SEOUL, South Korea — Modern skyscrapers rise next to 14th century stone palaces. Airy underground malls offer fast fashion, face masks and local takes on French pastry. This small, peninsular nation of just over 50 million people has only recently become a rich country and one so technologically advanced that the Seoul subway whooshes into the station in near silence, on time, with upholstered, heated seats for chilly winter riders. (Take note, New York City; this is how a subway system should run.)
South Korea has rocketed from poverty to wealth in a handful of decades and is currently the world’s 11th-largest economy due largely to its cultural output, technology and, more recently, skincare. The country has such an outsized cultural footprint that you would have to be living under a rock to be unaware of it. Actually, even if you live under a rock, you can stream thousands of hours of K-dramas on Netflix and Palo Alto-based, Asian-entertainment streaming site Rakuten Viki. But how philanthropic is this newly wealthy country? IP took a look at the state of philanthropy in the land of kimchee and K-Pop. Here’s what we learned:
A communitarian culture, brought to philanthropy
For starters, South Korea has a far more communitarian culture than we do in the U.S. While its wealth is relatively new, sharing the wealth is not. Or rather, Korea had a strong philanthropic heritage in the past, before being squelched by economic hardship from years of Japanese colonization, the Korean War, dictatorship and the aftermath. In the 1950s, 80% of the urban population lived below the poverty line.
Modern philanthropy in Korea began in the 1990s. The country established the Korean International Cooperation Agency (KOICA) in 1991 to distribute aid and promote economic and social development in poorer countries. Then the Asian financial crisis hit. The government had to ask for a loan from the IMF, a fact that Koreans felt collective shame about and refer to as the “Day of National Humility,” according to journalist Euny Hong, author of “The Birth of Korean Cool.” Hong’s book describes a stunning all-for-one ethos in this time of trouble: “Wealthy women relinquished their wedding rings and athletes turned in trophies and medals to be melted down into ingots to help the national cause.” The gold drive raised 8 metric tons from private individuals in its first week, and the country paid back its debt three years early. It is hard to imagine a similar scenario in the U.S., where people prided themselves on not wearing masks during the pandemic and viewed their decision to risk others’ lives through contagion as a form of protected individual expression.
Today, the poverty rate in Korea is around 14% and the literacy rate is 96%, according to the Borgen Project. As Korean economic output began minting more millionaires and billionaires, these wealthy individuals quickly stepped up their giving. The government helped, passing laws to facilitate corporate and individual giving, and nonprofit formation. These included the Law to Promote Nonprofit Civil Organizations of 2000 and the Act of Collection and Use of Donations in 2006.
This embrace of philanthropy was not a given; not every newly rich individual — or nation — gives back. As former Brookings Institute senior fellow Kongdan Oh put it in a beautiful, personal, 2010 post, “Korea, once an international aid recipient, has now become an aid donor. Korea is the first case since OECD’s birth in 1961 that an OECD member transformed its status from recipient to donor.”
What a communitarian ethos looks like on the ground
While mega-donor giving may still be associated mostly with the United States, there is a culture of generosity apparent in many Koreans’ day-to-day activities that makes philanthropy feel like a natural fit. I traveled to South Korea in June with my teenage son (compelled to visit, I must admit, by having watched hundreds of hours of sweet, romantic K-dramas). In person, the city of Seoul feels as fashionable and community oriented as seen on TV. And people engage in civic-minded behavior that is shocking, from an American perspective.
When we arrived at the airport, we saw people lining up for their turn to buy tickets for the train to the city center, rather than hurtling themselves at the ticket machines in a competitive frenzy, as they do at JFK. My son turned to me and said, only half joking, “How do they get ahead if they don’t shove people behind?” People wait patiently for subway passengers to disembark before entering the car. They refrain from talking on speakerphone in public. In one historic neighborhood called Bukchon Hanok Village, we met a woman whose sole job was to wear a placard reminding visitors to keep their voices down because people live in this picturesque, 600-year-old neighborhood, and of course, visitors would want to respect their peace.
This focus on thinking of others — and on fitting in rather than standing out — may well feel oppressive to some, but it points to a genuine sense of being part of a larger whole. Philanthropy is a natural extension of thinking about the welfare of others.
Giving near and far
Today’s donor class in SoKo (can I coin that term?) gives not only within the country but also internationally, generally through registered nonprofits, foundations, or other tax-exempt organizations, due to Korean tax law. In 2007, 9.5% of South Korean donors gave to international causes; by 2018, this had grown to 31.1%. As Global Philanthropy Tracker reported, in 2017, South Korean donors sent about $1.17 billion to groups working in at least 96 countries, including CSR giving from South Korean corporations.
