Beyond Locks and Gates: Rethinking Safety from a Cultural Lens

When I first moved to Australia, the concept of "Safety"- What it means, how it's perceived, and how it's designed into daily life-felt surprisingly different from what I was used to. 

At first glance, it wasn't something I expected to notice so quickly. But as I began house-hunting and settling in, subtle yet striking details began to stand out- details that spoke volumes about culture, trust, and the psychology of living. 

One of the earliest things that caught my attention was the structure of suburban homes. 

While most homes in Australia cleary define property boundaries with fences, I was surprised to see that many of them had NO front gates or walls. 

The front yard, in many cases, was open - accessible all the way up to the front door. There was no barrier that shouted, "Stop here", or "Private property beyond this point". It felt open, relaxed, even inviting- an unspoken trust that both reassured and puzzled me. 

Coming from Korea, where apartment living is the norm in densely populated cities, this was a cultural shift I wasn't prepared for. 

Back home, homes and buildings are often heavily secured-with high walls, coded entries, multiple CCTV cameras, and increasingly, smart locks that use fingerprints or digital keypads. 

Physical keys are almost obsolete. It's rare to see anyone carrying a traditional keychain. 

In fact, in Korea, it's not uncommon to enter your home using just your fingerprint - no digging through your bag for a key, no fumbling with a lock in the dark. 

In contrast, the first few homes I visited in Australia had traditional key locks - some of them decades old. The front doors weren't hidden behind layers of security features. And although many homes did have modern touches, the fundamental assumption was different: that the world outside wasn't necessarily hostile. 

This contrast struck me not as a judgment but as a fascinating lens into 2 societies' perspectives on safety and community. 

Cultural Assumptions of safety 

Safety, I've come to realize, isn't only a matter of technology or physical deterrents. It's a cultural concept. 

It reflects how much trust we place in others - our neighbors, strangers, systems - and how that trust (or lack thereof) gets embedded into the spaces we live in. 

In Korea, there is a practical reason behind the advancement of home security technology. High-density living, the speed of urban life, and an emphasis on convenience have all contributed to the popularity of smart locks. But it's also about control and assurance. 

In cities where you've constantly surrounded by people, there is a need to draw a firm line between what's yours and what isn't - digitally, physically, and socially. 

Australia, on the other hand, has a different rhythm. The pace is slower, the spaces are wider, and the collective mindset leans towards openness. That openness translates into architecture: front lawns that invite you in, windows without bars, homes that may not be entirely enclosed but still feel safe.

The implicit message is: “We’re all part of a community, and we trust each other enough not to fortify ourselves.”

Safety beyond Technology 

What truly fascinated me was that despite the apparent lack of “visible” security, Australia has a strong sense of personal and communal safety. 

Children ride bikes freely in neighborhoods, packages are left on doorsteps, and neighbors often know each other by name.

There’s an underlying social fabric that reinforces this sense of safety—one built not on locks and alarms, but on norms, civility, and mutual respect.

This doesn’t mean that Australia is free from crime or that its system is flawless. But the attitude toward safety is rooted less in fear and more in prevention, education, and trust. It’s a softer, quieter form of assurance.

As someone who spent most of my life in Korea, where safety often comes with layers of precaution, the shift was refreshing but required an adjustment. 

I found myself double-checking locks at night, instinctively searching for security cameras, and wondering whether the lack of a front gate meant I needed to be more alert.

Over time, though, that vigilance eased. The surroundings taught me a different way to feel secure. 😊

The irony of simplicity 

There's something ironic about how low-tech Australia feels when it comes to home access. 

In a world rapidly adopting smart homes, Australia still embraces the humble house key. In fact, key rings are not only common—they're still a necessity. The idea of walking out the door without a key felt foreign to me at first, as in Korea, it's entirely normal to leave home with just your phone or even less. There, the home greets you with automation. Here, it's still about turning a key in the door. 

This simplicity isn’t a sign of being behind—it’s a reflection of lifestyle and values. It made me realize that technological advancement doesn’t always equate to peace of mind.
In some cases, it introduces new layers of complexity—apps to manage, batteries to charge, software to update.
In Australia, the mechanical key still works just fine. And for many, it represents a kind of ease that’s hard to argue with. 

Less in Adaptation 

Adjusting to this "new definition of safety" didn’t happen overnight. It came slowly—through lived experience. Over time, I stopped reaching for my imaginary keypad when unlocking the door.
I grew more comfortable walking past open yards without suspecting intrusion. I learned to appreciate the unsaid boundaries respected by neighbors.

And I began to value the trade-off: less technology, but more human connection. Less security hardware, but more visible community cohesion.

That doesn’t mean I gave up on what I knew. There are still features I miss from my life in Korea—like the convenience of smart door access or the efficiency of centralized security systems in apartment buildings. 

But what I’ve learned is that safety isn’t a one-size-fits-all concept. It’s deeply contextual. And often, it’s the invisible social codes—not the visible locks—that keep us safe.

What this teaches us about design and mindset 

This personal journey into the differences in safety perception also offers broader insights for how we design for people. Whether it’s urban planning, product design, or even digital experiences, understanding local context is key.

A product that succeeds in Korea—where speed, automation, and layered security are valued—might feel unnecessary or even excessive in Australia, where simplicity and trust dominate. The inverse is also true.

Understanding how people feel safe—not just how we make things secure—is essential for any designer, marketer, or policymaker. That feeling is shaped not just by hardware or legislation, but by the stories people tell themselves about the world they live in.

Conclusion: Redefining what it means to feel safe 

Looking back, what began as a cultural surprise has become a deeper appreciation for the subtle ways that safety is lived, experienced, and embedded in our surroundings.

From electric door locks and biometric systems to open yards and house keys, the contrast is more than technological—it’s philosophical. It reflects how different societies approach the world: with caution, with trust, with convenience, or with tradition.

Moving to Australia didn’t just teach me about a new country.
It taught me that feeling safe isn’t just about being locked in—it’s about feeling welcomed, included, and respected. Sometimes, that starts with a gate left open.