Politics that reflects migrant voices

Won Ok-kum The author is a representative of the Migrant Center Donghaeng and is originally from Vietnam. As warm spring sunlight fills the streets, colorful campaign banners have begun appearing across neighborhoods ahead of the June 3 local elections. For some, they may be little more than part of the seasonal scenery. But for migrants such as myself who have made Korea our second home, the slogans on those banners carry a different meaning. When candidates promise to "change residents' lives," I cannot help but wonder whether migrants are included in that vision as well. Local elections carry a different significance from presidential or parliamentary races. They concern matters closely tied to everyday life: meals served at our children's daycare centers, the streetlights along the roads that we walk each evening and the small interactions shared with neighbors. Korea's local elections are especially meaningful because certain categories of foreign residents are granted voting rights, offering migrants a chance to speak as genuine members of the community. However, many migrants are still unfamiliar with the act of going to the polls and do not fully believe politics can shape their lives. Six years ago, I experienced this reality firsthand. I was recruited by a political party under the label of the "first migrant woman" and entered a proportional representation primary ahead of the general election. At the time, I believed I could help bring migrants' struggles into public view. But the barriers proved far higher and more rigid than I had expected. As a migrant woman with little political experience and no established support base, I felt as if competing under the same standards as veteran politicians was less of an opportunity than a predetermined elimination process. After the party's welcoming ceremony ended, I felt abandoned in a harsh field. Passion without preparation left deep scars, and I lacked the tools needed to transform migrants' expectations into political reality. That defeat was not simply a personal disappointment; it exposed the broader limitations facing migrant participation in Korean politics. Every election season, political parties speak of diversity and seek migrant representatives. But such invitations should not remain symbolic gestures aimed at improving a party's public image. Migrants are members of society who pay taxes, fulfill obligations and possess the right not only to vote but also to seek office. The time has come for migrants to move beyond waiting for a seat at someone else's table and begin preparing our own. I believe migrant women, in particular, need to build stronger collective networks. That may sound ambitious, but it begins with something simple: gathering our modest demands and supporting one another. When migrants organize and speak collectively, political parties are more likely to treat us as serious partners rather than temporary symbols of inclusion. If one of us chooses to run for office, a strong community must stand behind that person so they are not left to face political storms alone. Still, migrants' efforts alone are not enough. Migrant women entering politics in an unfamiliar country need strategic support from political parties. This is not a matter of charity or tokenism. Parties should establish incubation programs to help migrant political newcomers understand Korea's political system and gain practical experience. They should also consider separate pathways within proportional representation systems that reflect the unique circumstances facing migrant candidates. The maturity of a multicultural society can be measured by whether socially vulnerable groups can speak confidently in public life. Local councils exist to address the concerns of neighborhoods. If migrants live in those communities, it is only natural that migrants themselves should participate in the discussions shaping local policy. Helping neighbors who miss welfare benefits because of l...