Written by Li Jianxing, Compiled by Sun Rongping and Huang Xiaowen

The Disappearing Taiwanese: How Should You Respond to the Population Crisis?

Taiwan has recorded the lowest birth rate in the world, making it the country with the most severe aging population. While most people still consider this a chronic issue that doesn’t require urgent attention, the population storm has already begun impacting various industries, affecting consumer power, national strength, and even your future. Taiwan, with its declining birth rate, is facing a demographic tsunami—have you realized the urgency?

This is a real-life case set in a gynecology clinic in northern Taiwan. On a bustling street, this five-story hospital exudes an indescribable desolation. Its old sign flickers dimly, the lettering so faded that the clinic’s name is barely recognizable. In reality, this gynecology practice has long ceased to function. The surgical lights remain unlit, and the gowns lie discarded in a corner. It’s hard to imagine that Dr. Gao keeps the clinic open merely to maintain his medical license. What’s even more surprising is that Dr. Gao has already switched careers—he now works as a "coroner."

At 60 years old, Dr. Gao was once a renowned gynecologist in northern Taiwan. At his peak, his clinic delivered 70 to 80 babies a month. But as Taiwanese had fewer and fewer children, his business plummeted. In 1995, Dr. Gao discovered that licensed medical practitioners were qualified to serve as coroners, issuing death certificates for those who passed away at home due to accidents or illness, helping families arrange funerals. By chance, he began taking on this role part-time during his free hours. Unexpectedly, as patient numbers at his gynecology clinic dwindled, Dr. Gao found himself with more time for his side job. Over the years, what was once a side gig became his main occupation. He transitioned from delivering newborns to examining corpses.

**Warning Sign 1: Plummeting Birth Rates Turn Gynecologists into Coroners**
For Dr. Gao, the shift from "welcoming new life" to "witnessing death" was monumental. Now, no matter how late or far, whenever a case comes in, he must be on call, working despite the stench of death. His clinic sees fewer than three patients a day, yet he once issued over 300 death certificates in a single month. At NT$2,500 per certificate, his monthly income could reach NT$700,000 to NT$800,000. While many friends and relatives struggle to accept that a respected doctor has "fallen" to being a coroner, Dr. Gao shrugs it off: "What choice do I have? Times have changed. Besides, working as a gynecologist meant being on call 24/7, running a clinic with nine nurses, and covering monthly expenses of NT$300,000 to NT$400,000. This way, I earn much more than I did delivering babies!"

But the real concern is the "population storm" triggered by the low birth rate. Dr. Gao’s story is not unique—similar scenarios are playing out across different sectors in Taiwan.

**Warning Sign 2: Declining Birth Rates Hit Campuses, Turning Professors into Baggage Handlers**

For 36-year-old former university lecturer Mr. Hong, the past six months have been the toughest winter of his life. Even now, months later, he still can’t accept that he is "unemployed." He has withdrawn from social interactions, avoiding questions and concern from friends and family. His hollow gaze betrays his helplessness: "I never imagined I’d end up like this."

Looking back on his teaching days, the declining birth rate led to enrollment shortages, leaving faculty in constant fear of unemployment. To curry favor with students, he once personally carried luggage for freshmen at the train station at the start of the semester. The idea of teachers hauling baggage just to keep their jobs seems absurd to most. These memories are too painful to revisit. He doesn’t know whether losing his job is a form of liberation or punishment.Over the years, that passion for nurturing talent was completely worn away. Teacher Hong recalled that in 2005, when hundreds of unemployed teachers took to the streets to protest, he had watched coldly from the sidelines, believing that the declining birthrate would only affect elementary school teachers at the grassroots level. Never did he imagine that the wave would come so quickly—before he knew it, he had become a "wandering professor" himself!

In 2006, the year Teacher Hong returned to the country, it coincided with an awkward era when domestic enrollment numbers were declining while universities were expanding departments. At the time, the "18-point university admission" incident also occurred. From that year onward, many colleges and universities began downsizing policies. For Teacher Hong, who had always sailed smoothly through life and was job-hunting for the first time, this became a major setback. He discovered that many competitors like himself, bearing the title of "newly minted Ph.D.," were desperately trying to squeeze through the "narrow gate of universities." Take a certain management college in the south, for example—it sought to hire eleven full-time faculty members, but nearly a hundred applicants vied for the positions. In the end, two-thirds of the newly selected teachers were Ph.D. graduates from prestigious overseas universities. Teacher Hong carried his diploma from north to south, applying everywhere, and finally barely secured a position at a technical college in Tainan.

