On March 3, 2026, elementary schools across South Korea held their entrance ceremonies. Parents took photos, children wore name tags, and teachers welcomed new faces.
But at Deungmyeong Elementary School in Gangseo-gu, Seoul, none of that happened. The school — in operation since 1995 — recorded zero incoming first-graders. Not one. The empty first-grade classroom is currently being converted into a cafeteria, and the entrance ceremony banner was hung not by the school, but by its attached kindergarten.
This was the first time in history that a normally functioning elementary school in Seoul recorded zero new students.
When I read this news, I was genuinely shocked. Not because declining birth rates are new in Korea — they are not. But because this is Seoul. A city of nearly 10 million people and one of the most densely populated urban areas on the planet. If schools in Seoul are running out of children, the situation in smaller cities and rural areas must be far more severe. So I looked into it, and the numbers confirmed what I feared.
The Numbers Behind the Crisis
According to the latest Demographics of South Korea data, South Korea’s total fertility rate in 2024 was 0.75 — the lowest of any country on Earth. Not just the lowest in Asia or the OECD, but the lowest in the world, a position it has held for years.
To put this in perspective: the rate needed to maintain a stable population is 2.1 children per woman. The OECD average is 1.43. South Korea stands at 0.75, with Seoul alone recording 0.64 — likely the lowest fertility rate of any major city globally.
In 2026, the total number of elementary school first-graders nationwide dropped below 300,000 for the first time, reaching 298,178. Across the country, 210 schools had zero new students — up from 120 just five years ago. Another 209 schools had only one.
The Korean government has spent an estimated 270 trillion won (approximately $200 billion) over the past 16 years trying to reverse this trend. Baby bonuses, subsidized childcare, tax breaks for newlyweds, and fertility treatment support have all been implemented, but none have worked in a meaningful way.
The question every foreign observer asks is: Why?
It’s Not One Reason — It’s a System
When international media covers Korea’s birth rate, headlines tend to focus on housing costs or overwork culture. These are real, but they are pieces of a much larger picture. What makes Korea’s situation uniquely severe is that multiple pressures stack on top of each other, all pointing in the same direction: having a child is an enormous financial and emotional risk.
Housing: The Foundation That Isn’t There For most young Koreans, the dream of owning a home feels increasingly distant. According to the IMF, a median-income family purchasing a median-priced home in Korea would spend roughly 63% of their household income on mortgage payments alone. In Seoul, the ratio is even higher.
Korea’s jeonse (전세) system — a unique rental structure where tenants pay a massive lump-sum deposit — means that even renting requires hundreds of millions of won upfront. For a young couple without family wealth, securing stable housing before starting a family is a years-long financial project. The psychological effect is significant: without stable housing, the idea of raising a child feels irresponsible.
Private Education: The Cost That Never Ends If housing is the barrier to entry, education is the ongoing cost that makes raising a child in Korea uniquely expensive.
In 2024, Korean families spent a record 29.2 trillion won ($20.1 billion) on private after-school education. This figure has broken records for four consecutive years, even as the student population declines.
The average monthly spending per student was 474,000 won ($330). For the 80% of students participating in private education, that figure rises to 592,000 won ($410) per month. High school students cost even more, averaging 772,000 won ($540) monthly.
This is the calculation that stops many young Koreans: it’s not just the cost of basic necessities. It’s the 18-year commitment to an education arms race that can cost tens of millions of won per child — and the fear that if you cannot afford to compete, your child will fall behind before they even start.
The Deeper Issue: Not Wanting to Raise a Child in Insufficiency
What often gets lost in the statistics is the emotional dimension. Many young Korean couples say something more specific than “children are too expensive.” They say: “I don’t want to raise a child if I can’t give them everything they need.”
In a society where academic success is directly tied to career prospects and where a child’s opportunities are heavily influenced by their parents’ financial capacity, the decision to have a child is inseparable from whether you can provide them with a competitive edge. This is a structural economic decision: the perceived minimum standard for raising a child in Korea is so high that a large portion of young adults have concluded they cannot meet it.
What $200 Billion Couldn’t Fix
The Korean government has tried nearly everything, from monthly allowances to proposed military service exemptions for fathers of three. None of these measures have moved the fertility rate significantly. In 2024, the rate edged up from 0.72 to 0.75 — the first increase in nine years — but demographers attribute this primarily to a post-COVID rebound in delayed marriages rather than policy effectiveness.
The reason is straightforward: financial incentives address the symptom, not the cause. A one-time baby bonus doesn’t change the fact that raising a child in Korea requires decades of sustained high spending. Young Koreans are making very rational calculations — and the math simply doesn’t work.
What This Means — Not Just for Korea
If current trends persist, the IMF projects South Korea’s population will decline by one-third within the next half-century. Schools are closing, and pediatric clinics in Seoul have dropped by 12.5% in just four years.
Korea’s demographic crisis is the most extreme example of what happens when a society builds an extraordinarily competitive system — one that produced remarkable economic growth — only to discover that the same system makes it nearly impossible for the next generation to reproduce. The empty classroom at Deungmyeong Elementary is not just a local news story; it is a mirror.
Editor’s Comment
A country that had 6.1 children per woman in 1960 now has 0.75. We spent $200 billion trying to fix it. Perhaps the answer was never about money — maybe it was about building a society where raising a child doesn’t feel like signing up for a financial marathon you’re not sure you can finish.
*The information in this article is for informational purposes only. While we strive for accuracy based on March 2026 data, demographic trends and policies may change.
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