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이정범 · 2026-09-11 · EN / KR

Paying to Be Censored: South Korea's History of Media Censorship and the Absurdity of Game Rating Fees

Tracing South Korea's history of state media censorship from post-liberation to the digital age, this essay examines how games inherited the stigma of 'delinquent amusement,' and why forcing creators to pay millions of won for mandatory pre-censorship must be abolished.

Editorial typographic cover featuring Article 21, Paragraph 2 of the Constitution of the Republic of Korea: Censorship of speech and the press shall not be recognized

1. The Brutal History of State Censorship in Post-Liberation Korea: Imposed Silence

Article 21, Paragraph 2 of the Constitution of the Republic of Korea clearly dictates:

"Censorship of speech and the press, or licensing of assemblies and associations, shall not be recognized."

Yet behind this unequivocal constitutional guarantee lies a dark, decades-long history of state censorship—one that inherited the oppressive machinery of Japanese colonial rule to suppress and mutilate free expression.

1) Colonial Legacies and Ideological Control (1945–1950s)

Following liberation in 1945, neither the United States Army Military Government in Korea (USAMGIK) nor the newly inaugurated South Korean administration dismantled the draconian colonial statutes—such as the Publication Law, the Security Law, and the Chosun Motion Picture Decree—used by the Japanese Government-General to suppress dissent. Instead, they adapted them to secure political control.

  • USAMGIK Ordinance No. 88 (1946): Imposed a strict licensing system on newspapers and periodicals, pre-emptively silencing critical publications.
  • The National Security Act (1948) and the Office of Public Information: Under the pretext of regime legitimacy and Cold War division, state-led ideological censorship became entrenched. Throughout the Korean War, anti-communism became the sole, absolute benchmark of artistic and cultural legitimacy. Any work deemed insufficiently loyal or subtly critical of the state was stamped out before reaching the public.

2) Authoritarian Dictatorships and Institutionalized Pre-Censorship (1960s–1980s)

Under the authoritarian regimes of Park Chung-hee and Chun Doo-hwan, state pre-censorship was thoroughly codified under the banners of national security, economic modernization, and moral purification.

  • Film (The Motion Picture Act of 1962 and subsequent revisions): Film production was restricted to licensed corporations. Screenplays were subjected to preliminary review by censors, and finished prints had to survive bureaucratic cuts by the Ministry of Culture and Public Information (and later the Public Performance Ethics Committee) before receiving exhibition permits.
  • Music (The Sound Records Act of 1967): In 1975, following the "Purification Measures for Public Performance Activities" and Emergency Decree No. 9, the music industry was devastated. Over 220 popular songs—including Han Dae-soo’s Give Me Water (alleged discontent with the regime), Shin Jung-hyeon’s Beauty (rumored satire of Park's prolonged dictatorship), and Song Chang-sik’s Why Do You Call Me (mockery of youth curfew enforcement)—were arbitrarily banned under nebulous pretexts such as "fostering defeatism," "immature vocal style," or "undermining national unity."
  • Print and Comics: In the 1970s, mass book-burnings dubbed "Delinquent Comic Book Bonfires" were staged in public squares. No publication could leave the printing press without the physical stamp of the Publication Ethics Commission.
  • Press (The 1980 Consolidation and the Basic Press Act): The military junta led by Chun Doo-hwan forcibly merged media outlets and instituted daily "Reporting Directives" (Bodo Jichim), dictating the exact wording, placement, and headline size of daily news.

3) Democratization in 1987 and Landmark Constitutional Court Rulings

The 1987 June Democracy Movement culminated in the 9th constitutional amendment, embedding an absolute ban on censorship into Article 21, Paragraph 2. In the decade that followed, heroic civil disobedience by creators precipitated a series of historic Constitutional Court decisions.

