructure was only established step by step. Special multicultural classes for Korean-language learners were created, as were multicultural education programmes for all students. “The establishment is completely unaware of what’s happening in multicultural education. There’s no one at the Office of Education with whom we can discuss mid- to long-term plans.”

Just when she was beginning to feel she couldn’t handle it on her own, Park Bok-hee met with Han Chae-min. In 2017, Han was a new teacher at Guro Middle School. The film Youth Police had recently been released and anti-Chinese hate speech was being directed at Daerim-dong.

Youth Police  청년경찰 (2017)  – An extremely  successful  film that was marketed as Midnight Runners
in English, which portrayed the Daerim-dong neighbourhood as a hotbed of crime, including kidnapping, with 
gangs centred around Chinese restaurants.

“How would students view this film? Would it be okay for a teacher to use the term ‘joseonjok’? As we pondered these issues, we realised it wasn’t something we could solve alone.” The two joined forces that year to form the “Gaksaek Teachers’ Association,” meaning schools that shine with each colour.

Others struggling in what were often considered undesirable roles or school departments sought out Gaksaek. “There were many challenges, but when we gathered together, we found comfort,” Park Bok-hee says. Starting with a teachers’ study group centred around Guro, Yeongdeungpo, and Geumcheon, they consolidated into a community network of about 10 members from the district office, the Office of Education, and civic groups. Addressing the gaps in educational administration and discrimination against immigrants required a whole village.

Lee Wan, a representative of the Asian Human Rights and Culture Alliance and a participant in the Gaksaek group, says: “Most problems arising in areas of dense immigrant population are new to Korean society. Guro was a place where centralisation had previously held sway, so there was no material from which to learn, there hadn’t been a process of trial and error to see what worked and what didn’t, there were no success stories to draw on.” Eight years after its founding, the Gaksaek group, forging its own path, has become a leader in the fight against hate.

At a counter-protest held at Exit 4 of Daerim Station on September 25, Park Bok-hee took the microphone. “To those over there who are churning out fake news and blaming others, listen up. Working with diverse neighbours will cultivate a capacity to overcome the limitations of innovation. In this region, we will stand in solidarity with our neighbours, our village, and the world.”

October 24, 2025 — Guro Middle School classroom

At 8:50 a.m., the first period bell rang. It was the day of “On-site Global Citizenship Education”. At Guro Middle School, a multicultural school, human rights education is taught through creative experiential activities. The topic of the day was “solving community problems.”

“Is there anything inconvenient about our neighbourhood, anything you’d like to see improved?” the instructor asked, while the students of Class 5, Grade 2 filled their Post-it notes with suggestions. While some complained about the lack of a school cafeteria or a bike path, one student’s Post-it read: “It’s inconvenient because there are so many Chinese people.” Seohyun, a student sitting next to her, asked discreetly: “Isn’t that hate?”

Now that more than half of the students hail from immigrant backgrounds, the number of hurtful expressions has gone down. But they can’t let their guard down. Tensions persist and conflicts can flare up at any moment. Despite numerous multicultural classes to promote greater integration of native and immigrant communities, the reality is undeniable. “I’m always anxious, wondering what will happen if I get it wrong,” Park Bok-hee says. The Post-it notes were unsettling. Increased contact didn’t necessarily lead to increased multicultural acceptance. “Research results have shown that schools with few or no multicultural students actually have higher levels of multicultural acceptance. It’s a truly challenging issue.”

In the meantime, trying to widen the adoption of integrated educational programmes by schools
faces its own headwinds. There is an accelerating trend of students gravitating towards schools like
Guro Middle School, which actively promote multicultural education.

But what this can mean in practice is that, even when there are already many students from immigrant backgrounds, other schools are hesitant to establish special classes fearing it will lead to “overcrowding”. Among Seoul’s public middle schools, only two, including Guro Middle School, offer special multicultural classes. Support for immigrant students is woefully inadequate, and the controversy over reverse discrimination against native Koreans continues unabated.