But in his first year of teaching, Teacher Hong faced the dilemma of several classes being canceled due to insufficient enrollment. To protect his job, he had to follow the example of senior faculty and negotiate with the school, sacrificing his hourly pay to stubbornly keep the classes running. It was then that he realized how far he was from the "million-dollar annual salary" he had envisioned! By the middle of the second semester, the school had "optimized" over a dozen faculty members from departments with declining student numbers. Many middle-aged professors who had taught stably for over a decade found themselves unemployed without warning. "There were even rumors on campus of teachers who, unable to accept the reality, screamed like madmen in class!"

The following year, the real challenge arrived. With faculty vacancies left unfilled, the school began requiring junior teachers to take on administrative roles while also encouraging them to secure grants from the National Science Council or corporate projects to boost the school's finances. Even more absurdly, during university entrance exams, the school openly demanded that teachers emulate cram schools by going to high schools to "promote enrollment in classrooms." At the start of the semester, the school administration even issued an order: "With fewer children, enrollment is harder. Every student is precious—we must find ways to win their hearts!" Teachers were instructed to lead groups of sophomores to nearby TRA, THSR, and Ubus stations to help freshmen carry their luggage.

Teacher Hong truly couldn’t understand. He remembered that during his own college days, weren’t professors held in high regard? How had he fallen so low as to become a "luggage porter"? But worse was yet to come. The following August, when university admission results were released, Teacher Hong’s school faced severe under-enrollment. Shockingly, just two weeks later, the school announced the closure of several departments, laying off dozens of teachers—he was one of them.

Though prideful like Dr. Gao, Teacher Hong refused to admit he was part of the "lost generation." Yet those who knew them were deeply shaken upon hearing their plight. Logically, with their excellent education and hard work, they should have had secure lives. But due to the declining birthrate and their inability to adapt in time, their careers sounded the alarm. This was no baseless fear—a "population storm" was quietly approaching.

Taiwan’s Population Storm: Faster and More Urgent Than Imagined

Since 2003, *Business Today* has been covering issues like the declining birthrate and aging population crisis. Years later, this century’s disaster has proven far worse than imagined. Take the 2008 "Population Policy White Paper" commissioned by the Council for Economic Planning and Development—it projected 202,000 births in 2009 and a total fertility rate of 1.11. Unexpectedly, the population decline far exceeded expectations. Last year, births not only fell below 200,000 but the total fertility rate dropped to 1, far below the global average of 2.6, making Taiwan the lowest in the world.In fact, it’s not just the Council for Economic Planning and Development that misjudged the situation—most ordinary people are also unaware of how serious things are. What’s worrying is that while countries around the world are struggling to reverse declining birth rates, Taiwan remains stagnant, and the numbers prove it. Western nations had already managed to boost their total fertility rates through policy incentives before 2000. Singapore and Japan also reversed their declines two or three years ago, and even South Korea, which faces a crisis as severe as Taiwan’s, has seen its drop slow down.

Yang Jing-li, director of the Institute of Gerontology at National Cheng Kung University College of Medicine, analyzed that the biggest problem now is Taiwan’s harsh real-world conditions combined with weak public awareness. Many mistakenly believe this is an issue only for Japan or Western countries. "The rapidly falling birth rate is like a virus—neglect is its gene. When an epidemic meets a weak constitution, the disease quickly becomes incurable!"

According to a *Business Today* survey of 1,000 people, the main reasons Taiwanese aren’t having children are not being married and financial burdens, accounting for 73% and 41% respectively. In other words, many people aren’t marrying at the usual age, so they naturally don’t have children. Additionally, Taiwan’s poor economic conditions in recent years have made many afraid they can’t afford to raise kids. Lee Mei-ling, chair of the Department of Social Work at Asia University, analyzed the low birth rate in terms of three major factors: biological, workplace, and economic.

Lee explained that biologically, not marrying, late marriage, late childbirth, and fewer births are the four main causes of Taiwan’s declining birth rate. The current workplace environment is very unfriendly to mothers, especially since job security often disappears after having children—and the situation is worsening. In 1979, Taiwanese women who left jobs due to childbirth could return to work in just 40 months. But by last year, that time had stretched to 75 months, meaning women now need over six years to re-enter the workforce after giving birth.

But what’s truly concerning is that most people don’t fully grasp the "population storm" or even see it as a crisis. Lin Jia-ying, secretary-general of the Taiwan Population Association and chair of the Department of Sociology at National Chengchi University, who has studied population issues for years, offered a fitting analogy: "The population storm is like a sudden and violent tsunami. People lie comfortably on the shore at first, hearing a distant hum and thinking the disaster is far away. But by the time they realize the danger, it’s often too late to escape!" You might reassure yourself, "The low birth rate issue is old news, but things seem fine—life goes on as usual!" But Lin warns, "Sorry! No one is spared from this storm!"

Source: http://mag. chinatimes. com/ mag- cnt. aspx? artid=3147