  1. Motion Picture Pre-Censorship Ruled Unconstitutional (October 4, 1996; Case 93Honga13)
    • The independent cinema collective Jangsangotmae screened The Night Before the Strike (5·18 Gwangju Uprising) and Opening the Closed School Gates (teachers' union struggle) without submitting to the Public Performance Ethics Committee.
    • The Court Held: "Suppressing thoughts and expressions beforehand through censorship is absolutely prohibited by the Constitution. Even if an ethics committee presents the façade of a private entity, forcing prior approval by law and imposing criminal sanctions for unreviewed distribution constitutes unconstitutional administrative pre-censorship."
  2. Sound Recording Pre-Censorship Ruled Unconstitutional (October 31, 1996; Case 94Honga6)
    • Singer-songwriter Jeong Tae-chun openly defied state censors by distributing his underground cassette albums Ah, Republic of Korea… (1990) and 92 Rainy Season, Jongno (1993) without official seals, eventually petitioning the Constitutional Court.
    • The Court Held: "Recorded music is an expressive medium protected under the freedom of speech, press, and arts. Mandating government clearance prior to distribution violates Article 21, Paragraph 2."
  3. Film 'Rating Postponement' Ruled Unconstitutional (August 30, 2001; Case 2000Honga9)
    • The Korea Media Rating Board (KMRB) repeatedly used "rating postponement" to indefinitely stall the release of provocative or politically sensitive films. The Court struck this down, noting that blocking distribution by withholding a rating is functionally identical to pre-censorship.

Through these historic battles, South Korean literature, music, broadcast, and cinema broke free from state pre-licensing, transitioning toward post-distribution accountability and voluntary classification.


2. The Origin and Evolution of Game Regulation: Born with the Stigma of 'Amusement'

Yet, despite this hard-won constitutional progress, one medium remained trapped in the authoritarian past: video games. How did games end up outside the constitutional protective shield?

1) The Original Sin: Classified as 'Sanitary Hospitality' (1970s–1980s)

When arcade cabinets first arrived in Korea during the 1970s, the state did not treat them as software, culture, or art.

  • The Amusement Facility Business Act: Arcades were placed under the jurisdiction of the Ministry of Health and Social Affairs, classified alongside public bathhouses, roller rinks, and billiard halls as "sanitary hospitality businesses."
  • Scapegoats of Social Cleansing: During the 1973 oil crisis, the government froze all new arcade permits under the guise of "curbing electricity waste." This pushed arcades into illicit underground operations. Under the 1980 military regime's "social purification" campaigns, arcades were stigmatized as "dens of juvenile delinquency and unsanitary vice," subjecting them to perpetual police raids.

2) The 'Sound Records and Videowares Act' and Bureaucratic Scissors (1990s)

With the rapid spread of home PCs and consoles, the government amended the Act on Sound Records and Videowares in December 1995, shoehorning game software into the definition of "videowares."

  • Even when film and music won their constitutional freedom in 1996, games were dismissed as interactive gambling devices, remaining firmly trapped in mandatory pre-review.
  • The Public Performance Ethics Committee subjected games to absurd cuts: blood had to be recolored to neon green, and Japanese-style clothing or motifs were scrubbed under the banner of "eradicating Japanese cultural remnants."

3) The 'Sea Story' Scandal and the Monster of the 2006 Game Act

The trajectory of South Korean game regulation was permanently warped by the Sea Story (Bada Iyagi) scandal of 2004–2006.

  • Exploiting corrupt loopholes and lax KMRB reviews, an illicit adult arcade machine masquerading as a casual game flooded the country with predatory gambling and gift certificate money laundering, ruining countless working-class families.
  • In the ensuing political firestorm, the National Assembly passed the Game Industry Promotion Act in April 2006, establishing a dedicated regulatory agency: the Game Rating Board (now the Game Rating and Administration Committee, GRAC).
  • A Regulatory Iron Cage Disguised as 'Promotion': Traumatized by the gambling epidemic, lawmakers installed the most draconian pre-censorship regime among all democratic nations:
    • Universal Mandatory Pre-Rating (Article 21): Distributing any game without prior state rating classification is illegal.
    • Severe Criminal Penalties (Article 32 & Article 44): Anyone distributing unrated games faces up to five years in prison or fines of up to 50 million KRW (~$38,000 USD)—penalties comparable to violent felonies.