Anti-Chinese protesters have also exploited this gap. On October 28, far-right groups, including the so-called Free University, held a press conference in front of the Seoul Metropolitan Office of Education to condemn the Superintendent of Seoul Metropolitan Office of Education, Jeong Geun-sik. They stated: “You say you don’t hate China, so enrol your grandchildren in Daerim-dong Elementary School. Daerim-dong Elementary School is losing Korean students and is being overrun by Chinese students. This problem will spread throughout Korea thanks to the visa-free entry programme.”

Lee Kang-san, the Liberty Unification Party candidate who ran in the Guro District mayoral by-election last April, also declared: “I will change the name of Gaebong Station, a heavily Chinese-populated area, to ‘Eulji Mundeok Station,’ firmly establishing the idea that ‘the owners of Guro are citizens of the Republic of Korea’.”

Eulji Mundeok A military leader of early seventhcentury Goguryeo, one of the Three Kingdoms of Korea, who 
successfully defended the kingdom against Sui China.

He received 32 per cent of the vote. Lee Wan from the Asian Human Rights and Culture Alliance believes that the recent anti-Chinese protests could further intensify the concentration of Chinese immigrants in the community: “It was when discrimination against Chinese immigrants in Korean society was at its most severe that the number of students in Chinese schools peaked.” The more intense the external discrimination and
the pressure to separate, the more likely it is that people who share a common identity will seek out safe
spaces together.

Kwon Shin-yoon, director of the Guro District youth support group School Beyond the Big School, shares a slightly different perspective: “While there have been conflicts regarding immigrants in the past, Guro-gu has overcome that now. A system of coexistence has been working. When faced with external attacks like this, we need to see whether this system will collapse, or actually become more resilient in response.”

That was the story at Guro Middle School. As the global citizenship education session neared its conclusion, the instructor emphasised to the Class 5, Grade 2 students, “There were anti-Chinese
protests, but those who opposed them gathered and staged their own demonstration.” Thanks to the
counter-demonstration on September 25, students were able to speak more safely in the classroom. The Post-it notes that read “the inconvenient presence of Chinese people” had already been erased. Yunseo
(pseudonym) said: “There aren’t any major inconveniences in daily life. [My friend, who’s not good at Korean] just takes a little longer to read a book.”

But even if there are inconveniences, they can be resolved. Each class already has a couple of
bilingual interpreters to facilitate communication. Hyemin (pseudonym) is one of them: “People say the
public order here is bad, but it’s not that bad when you live here. They’re just blaming the Chinese.”
For two friends who grew up in the same neighbourhood, nationality meant little.

My identity: Chinese, Korean, Korean-Chinese, multicultural

Just 100 metres from the main gate of Guro Middle School, a banner reads, “Stop visa-free entry for
Chinese people” and “Are our school lunches made with cheap Chinese products?”

Kim Ji-won (pseudonym) frowned upon seeing a banner reading, “Stop visa-free entry for Chinese people” and “Are our school lunches made with cheap Chinese products?” just 100 metres from the main gate of Guro Middle School. “It’s no different from the anti-Korean protests in Japan.” She’s a fashion design major at a university in the Seoul metropolitan area and a graduate of Guro Middle School. Discriminatory language from her childhood flashed through her mind. Things like: “Go back to your country” and “Why are you taking our share?” “When I was young, I often wondered: ‘Why am I not Korean?'”

Born in Yanbian, China, in 2003, she came to Korea at the age of six. Her parents had already settled in Korea before bringing her here. At the time, there were only a few Korean-Chinese children in Guro District schools. Her name on the attendance sheet was written as “Jin Zhiyuan”, which always drew attention. Being different
often made her feel intimidated. Kim Ji-won struggled to improve her accent, not wanting to reveal her Chinese identity. Many young people who immigrate to Korea struggle to adapt to life there. Their home environments are different, the language is unfamiliar, and they sometimes find themselves in a situation
where they lack the necessary care.

Han Mi-hee, a teacher in charge of the multicultural special education class at Guro Middle School,
explains: “There are many children I want to praise for simply coming to school.” She believes that even
one “complete supporter” at home, school, or from the wider community can transform children. “The most
common things students with immigrant backgrounds say when they come to the special education class
are, ‘The teachers are kind,’ and ‘The Korean school respects me.’” In Kim Ji-won’s case, it was the school that provided support, even when she was feeling intimidated. In 2018, during her second year of middle school, a multicultural class held her together. “When I heard, ‘Different isn’t wrong,’ I realised for the first time that I
didn’t have to be ashamed of being Chinese.” By affirming her identity, Kim Ji-won was also able to
embrace her family. “We usually invite our family to school sports days, but my mother didn’t come because she was afraid I would feel ashamed. She had faced even greater discrimination in Korea than I did. I consoled her by saying, ‘We did nothing wrong. You’ve suffered so much.’”

