Earlier this year, an international team of scientists made the stunning prediction that women born in South Korea in 2030 can expect to live, on average, until they are 90, taking them past Japan to the summit of the global longevity table.
The study, published in the Lancet, marked the first time that average lifespans for men or women anywhere in the world have exceeded nine decades.
South Koreans, it forecast, will experience the biggest rise in life expectancy in the industrialized world, with women adding 6.6 years to their average lifespan by 2030 compared with 2010.
The prognosis was similarly encouraging for South Korean men, who will edge ahead of other nations with a life expectancy of 84.
The findings underlined South Korea’s emergence from the ashes of the 1950 to 1953 Korean War and its transformation into a successful exporter of everything from consumer electronics and smartphones to kimchi and K-Pop.
However, the report also exposed a paradox. While South Korea’s soaring rise in life expectancy is expected to continue, almost half of its citizens aged over 65 now live in relative poverty, according to Organisation for Economic Co-operation and Development (OECD) data.
The survey found that 48.6 percent of the elderly were in poverty (defined as earning 50 percent or less of median household income) in 2011, the highest level among the 34 OECD members.
About a quarter of them live alone, and high levels of isolation and depression have led to a dramatic rise in elderly suicide, from 34 per 100,000 people in 2000 to 72 in 2010. Anecdotal evidence suggests that many decide to take their own lives to avoid becoming a burden to their families.
“Life expectancy here has grown faster than in any other country in the world,” said Shin Kwang-yeong, a professor of sociology at Chung-Ang University in Seoul. “But the speed of aging has been so fast that the majority of elderly people here now live in relative poverty.”
At Tapgol Park in Seoul, dozens of people form a line to receive free lunches at a facility run by a Buddhist temple. Above the entrance is a sign that reads: “You are our hope.”
The cafeteria, which is open year round, used to serve about 140 people a day; however, the number has risen recently to more than 200, volunteer Kang So-yoon said.
“The main reason is because the economy is in bad shape and older people are struggling to find work,” she said. “For some, this is the only meal they will have all day. If they don’t have children to look after them, we are all they have. They’d have to beg on the street otherwise.”
Ironically, part of the reason for their plight may be the cost of supporting their own offspring.
“While they were still working, many elderly people were unable to put aside enough savings for later in life because they spent too much on their children’s education,” Shin said.
A woman in her late 70s says that she can no longer afford to feed herself on her pension.
“I come here for free meals,” said the woman, who declines to give her name. “My children can’t help me because they are struggling financially themselves. I don’t want much, but a bit more money every month would be a tremendous help.”
The traditional expectation that children will perform their filial duty and look after their parents in old age has stifled the emergence of a welfare state able to cope with South Korea’s rapidly aging society, according to Shin.
“Traditionally, observance of Confucian ethics meant it was taken for granted that children would look after their elderly parents,” he said. “But the family unit has undergone a tremendous transformation. Far fewer old people in South Korea live with their married children than in, say, Japan. And the increasing polarization of South Korean society means it is getting harder for adult children to support their parents financially.”
Outside the cafe, the neighborhood’s auxiliary “silver” economy is in full flow, with cheap second-hand watches, jewelry and clothes laid out on the pavement encircling the park. Every now and then, an old man or woman passes by pulling rickety wooden handcarts loaded with piles of collected cardboard and paper that they can sell for a few thousand won a day.
Among the park’s regular visitors is Kim Jin-yang, a 72-year-old who fought in the Vietnam War, receives a veteran’s payment on top of his basic pension and has developed health problems caused by exposure to Agent Orange.
“I served my country, yet I got next to nothing from the government,” said Kim, who worked in logistics alongside US troops. “But I have adjusted my lifestyle according to my means, and I can just about get by.”
The financial plight of older South Koreans emerged as a key issue in May’s presidential election, which was won by the left-leaning former human rights lawyer, Moon Jae-in.
Moon, whose victory was due in part to public anger over the rising income gap and record youth unemployment under his conservative predecessor, Park Geun-hye, has made welfare reform a priority.
He has pledged to raise the basic pension from just over 200,000 won (US$177) to 300,000 won per month, and to double the number of job openings for older workers to 800,000, coupled with significant monthly wage increases. He also plans to subsidize the treatment of Alzheimer’s and other forms of dementia, make more money available for caregivers, and increase social housing provisions for elderly people.
