A world apart: 3 hurdles put ground level out of reach for Seoul’s semi-basement dwellers

Posted on : 2022-08-19 17:32 KST Modified on : 2022-08-19 17:32 KST
Three main factors are keeping many of Seoul’s inadequately housed locked in their living situations: high deposits, maintenance fees not covered by assistance, and networks keeping them tied to where they are
Construction is underway on Aug. 16 at a semi-basement home in Seoul’s Gwanak District that was hit by flooding earlier this month. (Shin So-young/The Hankyoreh)
Construction is underway on Aug. 16 at a semi-basement home in Seoul’s Gwanak District that was hit by flooding earlier this month. (Shin So-young/The Hankyoreh)

As the city of Seoul pledges to fundamentally improve residential living conditions and phase out semi-basement dwellings following tragic deaths in a catastrophic downpour, Seoulites who actually live underground have sobering advice to share. Semi-basement dwellers report facing considerable hurdles on the journey to ground level. They shared that both things that are crucial and those which might sound trivial end up being quite taxing.

Park Sin-ae (a pseudonym, aged 62), who lives alone in a semi-basement in Seoul’s Jeongneung neighborhood, said she has talked to her neighbors about the city’s plans to eliminate semi-basement units.

“I think they need to provide decent housing for people raising kids — I’ve had kids myself and know how hard that is. My neighbors also said the government needs to make sure that people in semi-basement units can afford to move to a new place and grapple with the difficulty of leaving one’s neighborhood,” she said.

People in basements, rooftops, gosiwon (cheap dormitory-style lodgings) and other types of substandard dwellings long to live in a safe home above ground, but they’re reluctant to get their hopes up. The gap between their hopes and fears is produced by the limitations of the residential welfare system, which is a lifeline for people in that situation.

What preparations does the government need to make for life after semi-basement units? To find the answer, the Hankyoreh referred to a 2020 report by the Korea Center for City and Environment Research titled “An In-depth Survey of Living Conditions at Unsuitable Dwellings,” which contains in-depth interviews with 50 individuals living in flophouses, gosiwon, semi-basement units and other such places.

The thoughts of the people interviewed for the living condition survey were remarkably similar to those of the residents of gosiwon and semi-basement units that the Hankyoreh met on Aug. 15-16. In short, they want people to look beyond their dwellings and see their lives.

Kang Seok-su (a pseudonym, aged 67), who lives in a semi-basement unit in Seoul’s Seokgwan neighborhood, said his ears perked up when he heard rumors about building renovations. “A rumor was going around that our building might also be eligible for the streetside residential improvement program.”

But if Kang’s building were redeveloped, what impact would it have on his life?

“I’d have to go. And the only place I could go to would be another semi-basement unit.”

A front door and three tall downward steps separate Park Sin-ae’s semi-basement kitchen and living room from the ground floor.
A front door and three tall downward steps separate Park Sin-ae’s semi-basement kitchen and living room from the ground floor.
Hurdle 1: Money — Burdens of a 2-million-won deposit

Kang’s current unit requires a deposit of 2 million won and a monthly rent of 200,000 won (US$1,500 and US$150, respectively). That deposit is the only money to his name, though he gets 790,000 won each month in residential and living subsidies from the government’s basic livelihood security program. Subtracting rent and other bills leaves him with about 400,000 won to live on. You can’t save much on that.

Kang’s 2-million-won deposit wouldn’t take him very far in the private rental market. The average key money deposit in the greater Seoul area rose from 150 million won in 2016 to 210 million won (US$158,000) in 2020 (according to the 2020 Korea Housing Survey).

Key money, or jeonse, refers to a Korean rental arrangement in which tenants hand over a large deposit in lieu of monthly rent, which they can then reclaim at the end of their rental period.

As the gap between Kang’s 2 million won and market prices widens, residential welfare programs will find it harder and harder to cover the difference. On top of that, the government is trying to pressure state-owned enterprises to use their budgets more efficiently.

Residential welfare programs basically break down into residential subsidies and public housing. Residential subsidies include the assistance given to people like Kang whose household income falls below 46% of the median income.

As of 2022, the median income for a single-person household was 1.945 million won, with residential assistance capped at 327,000 a month. That’s why Kang would have to seek out another semi-basement unit if he leaves his current abode.

The type of public housing that has expanded the most in Seoul in recent years amounts to government key money assistance, which has been left in the dust by rapidly rising market prices. The maximum key money the government will provide is 120 million won.

“It’s tough to find a place with that kind of money,” Kang said.

