David Tizzard is a professor at Seoul Women’s University, holds a PhD in Korean Studies, and hosts the Korea Deconstructed podcast. He has lived and worked in Seoul for more than two decades. Reach him at datizzard@swu.ac.kr.
Notes from the demographic apocalypse
Courtesy of Irlem Cilingir
By David A. Tizzard
“Okay,” I said. “How many of you think you might have kids in the future?” It was a blind poll, with students not knowing how their classmates and friends would vote. There were 38 of us in the lecture hall that day. Some suggested that around 30 percent to 50 percent of those in the room would choose ‘yes’. When the results came in, however, you should’ve seen their faces: 32 out of 38 young adults said they would have children in the future.
Where were all the radical theorists and cultural critics we so often hear about said to be dismantling the traditional family? Where were the quiet quitters who had given up on life and just wanted a dodgy Netflix subscription and some flavoured vapes? Where was the apathetic generation the media tells us so much about?
The answer to that might be in the messages that we provide to people. If you go around telling young people the world is screwed, of course they are going to reply negatively about the future. However, if you tell them about children, about meaning, about hope, about the tenacity and resilience of humans to continually create new living environments and conditions even amidst plagues, wars, and hunger. About the development of medicine, technology, and education regarding human rights and dignity. If you show them pictures of your own children and tell them how these little people you care for mean far more than a job, a social media profile, or the latest celebrity scandal, you will get a different answer. I couldn’t help but think if I had gone in that day and delivered a “Hell Joseon” themed lecture, the response would have been very different.
This is not to suggest that my lectures are affecting the national birthrate. Many who voted that day might later change their minds. They also might simply have been caught up in a moment trying to impress their professor. But when I did the same lecture at a different university the next day and got similar results, I couldn’t help but think that, alongside the material conditions of life, what we pass on to the next generation in terms of values and meaning has a far greater impact than we might realize. We seem to be remembering only half of Antonio Gramsci’s famed aphorism: We need pessimism of the intellect, yes. But must combine this with optimism of the soul.
Digital dystopia
Social media and 24-hour news channels mean that rather than stories of joy, or enlightening debates about morality, a lot of what we consume is sensationalist garbage. In seeking money and attention, our mainstream discourse has become the lowest possible form of human communication.
A popular Kurzesagt video recently laid out a stark vision for Korea’s future and why the country of Han Kang, Lee Chang Dong, and the LG Twins will never be the same. It highlights the falling birthrate as an insurmountable demographic challenge. Something that neither vibes nor a few more babies can change. It shows an animated image of Jeju Island empty and overrun by nature. It talks of the collapse of everywhere outside of Seoul and Busan. Music, drama, art, and science, the fruits of young endeavours no longer in existence. Just a land of wrinkly old people, supported by machines, with no-one to talk to and no-one to pay for them.
The video, while sensationalist, does a very good job at waking people up to the realities of a low birth rate and what it can mean across a variety of different sectors. It’s a holistic challenge that won’t be solved by economics alone. It’s financial, political, social, and cultural. It’s spiritual disintegration. Many young Korean people around me said they felt a mixture of shame and powerlessness when watching it. They realized that as individuals there was not much they could do to address the problem. But they also felt the need for collective action. To once more find the tenacity and courage to help the country come through its latest challenge. To breathe new life into the country they love and cherish.
The patriotism was admirable, to be honest. We sometimes see and hear very critical analyses of South Korea. But these young people speak in glowing terms about their home. They believe Seoul to be a place of beauty. They see themselves in their countrymen. They hope that their place of birth will remain with them forever. Moreover, they are not divided by the gender war that foreign media and commentators seem to love ascribing to the place. There was no suggestion of 4B feminism or hating men/women. One student told me that she was surprised by the western narratives on platforms like Insta and TikTok that spoke so passionately about Korean gender conflicts.
Demographics destiny
Roughly 30 years ago, during the IMF crisis, many people chose not to have children. As a result, the generation now reaching child-bearing age is smaller than both the generations that preceded and followed it. We’re currently living through the demographic consequences of decisions made three to four decades ago. On top of that, we’ve just come through the Covid pandemic, a time when many questioned the future and whether life would ever return to normal. Who wanted to get married in a mask over Zoom? When we add to this Korea’s rapid modernization, something that has reduced birthrates in nearly every developed country, we begin to understand the multifaceted causes of the current low birthrate. However, as the next, larger generation reaches child-bearing age and the impact of Covid fades, we are beginning to see an increase in the birthrate.
Of course it’s not happening very fast. But it’s happening. Korea is slowly trying to become more foreigner-friendly, too. It’s making mistakes along the way and being lambasted by many for not being perfect, but the last few decades have seen the country try to find a balance between preserving its original culture and making the place more attractive to foreigners. It’s also working out how to deal with Korean-Americans, Koryoin, Joseonjeok, and the hundreds of thousands of babies it abandoned overseas in the 1980s.
Much is made of Korea having an aging population. But I’m not sure this should be seen in a negative light. What it means is that Korean people live long lives. They have a reasonably good diet, they are active and healthy, they have a medical system to support them, and they have the will to stay alive. On the level of meaning and spirituality, is this really a problem? It would be worse if they were dying in droves, obese, hooked on drugs, or simply giving up. But that’s not Korea.
My children go to school in the Korean countryside. They each have around 15 people in their class. The teachers know all the students’ names and treat them with care and attention. In the aftermath of the Korean War my father-in-law’s class had 70 children in it. Education was difficult, he said. So was food. Hospitals were rare. And air conditioning hadn’t been invented yet.
But there was meaning threaded through the hardship. Grandmothers sat with their grandchildren. People passed on stories. Tales of family and sacrifice filled tables. That’s something I still feel today. Life is hard. Rent is outrageous. Kimbap costs more than I ever imagined it would. I am asked to teach an increasing number of classes. If I were only doing all of this for myself, I can imagine it would be very stressful. Impossible, perhaps. But if you were to ask me would I go and teach those classes, speak on that program, and write those articles for my children? Of course I would. Life becomes much easier when one has meaning.
Despite what capitalism tells us, jobs and consumerism don’t always give us meaning. We think we are expressing ourselves when we buy a new phone and give up our summer for an internship. And, in the short term, that might be true. But what gives us real meaning is often an external source. We find ourselves without, rather than within. Reminding young people of that, showing them pictures of our children, telling them stories of purpose is important. It seems counter-culture. But it also works. We are, after all, the stories we tell ourselves about ourselves. And if you want to hear how Koreans themselves talk about these challenges, listen to their stories here.