In South Korea, an Aging Population Raises Concerns

December 23, 2010 Updated: October 1, 2015

ACT OF SERVICE: A volunteer serves lunch to elderly community housing residents in Pannam. Korean society is aging rapidly, and government policies are struggling to keep up with the pace of change. However, many ordinary Koreans are not prepared to give up on their long tradition of respect and care for the elderly. (Jarrod Hall/The Epoch Times.)
ACT OF SERVICE: A volunteer serves lunch to elderly community housing residents in Pannam. Korean society is aging rapidly, and government policies are struggling to keep up with the pace of change. However, many ordinary Koreans are not prepared to give up on their long tradition of respect and care for the elderly. (Jarrod Hall/The Epoch Times.)
SEOUL, South Korea—Paper plates piled high with boiled pork adorn every table. The rowdy conversation of old friends fills the tiny house and floats out into the frigid grey, early winter afternoon. Women dressed in slacks and coats with synthetic fur-lined collars sit cross-legged on the floor chatting and joking. In the next room men in old-fashioned suits converse boisterously, punctuating the afternoon with bursts of jagged laughter.

All 105 residents of the village of Hapcheon gathered to eat and drink the afternoon away in celebration of a neighbor’s wedding. Gatherings like this have been held in Korean villages for centuries. It is a tradition for the bride’s family to hold a feast in their house for the whole village. Everyone, young and old, comes along to help the family celebrate. But despite the warm atmosphere in the room and the air of joviality, it’s obvious there is something missing from this celebration. There are very few young people.

“Eighty percent of the villagers in Hapcheon are over the age of 65. They love it here because they can farm and earn a bit of money,” said Jung Jungja, a schoolteacher who has elderly relatives in the village. “But if future generations are going to live here, the government will need to provide access to services such as schools and medical care.”

This generational imbalance is not unique to Hapcheon. It is similar to what is happening to all over South Korea in the cities and in the countryside. Over the past few decades South Korea has modernized and developed its economy at a blistering pace. As an essential part of that development, successive governments have encouraged families to have fewer children. South Korea now has one of the lowest birth rates in the world and one of the most rapidly aging populations.

At present, citizens aged 65 years and older make up 11 percent of the population. By 2026, they may account for 20 percent of the population. By the year 2016 the elderly are expected to outnumber children under the age of 14.

[etssp 184]A South Korean family once consisted of several generations living under the same roof. As they aged, parents would continue to live with their eldest son, his wife and children. It was the eldest son’s responsibility to provide financial support and care for the elderly couple. Now, most Korean families do not live in houses, but in small, modern apartments. The cost of living has risen, and the pace of life has increased.

It is clear that this situation makes many South Koreans uneasy. Korean society has always treated elders with great respect. A long, happy retirement surrounded by grandchildren was something that all Koreans looked forward to. The South Korean government announced in November that it would spend 75.8 trillion won (US $65 billion) over the next five years to combat the low birth rate and the aging population. This will include government funded maternity and paternity leave, and the introduction of a child-care allowance.

On a similar afternoon there was another gathering in a working-class suburb called Pannam. It was not a wedding celebration but a Sunday lunch in a public housing complex. The large dining room in the local community center was filled with a crowd of over 200 elderly patrons. Some chatted and laughed while others sat silently. Amid the din of crashing steel pans and the friendly shouts of co-workers, Shin Jae Hwan, an office worker who volunteers his time once a month, served lunch.