“Ultimately, the private real estate market will have to cool down before we can enter a virtuous cycle in which rents stabilize, easing the burden on public finances,” said Kim Seong-dal, head of the policy department at Citizens’ Coalition for Economic Justice.

Hurdle 2: Fees — 70,000 won a month in maintenance fees

“There are bugs all over the place, and I’d probably burn to death if this place caught on fire,” said Na Su-hyeon (a pseudonym, aged 54), who lives in a gosiwon in Seoul’s Gangseo District.

It’s not like Na hasn’t tried moving elsewhere. She applied for housing at a unit owned by the Korea Land and Housing Corporation. Finally, her turn came, and she got a chance to move into a small apartment for a rent that was calibrated to her housing subsidy.

The problem was the monthly maintenance fee of 70,000 won, which would have come out of her 580,000 won in monthly living assistance. Since she was barely covering her living expenses as it was, she had to give up the chance to move into public housing.

“I’m back on the waiting list, but nothing has come up yet,” Na said.

The residents of unsuitable housing who took part in the living conditions survey often mentioned their sundry living expenses, including maintenance fees.

“I won’t go [to public housing] because I can’t afford the apartment maintenance fee,” said a 63-year-old individual living alone in a semi-basement unit.

“I’ve been living in a gosiwon so long I don’t even have a fridge,” noted a 60-year-old who also lives on their own.

While housing subsidies cover a physical house, they don’t support the quality of housing needed for a decent life. When the basic livelihood security program was divided into living assistance, medical assistance and residential assistance in 2015, apartment maintenance fees weren’t included in either living assistance or residential assistance.

“Something we should reflect upon is that the people who died in semi-basement units during the recent flash floods were all recipients of housing assistance. We must not allow a repeat of this situation in which people who are on government assistance can’t find a safe place to live,” said Choi Eun-yeong, head of the Korean Center for City and Environment Research.

Clothes soaked during the flooding hang to dry in the living room of a semi-basement apartment in Seoul’s Seongbuk District on Aug. 16. Despite it being the middle of the afternoon, the room remains dark due to a wall around the building the apartment is located in. (Baek So-ah/The Hankyoreh)
Clothes soaked during the flooding hang to dry in the living room of a semi-basement apartment in Seoul’s Seongbuk District on Aug. 16. Despite it being the middle of the afternoon, the room remains dark due to a wall around the building the apartment is located in. (Baek So-ah/The Hankyoreh)
Hurdle 3: Uprooting one’s life — 10 kilometers can be a world apart

Ahn Hyeong-jin, an activist with Homeless Action who works on housing issues for disadvantaged groups, recalls the needs of the various people he has met. Those people had huge differences that are impossible to convey with the blanket term “disadvantaged,” and diverse conditions are needed to give them a decent life.

“Since the organizations providing dormitory accommodations and soup kitchens for disadvantaged people are based around Seoul Station and Yongsan District, many people end up living in that area. For them to move into public housing in Gangseo District, for example, would mean leaving behind the support networks they’re accustomed to and starting from scratch in their relationships, too,” Ahn said.

“People who haven’t reached 65,” thus making them ineligible for free public transportation, “can’t afford to pay 1,500 won for a subway ride,” Ahn shared. “And people with autism have trouble making new relationships.”

Even moving 10 kilometers to another part of Seoul isn’t as simple as it sounds. For some, that means totally uprooting their hardscrabble lives.

The government said that 79.4% of 1,800 households living in semi-apartment units managed by the Korea Land and Housing Corporation refuse to move to public housing in other areas. That figure represents people who are torn between their desire to get out of poor housing and their refusal to give up the life they’ve built where they are.

Those are feelings that need to be accounted for in government policy to eradicate semi-basement housing.

Below are the voices of people who took part in the living conditions survey.

“There was so much mold in our semi-basement unit that my kid compared it to a prison. When I got home late, my kid would be hanging out in front of the house instead of going inside.” — the mother of an 11-year-old child, currently living in a studio apartment

“I got kicked out of one place so the building could be turned into a guesthouse for foreigners. Then I got kicked out of another place for repairs.” — a 61-year-old individual living alone in a flophouse

“I like living in a gosiwon on the second floor because I have arthritis and a disability. I have to minimize the time I spend going up and down the stairs.” — a 52-year-old individual living alone in a gosiwon

“I’d never heard of ‘godoksa’ [solitary deaths] before, but it turns out that people can die from loneliness. People who are on their own need to come together so they can have someone to talk to and share things with.” — a 59-year-old who lives alone in a flophouse

By Bang Jun-ho, staff reporter; Jang Pill-su, staff reporter; Seo Hye-mi, staff reporter

Please direct questions or comments to [english@hani.co.kr]

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