The haenyeo are famed for their free-diving fishing, venturing into the ocean, using only their breath, skill and memory. ©FAO/David Hogsholt
Haenyeo: Keepers of a Vanishing Art
The sea’s call is irresistible for Ryoujin Ko, pulling her from her home on Jeju Island, South Korea, before the first light touches the horizon. Unlike her mother and grandmother, who rose early to dive off the island’s eastern coast, harvesting sea urchins, turban shells, abalone, and seaweed to sustain their families, Ryoujin once charted a different course. As a young woman, she buried herself in studies, earned a degree in athletics, and fled to the city, dreaming of a life beyond the waves. But the city’s relentless pace wore her down—depression and burnout settled in, heavy and unyielding. They whispered her back to Jeju, back to the sea that had cradled her ancestors. At 42, Ryoujin embraced her heritage, becoming a haenyeo, one of Jeju’s legendary free-diving fisherwomen. With no oxygen tanks, just her breath, skill, and a mental map of the ocean’s underwater landscape, she plunges to depths of five to 20 meters, holding her breath for one to two minutes, sometimes spending up to seven hours a day in the sea’s embrace. “When I’m underwater, all I think about is surviving,” she says, her voice tinged with awe. “I stop overthinking. The ocean is like a second mother. It’s healed me so much, given me so much.”
The haenyeo tradition, stretching back over a millennium with records from 1105 noting their trade, is woven into Jeju’s soul. These women—fishers, farmers, mothers—have long been the island’s backbone, often the primary breadwinners in their households. In the 1970s, their ranks swelled to 14,000, but the 1980s and 1990s saw many turn to less gruelling work in tourism or tangerine farming. Today, only about 2,700 haenyeo remain, most in their seventies and eighties. Ryoujin, at 42, is among the youngest in her village, where 83 active divers carry on the tradition. This year, ten plan to retire, and below Ryoujin’s generation, there are few, if any, new divers waiting to take their place. “I worry I’ll be left diving alone,” she confesses, her tone resolute yet wistful. “That’s why I welcome anyone who wants to learn. I’ll teach them everything I know.”
The ocean itself is shifting, its bounty shrinking under the weight of climate change. Jeju’s warming waters draw subtropical fish, pushing out native species, while invasive predators like the Amur starfish and blue-ringed octopus stalk the depths. Ryoujin recalls her early dives, when catches brimmed with abundance. Now, the harvest has dwindled to less than a quarter of what it once was. “Three years ago, I dried 30 sacks of agar seaweed,” she says. “This year, only seven. Even as my skills grow, the ocean gives less.” Yet the haenyeo remain guardians of the sea, not just its foragers. Through self-regulated seasonal closures, they avoid overharvesting and protect vulnerable species like Obunjak, a type of abalone. With support from the provincial government, they cull invasive starfish, collect sea urchins before they devastate seaweed beds, and release juvenile abalone and sea cucumbers to bolster the marine ecosystem they’ve nurtured for generations.
Amid these challenges, the haenyeo are gaining global recognition. In 2016, UNESCO designated their culture an Intangible Cultural Heritage of Humanity, and in 2023, the Food and Agriculture Organization of the United Nations (FAO) named the Jeju Haenyeo Fisheries System a Globally Important Agricultural Heritage System (GIAHS). This accolade celebrates their role as custodians of marine biodiversity, their sustainable harvesting practices, and their extraordinary communal ethic. Kyung-ho Ko, Director of the Haenyeo Cultural Heritage Division at Jeju Special Self-Governing Province, sees this as a lifeline. “This recognition elevates the status of Jeju haenyeo, helps pass down this valuable heritage to future generations, and contributes to the development of the local community,” he says. “Despite harsh working conditions, environmental changes, declining marine resources, an ageing population, and a low influx of new haenyeo, they symbolise the strong identity of women who maintain their livelihoods based on the traditional fishing community.”
The Jeju government is investing heavily to preserve this way of life, allocating ₩27.3 billion (USD 20 million) this year to enhance haenyeo welfare, support their incomes, improve working conditions, and sustain their culture. Medical costs for diving-related injuries are now covered, financial allowances support divers in their seventies and eighties, and benefits are provided for those over 75 who choose to retire. The government also organises haenyeo festivals, performances, exhibitions, and supports their shamanistic rituals, while establishing schools to train a new generation of divers, hoping to rekindle the tradition.
For Ryoujin, being a haenyeo is more than a livelihood—it’s a living heritage, a testament to community, sustainability, and resilience in a fast-moving world. “People call it a ‘3D job’—dirty, dangerous, demanding,” she says with a grin. “But for me, it’s the highest form of personal satisfaction.” Her mornings are a whirlwind, juggling four children, yet the sea’s pull brings a spark of anticipation. “Heading out, I feel excited—‘What will the sea give me today?’ That’s my water high,” she shares. The haenyeo community is her strength, bound by a shared vigilance. The sumbi, their iconic whistle when surfacing, is more than tradition—it’s a lifeline, a signal of survival that echoes across the waves. “You dive with others within sight, and we always call out with the sumbi sound,” Ryoujin explains. “It means: ‘I’m still here.’” To her, the haenyeo embody Jeju’s spirit. “Women have always played a crucial role here,” she says, her pride palpable. “To me, haenyeo are women, and women are haenyeo.”
Source: The FAO News And Media Office, Rome
– global bihari bureau