4) The Mobile Revolution and the Deceptive Illusion of 'Self-Rating' (2011–Present)

The advent of smartphones and global app stores triggered an immediate clash with this rigid regime. In 2010, when faced with mandatory pre-approval for every app, Apple responded by shutting down the entire Games category in South Korea.

In response, the government introduced a "self-rating classification system" for mobile stores in 2011 and expanded it to PC and console platforms in 2017. However, it retained a fatal poison pill:

Under the proviso of Article 21-3, Paragraph 1, all arcade games and all games rated 'Teen and Mature / Youth Not Allowed' (18+) are strictly barred from self-rating and must be directly submitted to GRAC.

Adult-targeted narratives, artistic experiments, and global PC indie titles distributed on platforms like Steam remain shackled to GRAC’s costly, bureaucratic monopoly.


3. 210,000 Signatures Against Tyranny: The Phantom of 'Disrupting Social Order'

By the 2020s, GRAC's unchecked overreach had sparked widespread outrage. In 2022, the committee arbitrarily reclassified popular subculture titles like Blue Archive as adult-only without clear rationale. Shortly after, a Board of Audit and Inspection (BAI) probe exposed systemic corruption and embezzlement regarding GRAC's custom management IT infrastructure. Furthermore, GRAC began threatening to block Steam games in South Korea if foreign developers did not submit to local rating procedures.

Decades of bottled-up frustration finally culminated in unprecedented civic action.

1) Case 2024Honma909: The Largest Constitutional Complaint in Korean History

On October 8, 2024, game content creator Kim Seong-hoe (G-Sik Baekgwa) and the Korea Game Users Association (led by attorney Lee Chul-woo) delivered a petition containing 210,751 signatures to the Constitutional Court. It was the largest collective constitutional complaint ever filed by individual citizens in South Korea’s history.

The challenge zeroes in on Article 32, Paragraph 2, Subparagraph 3 of the Game Industry Promotion Act:

"No person shall produce or bring into the country games that excessively depict crime, violence, or obscenity, thereby inciting criminal or copycat behavior, or that are likely to disrupt social order."

The petitioners' arguments are clear:

  1. Violation of the Principle of Clarity: The phrase "likely to disrupt social order" is as dangerously vague as the emergency decrees of past military dictatorships, giving arbitrary power to a handful of bureaucrats to block games at will.
  2. Violation of the Absolute Prohibition of Pre-Censorship (Article 21, Paragraph 2): Oscar-winning films like Parasite, brutal series like Squid Game, and adult webtoons can depict extreme violence and sexual themes without being banned from distribution. Singling out video games as dangerous tools of "copycat crime" is blatant, discriminatory censorship.

2) Current Status: Pending Before the Full Bench

Immediately following submission, the complaint cleared preliminary screening by the Third Designated Bench and was formally forwarded to the Full Bench of the Constitutional Court (pending under Case No. 2024Honma909).

Three decades after cinema and music achieved constitutional liberation in 1996, the global gaming industry and legal scholars are closely watching whether the Constitutional Court will finally grant video games the same constitutional protections afforded to all other arts.


4. The Extortion of the Censored: Why Mandatory Rating Fees Must Be Abolished

Even if the Constitutional Court strikes down Article 32, Paragraph 2, Subparagraph 3, a deeper structural injustice continues to strangle independent creators: the mandatory transfer of censorship costs onto the censored.

Under current South Korean law, the state threatens creators with prison time if they fail to submit their works for pre-approval—and then forces them to pay millions of won out of their own pockets to cover the salaries and overhead of the censors.

1) The 3.56 Million KRW Invoice Sent to Bedroom Creators

GRAC calculates its rating fees through an aggressive multiplication matrix: $$\text{Rating Fee} = \text{Platform Base Fee} \times \text{Network Mode Factor} \times \text{Genre Factor} \times \text{Localization Factor}$$

MetricFactor / Criteria (PC Platform)Value
Platform Base FeePC Game360,000 KRW
Network Mode FactorIncludes Multiplayer / Online PVP1.5
Genre FactorGroup 1 (RPG, Betting Mechanics)4.0
Localization FactorNon-Korean Language Support1.5
Subtotal Base Cost$360,000 \times 1.5 \times 4.0 \times 1.5$3,240,000 KRW
Final Fee (incl. 10% VAT)3,564,000 KRW (~$2,700 USD)

When a solo developer completes a multiplayer indie RPG in their bedroom after three years of grueling work, the first barrier they encounter when offering it to Korean players is an extortionate cash invoice of 3,564,000 KRW.

