Bucheon’s battle with clickbait: Can this South Korean city tame live-stream chaos?

BUCHEON, Gyeonggi Province - Mr Lee, a 38-year-old YouTuber living in Daejeon, headed to Bucheon Station in Gyeonggi province early one Friday morning to see how the city’s mecca for live-streamers has changed under an ongoing crackdown.

While in the middle of a live broadcast via the internet on a pavement near an outdoor carpark close to the station, a police patrol car approached with its siren blaring. One of the officers rolled down the window and told him to stop streaming on the street.

“I guess someone nearby, maybe one of the restaurant owners, called the cops on me. I used to stream around here before I moved to Daejeon, but the vibe’s definitely changed,” Mr Lee told The Korea Herald.

Over the past few years, the area around Bucheon Station has become a hot spot for clickbait content creators, including YouTubers and internet “broadcast jockeys”, or BJs as they are locally known, across various platforms.

When The Korea Herald first spotted Mr Lee on the street, he was live-streaming and dancing to loud music. He repeatedly shouted “thank you” as viewers sent him cash donations through YouTube.

After the police warning, he left, but he soon reappeared on another street, this time joining a group of other live-streamers walking side by side, holding their cameras and engaging with viewers on their own streams.

Crackdown

This has been a familiar sight for anyone who has passed through Bucheon Station lately: Benches in the plaza, outdoor tables at convenience stores and even roadside kerbs serve as makeshift stages for live-streamers.

From day to night, their loud, attention-grabbing broadcasts have become a constant nuisance for nearby residents and commuters.

But now, these live-streamers are facing tougher police crackdowns and new physical measures designed to deter their broadcasts.

At Pinocchio Plaza, a small circular plaza between commercial buildings long known as a favourite hangout for live streams, rows of bollards have been installed to prevent streamers from sitting and filming.

Outside a nearby convenience store, a sign has gone up: “YouTubers and BJs are not allowed to sit and stream here due to repeated complaints.”

The authorities also removed stone benches from the plaza to make the area less appealing to live-streamers, who used to line up there to broadcast, a source of persistent frustration for local merchants.

“There was one time when four or five BJs were sitting in a line on the ground blasting music from a portable speaker and singing out loud,” said a 44-year-old bakery owner. “I couldn’t take it any more and ended up calling the police.”

Bucheon’s tough stance followed a rise in live streams that have gone beyond mere noise disturbances.

A female YouTuber in her 30s was referred to prosecutors in September while under arrest on charges of aggravated assault, after stabbing another male streamer who was broadcasting live inside a commercial building in Bucheon’s Wonmi-gu, according to news reports.

Earlier in June, a man and a woman in their 30s, both YouTubers, were booked without detention for public indecency after performing dance moves that evoked images of a sexual act on a street near Bucheon Station. They were also later referred to prosecutors.

Police say such incidents are not isolated.

“Even beyond the cases covered by the media, it’s common to find them drinking and getting into fights on the streets during patrols, and cases of property damage at restaurants are not rare either,” a police official told The Korea Herald.

Local residents, especially parents of teenagers, are growing more anxious with their live streams turning increasingly aggressive.

“I’m concerned that kids might become numb to how serious these actions are after constant exposure, seeing them as something to enjoy and share on social media,” said a parent surnamed Ham, a 37-year-old office worker who lives near Bucheon’s Sinjung-dong Station and has a 15-year-old son.

Why Bucheon?

At first glance, there seems to be no clear reason why Bucheon Station, of all places, should become the go-to spot for live-streaming.

The station on Seoul Subway Line Number 1 is a major hub in western Gyeonggi province, with as many as 100,000 people coming and going each day. On Oct 1 alone, some 70,000 riders used trains at the station, government data showed.

Like some other mega stations in and around Seoul, the building doubles as a shopping mall, while the surrounding area serves as a popular dining and hangout spot for locals, lined with rows of eateries and bars.

What stands out, however, is its broad plaza that opens up right outside the station. Older residents sit on mats eating or socialising as commuters hurry past. In the corners of the plaza, a few homeless individuals can be seen.

“Bucheon Station is always crowded, so as soon as you start streaming, people stare, talk to you, or complain. All that unpredictable stuff actually helps make the content more exciting,” the bakery owner said.

City officials say the trouble with live-streamers began around 2022, when a few people began to make sizeable profits by filming attention-grabbing broadcasts near the station, prompting a wave of copycats to flock to the area.

As more of them gathered in the area, they became less self-conscious about their behaviour, leading to even bolder acts and creating a vicious circle that continues to draw new streamers, they added.

Now, in the world of live streaming, Bucheon’s name has become virtually synonymous with clickbait and trouble-causing content.

“A stream with ‘Bucheon’ in the title is guaranteed to draw views. Anyone looking for edgy content clicks the moment they see it,” said a 35-year-old YouTuber surnamed Song in an interview with The Korea Herald.

Logistical factors also make Bucheon appealing to live-streamers.

The area is packed with affordable eateries and bars, yet rent is lower compared with nearby Seoul, while there is still convenient subway access to the capital.

This means that aspiring live broadcasters can cut down on their living costs. The neighbourhood is also well suited for “beer broadcasts”, where as many as 10 to 20 streamers gather in a studio apartment, a bar or even a motel to host talk shows while drinking together.

“Nearly 70 BJs live in the city and work full-time across multiple platforms like YouTube and AfreecaTV,” said YouTuber Ham, who has been streaming in Bucheon for seven years. “Rookie BJs with little money often team up with senior streamers in their studios to build recognition.”

Real solution in the money

Despite police crackdowns, provocative content will continue to proliferate as long as live-streamers can profit from views and fan donations generated by their problematic behaviour, experts say.

“Freedom of expression is essential, but it doesn’t justify behaviour that infringes on others’ lives. To truly address the problem, the authorities must work with online platforms to change the revenue structure that fuels such acts,” said a media studies professor Choi Jin-bong of Sungkonghoe University.

“Online platforms should introduce measures to temporarily restrict monetisation or block ad exposure for broadcasts that disrupt public order in local communities”.

Legislative efforts are also under way to rein in malicious streamers.

Under current law, their disruptive behaviour in public spaces during broadcasts is subject only to fines of up to 100,000 won (S$88), in accordance with the Minor Offences Act.

Seeking to establish a legal basis for punishing these streamers, Mr Seo Young-seok of the Democratic Party of Korea on Nov 17 proposed a revision to the Criminal Act that would allow courts to impose up to one year in prison or a fine of up to three million won on those who cause fear or anxiety in public spaces by intimidation.

Some YouTubers have pushed back, saying the series of tough measures against streamers stigmatise those who produce non-provocative content.

“Extreme cases you see in the news are actually rare. Sure, we play music and dance sometimes, but we try our best not to bother people around us. Our broadcasts are no different from busking near the Han River or dance covers in Hongdae,” said 42-year-old YouTuber Lee Hak-joo, based in Bucheon.

“Many people criticise BJs, but there are people who want to watch us. We’re simply responding to that demand. Honestly, if I hadn’t started streaming, I probably wouldn’t have received this kind of attention. That’s why I continue working as a YouTuber instead of finding another job.” THE KOREA HERALD/ASIA NEWS NETWORK