As South Koreans migrate from rural areas to urban centers in their droves, the countryside towns they leave behind face an uncertain future. Local photographer Kyeong Jun Yang explores this loss of community through the handful of elderly residents who remain on Jido Island.
Despite its natural beauty, most Koreans have never heard of Jido Island.
South Korean photographer Kyeong Jun Yang only learned about it after searching through government data for sparsely inhabited villages. Yet since visiting for the first time in September 2022, he has returned every few months to document its people and landscape through the changing seasons. In August, he’ll visit for potentially the last time to shoot during summer’s coastal heat.
“When I arrived, the people who live there wondered why a young person would visit this place,” says Kyeong Jun. “Jido Island is not somewhere tourists go. The only people that visit are fishermen and those who already know it’s there.”
Starved of young adults looking to raise their own children—and with very little to attract them—the median age in many South Korean towns, like Jido Island, now soars into the 50s and 60s. According to research conducted in May 2021 by the Korea Employment Information Service, almost half of South Korea’s cities, counties and districts are at genuine risk of extinction, many within the next 30 years.
Kyeong Jun feels the city swelling more every year from his home in Seoul. Yet the shrinking rural communities across the rest of the country are the focus of his latest series, Extinction Forecast. Captured through the microcosm of Jido Island—situated about 60 kilometers (37 miles) from the Incheon mainland—this remote community with a population of just 10 people reflects the slow disappearance of towns in every region of the country.
“Rural population loss can go unnoticed because it’s happening slowly. I think this series could be an opener for people to consider what’s happening elsewhere.”
- Kyeong Jun Yang
The urban-rural divide manifests in many countries, but nowhere is this split clearer than in South Korea. With approximately half of the country’s 51 million people living in the greater Seoul metropolitan area, most flock to the sprawling megalopolis seeking education, job opportunities and connection. But no matter their generation, the decision to move is increasingly out of their control.
South Korea’s population has continued to age while fertility rates have dropped to unprecedented lows following the 1960s era of rapid industrialization. The impact of this decline is now readily visible in rural towns across the country. Villages previously home to robust communities dedicated to the agricultural industry are now marked with abandoned houses and rusted infrastructure. It’s rare to see a car traveling along the backcountry roads that carve through the green hinterland.
Research shows that much like transnational migration, rural-urban migration leads to acculturation. Acculturation is defined as the “cultural modification of an individual, group, or people by adapting to or borrowing traits from another culture.” This can manifest as replacing or modifying societal or cultural characteristics such as dress, language, religion, labor, and customs. The more acculturation the world experiences, the less diverse and the more monolithic we become as a species. Preserving culture can mean preserving small-town life in places many of us will never visit.
As the median age of Jido Island’s few remaining residents approaches 80, Kyeong Jun considers the reality of community loss where the issue is most visible. Not so long ago, Jido’s population was five times the size it is now. It even had an elementary school. Nowadays, most residents have moved to the mainland or passed away. Kyeong Jun notes that the number of cats on the island outnumbers its human population.
“It’s an issue that can go unnoticed because it’s happening slowly,” says Kyeong Jun, suggesting many South Koreans seem to want to ignore the crisis. “I think this series could be an opener for people to consider what’s happening elsewhere.”
Throughout his trips to Jido, Kyeong Jun established varying degrees of trust with everyone in the village. Small enough to walk from end to end, he was told other photographers had visited to take photos of the birds or capture the ocean waves. Yet no one has paid much attention to the elderly locals. While Kyeong Jun has gotten to know all of Jido’s locals, he has formed an especially close bond with three elderly siblings.
He explains how three more siblings from the same family have left behind Jido for the mainland, but the trio who chose to remain have no desire to leave their birthplace. “The three siblings who I live with when I go there really trust me. I’m very honest about what I’m doing because it’s sad for them, as the story is about how both they and the island will be gone soon.”
The prospect of population decline is particularly daunting for Jido’s residents and other islands like it. According to Kyeong Jun, government-run boats to and from such islands cease once the remaining population drops to five. While this will make coming and going from the island increasingly costly, it also means those who remain must source their own food and water supply.
It remains to be seen whether new initiatives can convince more people to settle in rural areas than those who leave. This tension lies at the heart of Extinction Forecast.
“I think everyone will leave eventually, except for the three siblings,” says Kyeong Jun. “They’ve already started farming the island’s backside to grow food. Even if the transportation gets cut, I think the three siblings will find a way to stay. If they still live there, I’ll go and take photos.”
While the issue of South Korea’s aging population and declining fertility rates receives plenty of attention, the government hasn’t been able to find a long-term solution for hundreds of vanishing rural communities. Although some have noticed an uptick in kwichon—young people rejecting Korea’s harsh corporate environment for a simple farming life—the numbers are insignificant compared to those seeking opportunities impossible to find outside an urban center.
The South Korean government has tried numerous strategies to encourage young people to the countryside. Since 2004, public institutions have relocated from Seoul to regional hubs, while vast sums have been invested in social and transport infrastructure. Unfortunately, these changes have struggled to connect rural and urban areas to a significant degree.
Local governments have also taken it upon themselves to develop creative strategies to resolve their population crisis. Mungyeong City in North Gyeongsang is building 100 modular homes, offering budding farmers free rent for up to one year. Fishing villages like Shinan County lease anglers discounted vessels while other townships renovate abandoned homes to attract newcomers. However, it remains to be seen whether these initiatives can convince more people to settle than those who leave. This tension lies at the heart of Extinction Forecast.
“I don’t know the solution, and I don’t think the government does either, but it’s better than not thinking about it,” says Kyeong Jun. “The issue is coming, and it’s going to influence our world.”
Hudson Brown is a Melbourne-based freelance journalist and content writer focused on architecture, design, food, travel and sustainability. His work has appeared in numerous local and international publications, including SBS Food, Urth, Treadlie and Assemble Papers.
