Baby boomers’ childhoods captured in old photos
Author urges policymakers to learn from 1960s baby boom
Hwang Gyu-tae, 86, found himself engulfed in a maelstrom of emotions as he flipped through the pages of his newly published photobook, titled “Before Blowing Up.”
Consisting of hundreds of black and white photos taken six decades ago, his new book features resilient Koreans navigating the daunting challenges that followed in the wake of the Korean War (1950-53).
“I had a feel-good moment, while revisiting my early works,” he said, adding he was quite satisfied with the way his book turned out.
As the seasoned photographer presented his book, he expressed his aspiration for its universal appeal across generations, believing that his photography holds the potential to resonate with people of all ages.
“Through those photos, the older generation would be able to revisit their experiences, while the younger generation will be motivated to imagine what society was like before they were born,” he said.
More than half of Hwang’s captivating photographs focus on children, who would later be identified as members of the post-war baby boom generation, reflecting the demographic surge that followed the war.
Hwang said kids are one of his favorite models.
“They are adorable. That’s one reason,” he said. “Unlike adults, children pose as they are, without making any effort to look good, so I could easily capture their natural looks.”
While revisiting his cherished photographs, Hwang confessed to a growing sense of doubt regarding the effectiveness of government policies implemented to counter declining birth rates.
“Back in the 1950s and 1960s, there were lots of children. Families with four or five children were common at that time, and some even had 10 children. We witnessed a surge in childbirth following the war, a period marked by profound poverty. Yet, despite the harsh conditions, people continued to welcome multiple children into their families,” he said.
According to data from the National Archives of Korea, Korea’s fertility rate in 1960 stood at 6, meaning women had an average of six children during their lifetime.
The surge of births following the Korean War presents a striking juxtaposition with the current demographic landscape in Korea. Today, the nation grapples with plummeting birth rates, a trend that threatens to precipitate a population cliff and deliver a severe blow to the economy. With the total fertility rate declining every year, ominous and exaggerated speculations about the country’s future were presented, even suggesting its disappearance, have begun to circulate.
Korea’s fertility rate, announced in February, stood at 0.72, significantly below the threshold of 2.1 required to maintain a stable population. The figure represents a further decline from last year’s rate of 0.78, as unveiled by Statistics Korea.
Numerous ideas and policy options, such as child care subsidies and extensive maternity and paternity leave, have been proposed to combat the declining fertility rate. However, none of those measures have proven to be effective in reversing Korea’s downward spiral in the birthrate.
Hwang said financial incentives appear to be ineffective in halting the decline in birthrate, especially considering the outcomes observed during the 1960s.
“An increasing number of people choose not to have babies despite the generous policy support. Six decades ago, there were no such subsidies or policy support for childcare. Unlike the present, the 1960s was not a time of peace, and Korea was not as affluent as it is now. But people had lots of babies” he said. “This suggests that birthrates may not be directly correlated with people’s wealth status or the provision of financial incentives.”
Hwang said his photos made him
feel nostalgic and proud.
The photographs featured in “Before Blowing Up” predominantly capture scenes from Seoul and its suburban areas, spanning the years 1958 to 1964 — two pivotal years in Hwang’s life journey. In 1958, he embarked on his college journey as a freshman, while 1964 marked his final year in Korea before moving to the United States. After spending 25 years as an immigrant in Los Angeles, he returned to Korea in 1990.
Despite the poverty and political instability that gripped the nation, Hwang reflected fondly on those days as the “good old days” for him. It was a time before the sweeping changes brought about by urbanization and industrialization reshaped
Korean society.
Concepts such as “government-led economic growth” and “exports first” had not yet made their mark on the national discourse.
In the midst of chaos, those days retained a sense of peace for ordinary people, especially those residing in the countryside. Their lives remained untouched by the pressures of materialism or the repercussions of urban migration.
Hwang’s photography exudes a poetic and surreal quality, perhaps owing to its predilection for capturing moments before the onset of urbanization.
“Before Blowing Up” poignantly chronicles the harsh realities endured by Koreans as they labored to rebuild their nation in the aftermath of the devastating Korean War, which claimed the lives of millions and left key industrial infrastructure in ruins.
Through his photography, Hwang vividly portrays the labor-intensive and marginalized lives led by people during that era, heavily reliant on fossil fuels.
A radiant young man proudly displays coal briquettes while girls gather herbs on hilltops in spring. A mother tenderly breastfeeds her infant on the street, embodying maternal resilience. A homeless man quietly begs for money, concealed behind a building. Meanwhile, a stoic housewife, clad in traditional hanbok attire, can be seen doing
the laundry near a well with her face showing few emotions.
Life was undeniably challenging as Korea grappled with the aftermath of the Korean War. The nation was thrust into turmoil, exacerbated by a nationwide uprising in April 1960, sparked by election fraud that ultimately led to the resignation of President Syngman Rhee.
However, the dawn of democracy was short-lived, as the opposition leader who ascended to power amid the fervor of pro-democracy protests failed to live up to the public’s expectations. Chaos persisted, and the nation showed little sign of emerging from its turmoil. This failed political experiment came to an abrupt end with a military coup the following year, heralding nearly two decades of military rule under President Park Chung-hee.
In the 1960s, Hwang reminisced, Seoul retained a rustic charm. While the downtown area boasted a few modern buildings, rice fields and agricultural expanses were a common sight in the western part of Seoul, particularly in the area that now houses the Hongik University neighborhood. Decades later, this very area would undergo a dramatic transformation, evolving into a vibrant hub teeming with trendy cafés, restaurants, and clubs.
“I deliberately focused my lens on the everyday neighborhoods where ordinary people lived. The majority of my photographs were captured in Seoul and its surrounding areas, which still retained their rustic landscapes,” Hwang said.
Born in 1938 in Yesan County, South Chungcheong Province, Hwang developed an early interest in photography during his high school years. He pursued his passion further while studying political science at Dongguk University in Seoul, where he became a founding member of the Modern Photography Society. After earning his bachelor’s degree, Hwang embarked on a two-year tenure as a photojournalist for a local newspaper.
In 1965, he made the pivotal decision to move to the United States, where he resided for 25 years before eventually returning to Korea.
“Families with four or five children were common at that time.
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