When a society reaches the point where only six great-grandchildren remain for every hundred people after four generations, the issue is no longer merely low fertility rates; rather, it indicates a collapse in population structure. South Korea is currently in this state. However, what should truly alarm Hong Kong residents is not how extreme South Korea’s situation is, but rather that Hong Kong’s fertility rate has actually reached the same level as South Korea’s, with remarkably similar underlying causes.
The problems in South Korea are not particularly mysterious. It is not that young people suddenly dislike having children, nor is it a collective collapse of values; rather, the system has turned childbirth into a high-risk endeavor. For women, having a child often means a disruption in their careers. Long working hours, a culture of overtime, and promotions predicated on full-time commitment make it nearly impossible to balance parenting with professional development. Once a woman becomes a mother, her income, future prospects, and retirement security may suffer long-term losses. This is not a temporary inconvenience but a downhill path predetermined by the system.
The costs of education and child-rearing further amplify these risks. South Korea’s intense competition for educational advancement, with limited spots in prestigious schools and high returns on investment, has led to a tutoring arms race. Parents, even when aware that overall societal efficiency may not improve, dare not withdraw from this competition, as the cost of doing so would fall squarely on their children. In such an environment, having one child is already a struggle, while having a second is akin to voluntarily diluting resources. Low birth rates are not a moral choice but rather the result of rational calculations.
The rapid decline of marriage exacerbates the situation. In South Korea, childbirth is heavily dependent on marriage; as the younger generation becomes wary of the economic and gender risks associated with marriage, fertility naturally plummets. Coupled with the population inertia left by decades of official anti-natalist policies, even recent government subsidies have struggled to reverse the overall trend.
All of this is not unfamiliar to Hong Kong. Today, Hong Kong’s fertility rate is nearly as low as South Korea’s, and in many critical aspects, Hong Kong is even at a greater disadvantage.
First, the career penalties are equally present. Hong Kong’s long working hours, fast pace, and fierce competition are extremely unfriendly to caregiving responsibilities. While there is talk of family-friendly policies, sustainable flexible work arrangements and childcare support are severely limited. For many women, having children similarly means a decline in income, uncertain futures, and even marginalization in the job market. The system has not made room for parenting, leaving individuals with no choice but to retreat.
The pressures of housing and education serve as amplifiers in Hong Kong. Persistently high property prices and rents have turned living space itself into a scarce resource, inherently diminishing the desire to raise children. In terms of education, although there are no extreme cases of overnight tutoring like in South Korea, the system of prestigious schools, disparities between district schools, extracurricular activities, and a culture of not falling behind at the starting line compel families to invest significant amounts of money and time. While having one child may be manageable, having two quickly becomes a risk management issue.
Marriage and childbirth in Hong Kong are also highly intertwined. When marriage entails long-term financial commitments, housing pressures, and a decline in quality of life, and the system fails to share the risks of child-rearing, young people naturally choose to delay or even forgo marriage and children. This is not a denial of family values but a rational response to an uncertain future.
The fundamental issue is that, whether in South Korea or Hong Kong, child-rearing is almost entirely viewed as a private responsibility. Childcare, caregiving, education, and housing are primarily borne by families themselves, with the government’s role largely limited to sporadic subsidies rather than structural reform. The result is that each family must bear all the risks alone, and under such a system, having fewer or no children becomes the safest choice.
South Korea is not an exception but rather a magnifying glass. It reveals that when the system long ignores the real costs of childbirth, population does not merely decline gradually; it can suddenly collapse at a certain point. Once the critical threshold is breached, school closures, community aging, and youth outflow will create a self-reinforcing vicious cycle.
Today, Hong Kong stands at the same fertility rate level as South Korea, yet it still tends to attribute the problem to individual choices or values. This is the real danger. Population issues are never emotional but are the result of systemic factors. If we do not address working hours, housing, childcare, and career penalties head-on, South Korea’s present may very well be a rehearsal for Hong Kong’s future.