To grasp the absurdity of this amount, consider mainstream cinema:

  • For Disney's 150-minute blockbuster Avengers: Infinity War (budgeted at over $300 million USD), the rating fee paid to the Korea Media Rating Board (KMRB) was approximately 1.8 million KRW.
  • A solo indie game developer with zero budget is forced to pay nearly twice as much as the world’s wealthiest film studio. For independent studios, this is not a fee—it is an economic trade barrier designed to keep low-budget, creative voices out of the market.

2) Extreme Disparity with Other Cultural Media

In no other cultural domain in South Korea is a creator forced to pay millions of won in pre-publication tariffs:

  • Books & Literature: No prior clearance. Works are published freely upon basic business registration. Post-publication monitoring by the Publication Ethics Commission is funded entirely by taxpayer revenue (0 KRW for authors).
  • Music: Free distribution following the 1996 ruling. Streaming services and broadcast stations perform voluntary internal reviews (0 KRW for artists).
  • Webtoons & Digital Novels: Self-regulated by industry associations without mandatory pre-fees (0 KRW for creators).
  • Video & OTT Platforms: Platforms like Netflix and TVING self-classify all content, including mature 18+ titles, avoiding regulatory bottlenecks.
  • Games: Five years in prison for unrated releases. Solo developers must pay hundreds to thousands of dollars directly to GRAC.

3) Constitutional and Legal Contradictions

  1. Commercializing Pre-Censorship: Forcing citizens before a review board under threat of incarceration is pre-censorship. Even if one argues that age classification serves the public interest of youth protection, public administrative costs must be financed through general taxation. Forcing creators to pay for their own surveillance is a modern revival of feudal toll collection.
  2. Sabotaging the Spirit of the IARC: The International Age Rating Coalition (IARC) was created to provide global indie creators with a free, streamlined, digital questionnaire for universal age ratings. While GRAC joined the IARC in 2017, it purposefully excluded mature (18+) titles from the system to preserve its lucrative domestic monopoly. Confronted with confusing Korean bureaucracy and financial penalties, an increasing number of international indie developers simply block South Korean IPs or abandon Korean language support altogether.

5. Conclusion: Abolish the 'Censorship Tax' and Transition to Pure Self-Regulation

For half a century, South Korean video games have been treated not as culture, but as potential instruments of crime—from the health ministry’s anti-delinquency arcade raids to the post-Sea Story administrative monopoly.

The historic petition signed by 210,751 citizens (Case 2024Honma909) is currently challenging the committee's arbitrary powers before the Full Bench of the Constitutional Court. Yet, even if Subparagraph 3 is struck down, creators will remain shackled as long as mandatory pre-rating (Article 21) and punitive rating fees remain intact.

The path forward is clear:

  1. Full Self-Rating Classification (Including Mature/18+ Titles): Just as the video streaming industry threw off KMRB bottlenecks to classify mature content internally, the proviso of Article 21-3, Paragraph 1 of the Game Act must be repealed. Game platforms and industry bodies must be entrusted with comprehensive self-rating.
  2. Abolition of Mandatory Rating Fees for Creators: Threatening creators with prison sentences while extorting millions of won for review must cease immediately. All rating oversight and monitoring costs must be absorbed by the Ministry of Culture, Sports and Tourism's general budget.
  3. Transition from Pre-Approval to Post-Distribution Oversight: Like books and webtoons, games should be freely released. The state should intervene only after release to address clear violations (such as unlicensed gambling machines or child sexual exploitation material).

In a country where creators must purchase the right to be censored, claims of being a global cultural powerhouse ring hollow. Just as Jangsangotmae and Jeong Tae-chun liberated cinema and music three decades ago, the 210,000 citizens who stepped forward in 2024 must become the catalyst that finally breaks the obsolete shackles of state censorship and abolishes the unfair rating tax once and for all.