In South Korea's shrinking cities, prisons bring hope

Kim Kyung-rae, a 60-year-old taxi driver in Taebaek, rarely picks up young passengers. Most of his customers are elderly.

But it wasn’t always like this. In the 1970s and 1980s, young, eager job seekers flocked to Taebaek, then a bustling coal-mining town. People would joke that even a dog carried 10,000-won ($7) bills, so prosperous was the town. For many, Taebaek was a second hometown.

“Now, the city has lost its life,” Kim said. “We used to have 120,000 people back then. Now, we probably have fewer than 30,000 when excluding the ‘ghost population,’" he said, referring to people who are registered here but live elsewhere. Even his two daughters have left, moving to Seoul for university and work.

“I haven’t heard a baby cry in years,” he added. “I’m really afraid my city might disappear or be merged into a neighbouring one. I am not exaggerating.”

Once a bustling mining town, now on the brink of extinction 

Located about 180 kilometres from the capital, Taebaek once powered South Korea’s coal industry. At its peak in the 1980s, it was home to 52 mining stations, but as coal demand fell, so did the city’s fortunes. Its last remaining mine, in Janseong-dong, closed last year. As of February, the city’s population had shrunk to just 37,000 — the lowest of any city in the country. More than 30 per cent of residents are aged 65 or older.

Gangwon Tourism College, Taebaek’s only higher education institution, shut down last year.

Seo Hyun-chul, 29, is one of the few young adults who returned to Taebaek. An engineer, he was born here and initially found work elsewhere. Now, he has been dispatched by his company to work on wind power generators near his hometown. Most of his friends, he said, have moved to places like Jeolla Province, Gyeonggi Province, or Seoul.

“There are no jobs here,” he said. “The only decent one is Kangwon Land,” referring to the state-run casino and resort — the only place in South Korea where local citizens are allowed to gamble — built to revive the post-mining economy.

On weekends, Seo visits downtown Hwangji-dong, virtually the only place in Taebaek to hang out. But even in the downtown area, the city's ageing is palable.

“There aren’t any young people,” he said.

Hwangji-dong, once a bustling commercial area, is now quiet, with several empty storefronts. Seo said even coffee shops close as early as 8 or 9 p.m. due to the lack of customers.

Hwangji-dong is Taebaeks main commercial district, home to most of the citys restaurants, bars, and coffee shops. (Shin Ji-hye/The Korea Herald)

Taebaek Coal Museum commemorates the citys coal-mining heyday. (Shin Ji-hye/The Korea Herald)

The entrance to a now-closed mining station in Janseong-dong (Shin Ji-hye/The Korea Herald)

Park Eun-joo, 49, who runs a women’s clothing shop in Hwangji-dong, said most of her clientele are older, although she sells women’s clothing designed for customers in their 40s and 50s.

“When the Janseong mine and the local university were still around, families of employees, professors and officials would visit the area. Now, it’s rare to see even those in their 40s,” she said. “These days, I’m just hanging on.”

In a bold move to counter its population crisis, Taebaek applied in 2019 to host a prison. More than 10,000 residents signed a petition in support, and three years later, the Justice Ministry approved the plan. Over 100 celebratory placards were put up around the city.

“We were so desperate we had to do something — anything — to save the city,” then-Mayor Ryu Tae-ho said.

The new correctional facility, spanning 440,000 square meters, is scheduled to open in 2028. It will house 1,500 inmates. A report by the state-run Gangwon Institute estimated the facility could bring in up to 2,700 people, including staff and their families, and draw about 12,000 visitors annually.

Construction site for new Taebaek prison (Shin Ji-hye/The Korea Herald)

Residents welcomed the decision.

“Why worry about a prison? What matters is reviving the local economy,” Park said. “Families will visit inmates, and that means more business for hotels and restaurants. No matter what it is, I just hope more people come to this area. I don’t want this city to disappear. I mean it.”

Taebaek’s struggle is not unique. South Korea’s record-low birthrate and population concentration in the Seoul metropolitan area have left many regions teetering on the edge of extinction.

In 2021, the Ministry of the Interior and Safety designated 89 of the country’s 229 municipalities as “at risk of disappearing.” The designation is based on multiple factors, including population density, growth rate, youth migration, ageing and birthrate.

To address the crisis, the government launched a 10-year “Local Extinction Response Fund,” allocating 10 trillion won from 2022 through 2031. The fund is used to expand local infrastructure and improve living conditions within the region.

Still, reversing the trend of migration to Seoul for education, employment, and better amenities is proving difficult. The Seoul metropolitan area — comprising Seoul, Incheon and Gyeonggi Province — accounts for just 12 per cent of the nation’s land but is home to more than half the population. In 2023, the population gap between the metropolitan and non-metropolitan areas reached a record high: 26.01 million versus 25.31 million, respectively.

From NIMBY to YIMBY

With survival at stake, traditional “not in my backyard” attitudes are giving way to “yes in my backyard” (YIMBY) sentiments.

Cheongsong County in North Gyeongsang Province, about 220 kilometres from Seoul, saw this reversal firsthand. When a prison opened there in 1981, residents objected so strongly that the facility didn’t even carry the district’s name.

But attitudes began to change when a 54-unit apartment complex for correctional officers was moved into Jinbo-myeon. The relocation spurred local consumption and infrastructure development. Since 2017, Cheongsong’s population has remained relatively stable. Franchise stores like Paris Baguette and Mom’s Touch have even opened near the Jinbo Bus Terminal — a rarity in such areas.

Paris Baguette and Moms Touch, which opened in Jinbo-myeon, Cheongsong County, North Gyeongsang Province (Cheongsong County)

Today, the county hosts four correctional facilities and is bidding to host a fifth — a women’s prison. During a 2021 visit, then-Justice Minister Park Beom-kye was told by Gov. Youn Kyung-hee that female inmates tend to receive more visitors than male inmates, which could boost local business.

“The prison is one of the biggest clients for agricultural products here,” one resident told local media. “We’ve come to realise prisons are not a disgrace but an opportunity to prevent our town from disappearing.”

The county’s population fell from 24,441 in 2017 to 23,099 in 2023 — a smaller decline than Taebaek’s, which dropped from 44,733 to 38,435 in the same period.

In May last year, Geochang County in South Gyeongsang Province held a competitive bid to host an incineration plant, offering 6 billion won in support funds and 20 percent of plant revenue to the host village. Nine villages applied, and Daeya-ri was chosen with 97 per cent resident support.

In Yangju, Gyeonggi Province, six villages competed to host a funeral facility. On Jeju Island, three regions applied to host an incinerator. In Daegu, four districts are vying to attract a military base. In Gunwi County, nearly half of the 23,000 residents signed a petition to bring in military infrastructure.

“Public facilities once considered undesirable are now seen as vital assets,” said Heo Chang-deok, a sociology professor at Yeungnam University. “As local populations decline, this reversal of the NIMBY mindset will likely continue.”

Choi Seuk-ki, a professor at the KDI School of Public Policy and Management, agreed: “Facilities that were once avoided are now viewed as opportunities to stimulate population growth and attract public investment.”

Shin Ji-hye

The Korea Herald

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