After years of grinding lower, a widely watched measure of fertility in a country battling significant demographic headwinds notched a small increase. While welcome, there’s little chance South Korea’s popular narrative of a nation blighted by empty schools and a deserted countryside will be put aside. Smaller families are here to stay.

Nobody is popping the Champagne. Few experts consider that a trickle of decent numbers represents a change in the long-term trend of slowing population growth. Nor is Korea alone.

According to the United Nations, the world’s headcount will peak in the 2080s and then begin declining. Two other closely studied Asian economies reported a mixed bag on the birth front recently: Singapore's gauge paused a decline, while Japan produced fewer kids than ever in 2024.

If euphoria isn't warranted, nor is panic. It just gets in the way and risks an extreme response. By all means, pursue policies aimed at supporting families with two children, such as promoting parental leave, and easing what many couples see as the costly business of education. Just don't expect a big pop — quickly — from throwing cash and incentives at the issue.

It took decades of policy to get birthrates down; it was once seen as critical to generating economic development. The reverse, cranking fertility higher, will be nigh impossible, nowadays. Societal views have long evolved from thinking four to five kids is the norm.

Addressing the retreat in fertility and a rapidly aging society is a challenge for many governments. “The dragon year effect has been diminishing over the years, reflecting the generational shift in attitudes and priorities among young couples,” Indranee Rajah, a Singaporean minister, told parliament recently, referring to 2024’s Chinese zodiac sign. (It has traditionally been considered that people born in a dragon year encounter good fortune.)

Preliminary figures showed the city-state's total fertility rate, or TFR, remained at 0.97 last year, she said. The prior year marked the first time it had dipped below 1. South Korea reported a level of 0.75, the first gain in almost a decade. Japan, which reports its TFR midyear, recorded a figure of 1.2 for 2023.

What's a good number? Different economies shoot for a range of objectives, and immigration — along with AI — are go-to responses for plugging the gap. But immigration can be a tough sell.

Total fertility rates are an estimate of how many children a woman will have, and 2.1 is considered the level at which a society can replenish itself. Few prosperous economies have rates approaching that; the global level has come down from around 5 in 1960 to 2.2 today, notes the U.N., and is projected to be 1.8 by the end of the century. Thailand, Taiwan, China and Malaysia are already below 2. Even the Philippines, an archipelago associated with large families, has seen a marked downdraft. Authorities in Manila are actively encouraging it. Like neighbors in the years after World War II, it's seen as a sign of progress.

This is something that's underplayed in much of the current doom and gloom. It’s the result of policy success, albeit one that couldn't calibrate when the time was right.

From the 1960s, military-backed regimes in Seoul geared objectives toward curbing family expansion as part of an anti-poverty drive; encouraging the creation of sprawling conglomerates was another.

To appreciate Singapore's desire for tinier households in the years after independence, the National Museum is a good start. One poster, from the early 1970s, shows a young mother in a messy apartment surrounded by screaming kids, laundry strewn over the room, while her husband looks on disapprovingly. Her thought bubble expressed deep remorse at marrying young. Another national slogan declared “two is enough.” The sentiment now is closer to “one and done.”

Disappointing though low fertility may be, these countries are wealthier than might have been imagined decades ago. Addressing birthrates — or alleviating the impact — deserves to be a priority, but it's hard to judge it a catastrophe. Singapore, for example, is consistently ranked among the most livable cities and its residents some of the happiest.

There was a time when demographic markers weren't the stuff of front pages. That changed in Japan in 1990 when media reported breathlessly that the country's TFR had slipped to 1.57 the previous year. This generated such anxiety that it became known as “the 1.57 shock.”

In late 2019, before COVID halted travel, I explored shifts in Japan and Korea. The countryside was indeed challenged; Yubari, on the northern island of Hokkaido, about an hour from Sapporo, became the first Japanese municipality to file for bankruptcy.

Life in the big cities, however, has much going for it. Japan is back as an investment destination. In Korea, about half the population is crammed into the Seoul metro area. Popular culture around the world is cluttered with Korean restaurants, music and streaming dramas.

What’s noticeable today is that there is no shock, just resignation at the declining birthrates. That's a good start. Solutions, if they exist, won’t come quickly. Adaptation will be the game.

Daniel Moss is a Bloomberg Opinion columnist covering Asian economies. Previously, he was executive editor for economics at Bloomberg News.