The majority of Korean citizens reject eating dogs and want to see this suffering confined to history
Parliament passed the ban 208-0 on January 10, 2024, with penalties up to 3 years imprisonment or $23,000 fines for violators, though consumption itself remains legal. Dog meat consumption has plummeted from 27% in 2015 to just 8% in 2022, with 90% of Koreans now rejecting it, driven by urbanization and pet adoption trends.
- Parliament voted 208-0 on January 10, 2024 to ban dog breeding, slaughter, and sale
- Penalties: up to 3 years imprisonment or $23,000 in fines; law takes effect in 2027
- Dog meat consumption fell from 27% (2015) to 8% (2022); 90% of Koreans now reject it
- Approximately 1,100 farms currently raise hundreds of thousands of dogs annually
- Law includes compensation for farms to transition to other businesses
South Korea's parliament unanimously approved a law prohibiting dog breeding, slaughter, and meat sales, effective 2027, reflecting declining cultural acceptance and growing pet ownership among younger generations.
On a Tuesday in January 2024, South Korea's parliament voted to end a culinary tradition that had persisted for centuries. The vote was 208 to zero. No dissent, no abstentions—just overwhelming agreement that the breeding, slaughter, and sale of dogs for meat would soon be illegal in the country.
The law will take effect in 2027, giving the government three years to prepare. Anyone caught raising dogs for consumption, killing them for that purpose, or selling their meat faces up to three years in prison or fines reaching 30 million won—roughly $23,000. The law notably does not criminalize eating dog meat itself, only the production and sale. It still requires final approval from President Yoon Suk Yeol, but that is considered a formality.
What made this vote possible was a quiet but decisive shift in how South Koreans see dogs. A generation ago, dog meat was ordinary. Estimates suggest that a million dogs were slaughtered annually for food. But the numbers have collapsed. In 2015, 27 percent of South Koreans reported eating dog meat in the previous year. By 2022, that figure had fallen to 8 percent. A survey released just before the vote found that nine in ten South Koreans said they would not eat it in the future. Among younger, urban Koreans especially, the practice had become taboo.
The shift reflects deeper changes in Korean society. As the country urbanized and grew wealthier, dogs increasingly became pets rather than livestock. Young people in cities were far less likely to have grown up around the practice. Many now adopted strays themselves. The first lady, Kim Keon Hee, had been an outspoken critic of dog meat consumption. President Yoon, an animal lover who has rescued numerous dogs and cats with his wife, lent the administration's weight to the ban. Animal rights organizations had been pressing for years, and the political moment finally arrived.
Previous attempts to ban the trade had failed because farmers who raised dogs for meat fought back hard. This time, the law includes compensation for those businesses so they can transition to other work. Around 1,100 farms currently raise hundreds of thousands of dogs annually, supplying restaurants across the country. The government acknowledged their stake in the outcome.
Not everyone welcomed the decision. Kim, a woman in her sixties who owns a dog meat restaurant, told the BBC she felt disappointed. She saw the ban as a consequence of changing attitudes toward pets—young people today, she said, treat their dogs as family members rather than food animals. She questioned why South Korea should prohibit something that neighboring countries like China and Vietnam still practice. In her view, the issue was not whether to eat dog meat but how to do it humanely. Dog meat, she noted, has long been considered a summer delicacy in Korea, valued for its supposed ability to boost energy and help people endure the heat.
JungAh Chae, the executive director of Humane Society International's Korea office, framed the vote differently. "The majority of Korean citizens reject eating dogs and want to see this suffering confined to history," she said in a statement. "Today our politicians have acted decisively to make that real."
The law represents the end of one chapter in Korean food culture and the beginning of another. For the next three years, the trade will continue legally. After 2027, it will not. What remains to be seen is whether the transition for the 1,100 farms proves smooth, and whether the cultural shift that made the law possible continues to deepen.
Notable Quotes
The majority of Korean citizens reject eating dogs and want to see this suffering confined to history, and today our politicians have acted decisively to make that real.— JungAh Chae, executive director of Humane Society International/Korea
Young people today don't marry, so they treat pets as family. But food is food. We should accept dog meat if raised and slaughtered hygienically. Other countries like China and Vietnam eat dogs—why do we prohibit it?— Kim, owner of a dog meat restaurant in South Korea
The Hearth Conversation Another angle on the story
Why did this vote happen now, after so many failed attempts before?
The numbers changed. In 2015, a quarter of South Koreans ate dog meat. By 2022, it was down to 8 percent. When that much of your population has already stopped, the political resistance collapses. The farmers couldn't hold back a tide.
But the law doesn't actually ban eating it—only selling it. Doesn't that seem like a compromise that satisfies no one?
It's a practical compromise. You can't police what people eat in their homes. What you can do is shut down the supply chain. No farms, no slaughterhouses, no restaurants. The consumption will fade naturally once the infrastructure disappears.
What about the 1,100 farms? Will compensation actually help them transition?
That's the real test. The government learned from past failures that you can't just ban something without addressing the people whose livelihoods depend on it. Whether the compensation is adequate, whether farmers can actually pivot to other work—that's where the law lives or dies in practice.
The first lady was openly critical of the practice. How much did that matter?
In a country where the president and his wife are both animal lovers, it mattered enormously. They gave political cover to something that might have seemed like foreign pressure or urban elitism. When the leadership models the behavior you want, it legitimizes it.
Dog meat was supposedly a summer tradition, tied to beliefs about health and energy. Does banning it erase that cultural knowledge?
It erases the practice, not the memory. People will still know it happened. But yes—in a generation or two, fewer people will have tasted it, fewer will have grown up around it. That's what cultural change actually looks like.