One international recipient? The United States. Korean private equity billionaire Michael Kim pledged $10 million in September 2022 to the Metropolitan Museum of Art in New York to renovate the Met’s Oscar L. and H.M. Agnes Hsu-Tang Wing for modern and contemporary art. Kim and his wife, Park Kyung-ah, told Forbes that they support the arts “to add some beauty to the world.” Kim gives within Korea too; in August 2021, for example, he gave $25.5 million to the Seoul government for a new public library in the South Korean capital.
Who else is giving in South Korea?
Private-sector philanthropy in Korea today is dominated by big-name chaebols (conglomerates), tech titans and K-pop stars, with individual giving accounting for about 60% of all private philanthropy. Corporations and individuals use their popularity to raise awareness and inspire others to give. Samsung, for example, promotes its giving online and uses social media to encourage others to contribute. Hyundai is also a big donor and creator of giving campaigns, such as the Hope on Wheels program, which helps children with cancer. By the end of 2023, Hyundai will have given $225 million to pediatric research at 175 institutions worldwide (including in the U.S.).
In February 2021, South Korean billionaire Kim Bong-jin, founder of the country’s largest food-delivery app, Woowa Brothers, and his wife, Bomi Sul, were reported to have signed the Giving Pledge, vowing to donate half of their wealth. One of the country’s few self-made billionaires, Brian Kim (Kim Beom-su), also pledged to donate more than half of his wealth, which he’d made through Kakao Corporation, the country’s biggest mobile-messenger operator and a fin-tech giant.
Brian Kim’s net worth at the time was somewhere around $9 billion, meaning he was prepared to donate at least $4.5 billion, the largest gift of any solo Korean, according to reporting by Korean News Plus. Brian Kim’s fortunes continued to rise, due in part to the pandemic — to $13.5 billion by summer’s end 2021 — making him the richest person in the country. In June of 2021, he established the Brian Impact Foundation to continue this work.
But then monopoly concerns arose, investor sentiment turned, and he faced an accusation of tax evasion. He lost an estimated $7 billion, and in 2022, stepped down as chairman of the board of Kakao and of the Brian Foundation. He’s still giving away money, though, as the Korea Herald reported, continuing to take part in the foundation’s efforts to improve society, and now funding it in a pass-through manner.
K-Pop boy band BTS, meanwhile, the best-known and best-selling K-Pop group in the world, reportedly brings in $3.9 billion to the South Korean economy. The seven-member band donated $1 million to Black Lives Matter in 2020 and more than $1 million to UNICEF in 2021. Individual band members have made personal contributions over the years to various organizations, including Save the Children, ChildFund Korea, earthquake relief efforts in Turkey and Syria, and Keimyung University Dongsan Medical Center.
Solo-singer IU has donated more than $3 million since she debuted in 2008, as Borgen Magazine reported. She was also included in Forbes Asia’s “Heroes of Philanthropy” list in 2019. Actress, singer and model Bae Suzy has been a philanthropist for nearly a decade, giving to causes ranging from disasters to poverty. Singer-turned-actress Kim Se-jeong is also another celebrity giver, and like these others, she uses her platform to inspire others to do the same.
K-pop fans show devotion through giving
And fans do give, generally in honor of the stars they love. K-pop fans famously united to sabotage a Trump rally in the U.S., and they bring a similar fervor to giving in the name of celebs they follow. In 2022, fans of BTS member V, for example, donated about $17 million to flood recovery efforts in his name.
The unselfconscious, open adoration of fans strikes me as somewhat connected to the communitarian nature of the nation. It’s as if perfectly respectable adults are willing to act like teenage groupies because the stars are part of a national identity and, as Hong detailed in her book, many feel compelled to pitch in to support the nation’s economic rise. The government and the entire country backed and continues to back the development and promotion of Korean popular stars. When I was in Seoul, the city celebrated BTS’s 10th anniversary by illuminating buildings in the group’s signature purple hue.
The future of K-Giving
Global Philanthropy Tracker 2020 points to a few changes that need to happen to further strengthen Korean philanthropy. One is a more unified government system to track giving. While GPT credits the Korean government for spurring philanthropic activity over the past few decades through its laws, it now cites the lack of accurate tracking as an impediment (a struggle in the U.S., as well).
It also points to a lack of philanthropic heavyweights as role models. Where are the Andrew Carnegies, Bill Gateses and Warren Buffets of South Korea to inspire other rich people?
I think this second concern is probably overstated. Where are the big inspirational givers? Dancing and singing on your TV.
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