Like Japan, South Korea is expected to undergo rapid demographic change in the coming decades — with the proportion of those over age 65 predicted to increase dramatically to 40 percent of the population by 2060, compared with 13 percent today, according to Statistics Korea.
“Over the last 20 years, the rate of increase of life expectancy in South Korea has been very steep, with no indication of slowing down; hence the high levels projected in 2030,” said Vasilis Kontis, the longevity study’s lead author.
Kontis, from the School of Public Health at Imperial College London, agreed that an “apparent contradiction” exists between the South Korea’s pre-eminent life expectancy projections, and its relative poverty data.
“This apparent contradiction can be explained to a large degree by the fact that South Korea has one of the highest rated universal healthcare systems in the world, which includes care programs for the elderly,” Kontis said.
“But there are also lifestyle factors that have contributed to high life expectancy in South Korea. Those over 65 years old today belong to a generation with very low obesity prevalence — one of the lowest worldwide — and low levels of smoking. These are two predominant factors behind the low cardiovascular disease rates in this age group, which are lower than in western countries with high life expectancy levels, such as Switzerland, Australia and New Zealand,” he said.
Certainly, South Koreans have not benefited equally from decades of economic development. However, comprehensive and affordable healthcare has enabled older people to remain healthy, even on comparatively low pensions, according to Yang Jae-jin, a professor of public administration at Yonsei University in Seoul.
“The elderly poverty rate in South Korea is not absolute poverty,” Yang said. “It refers to relative poverty, or below 50 percent of the median income. That’s why it is possible for poor elderly people to live longer, even though they are in relative poverty. In addition, healthcare is universal and treatment for the poor is paid for by the state.”
Could South Korea’s astonishing longevity statistics come under threat?
Kontis does not rule out negative impact on life expectancy, particularly if the country is hit by economic crises and fails to find a long-term solution to hardship among older people.
“There is no justice or fairness in modern South Korean society,” said Kim, who is drawn to Tapgol Park not just by the promise of a free meal, but also by the sense of camaraderie he once enjoyed in the military. “Most people don’t care about their fellow citizens any more. This country has stopped functioning.”
The recent passing of Taiwanese actress Barbie Hsu (徐熙媛), known to many as “Big S,” due to influenza-induced pneumonia at just 48 years old is a devastating reminder that the flu is not just a seasonal nuisance — it is a serious and potentially fatal illness. Hsu, a beloved actress and cultural icon who shaped the memories of many growing up in Taiwan, should not have died from a preventable disease. Yet her death is part of a larger trend that Taiwan has ignored for too long — our collective underestimation of the flu and our low uptake of the
For Taipei, last year was a particularly dangerous period, with China stepping up coercive pressures on Taiwan amid signs of US President Joe Biden’s cognitive decline, which eventually led his Democratic Party to force him to abandon his re-election campaign. The political drift in the US bred uncertainty in Taiwan and elsewhere in the Indo-Pacific region about American strategic commitment and resolve. With America deeply involved in the wars in Ukraine and the Middle East, the last thing Washington wanted was a Taiwan Strait contingency, which is why Biden invested in personal diplomacy with China’s dictator Xi Jinping (習近平). The return of
Actress Barbie Hsu (徐熙媛), known affectionately as “Big S,” recently passed away from pneumonia caused by the flu. The Mandarin word for the flu — which translates to “epidemic cold” in English — is misleading. Although the flu tends to spread rapidly and shares similar symptoms with the common cold, its name easily leads people to underestimate its dangers and delay seeking medical treatment. The flu is an acute viral respiratory illness, and there are vaccines to prevent its spread and strengthen immunity. This being the case, the Mandarin word for “influenza” used in Taiwan should be renamed from the misleading
Following a YouTuber’s warning that tens of thousands of Taiwanese have Chinese IDs, the government launched a nationwide probe and announced that it has revoked the Republic of China (Taiwan) citizenship of three Taiwanese who have Chinese IDs. Taiwanese rapper Pa Chiung (八炯) and YouTuber Chen Po-yuan (陳柏源) in December last year released a documentary showing conversations with Chinese “united front” related agency members and warned that there were 100,000 Taiwanese holding Chinese IDs. In the video, a Taiwanese named Lin Jincheng (林金城), who is wanted for fraud in Taiwan and has become the head of the Taiwan Youth Entrepreneurship Park