Han Chae-min, who was Kim Ji-won’s form teacher at the time, learned through listening to her student’s story that teachers shouldn’t just focus on one student. “I want to hear the stories of the graduates of Guro Middle School. Right now, if I ask them how they feel about the anti-Chinese protests, they don’t really talk. This experience will be internalised and play out through their own lives – so what the school does is truly
important.” While it may not yet be reflected in numbers or statistics, the multicultural education that various teachers have sown like seeds may be slowly changing things.

“When I heard, ‘Different isn’t wrong,’ I realised for the first time that I didn’t have to be ashamed of being Chinese.” By affirming her identity, Kim Ji-won was also able to embrace her family. “We usually invite our family to school sports days, but my mother didn’t come because she was afraid I would feel ashamed. She had faced even greater discrimination in Korea than I did. I consoled her by saying, ‘We did nothing wrong. You’ve suffered so much.'”

Kim Ji-won says: “I was fortunate to be able to attend Guro Middle School. It was a place where I could learn about differences. My Chinese, Korean, and Korean-Chinese history are all mixed together. It’s literally ‘multicultural’.”

For a history of solidarity overcoming hate

After the protesters left, Daerim Station Exit 4 returned to normal. While the possibility of anti-Chinese demonstrators arriving at any time is a constant source of tension, the group that responded, centred around various organisations, has decided to move on to the “next step”. This involves finding institutional ways to respond to hate protests. Park Dong-chan, director of the Borderline Voice Research Institute, says: “Our goal is not to just drive the chain of hate out of Daerim-dong, but to break it.” The reach of hate protests has been
widening: from Myeongdong to Daerim, and then on to Ansan and Siheung. Director Park stated: “We must visibly demonstrate the growing public opinion opposing hate and recognising the seriousness of discrimination.”

Since last September, various gatherings have explored the activities of “counters” in response to anti-Korean protests in Japan. In 2013, when Zaitokukai (a right-wing extremist group opposing special privileges for Koreans in Japan) staged anti-Korean demonstrations in Koreatowns in Tokyo and Osaka, Japanese citizens organised persistent counter-protests. Their activities led to a surge in public awareness of hate speech, and in May 2016, the Hate Speech Prevention Act was passed with a majority in the Japanese House of Councillors.

Even if anti-Chinese protesters leave completely, challenges remain. Is coexistence education possible in areas with a high concentration of immigrants? The case of Guro Middle School holds particular significance in that passionate teachers here have created a public forum for multicultural issues. But multicultural departments within schools are still treated as undesirable places to work. Ultimately, without substantial funding and human resources, not much can be solved.

“There are so many unexplored areas,” says Park Bok-hee. “In the case of special needs education, there are systems within the Office of Education and a prepared curriculum to teach children. But when it comes to students from immigrant backgrounds, such resources are either absent or inadequate.” Park Bok-hee, who is nearing retirement age, aims to increase the number of ‘professionals’ within the Office of Education, and each school. She believes this will enable a more robust response to politicians who incite xenophobia.

In recent meetings, Park Bok-hee and Han Chae-min have found themselves asking the same question over and over: “Will we end up creating a story of how solidarity overcomes hatred here?” The group has decided to hold a community screening of director Lee Il-ha’s documentary film Counters in Guro District next month. While hatred against those who are different from us continues to spread, the struggles of those who respond to it continue in earnest.

Counters 카운터스 (2017) Lee’s documentary focuses on the counter protest movement against 
right-wing xenophobic hate speech in Japan, with the Japanese yakuza organised crime syndicates becoming the unlikely frontline of the resistance.

Original article ‘교문 앞까지 찾아온 혐오… 최전선에 선 구로중학교의 분투기’ published by SisaIN on November 11, 2025