The Exam

Korea ranks among the world's best country in terms of education and university degrees, but this comes at a cost. It's no secret that Korean students are overworked throughout their childhood, and I think I'm beginning to understand why.

This past week, on Thursday, November 26, 2017, high school seniors across the country wrote their College Scholastic Ability Test (CSAT), a test that every Korean student must take if they hope to qualify for a prestigious Korean university.

Nearly all aspiring university students in Korea are bound to this exam. In order to qualify for university, they must get top score, and even then, it's tough. There is one loophole, however: for Korean students wishing to pursue a degree outside of Korea, they can simply apply to this university abroad and they would have to follow application procedures in that country. Many Koreans actually do attend university abroad, primarily in countries such as Canada, the U.S. and England. In fact, one of my adult students has sent her three kids to the University of Waterloo, in Ontario.

Unlike university entrance exams in other developed countries (such as the American SATs or some entrance exams in countries like Italy), however, these CSATs are taken so seriously that the entire country lies at a virtual standstill for that one day every year. Buses and metros run more frequently, the work day is delayed as to allow students to get to their test areas on time, police cars patrol the streets in case there are students running late, in order to escort them quickly to their exams, and even planes are grounded throughout the country during the listening portion of the exams.

Parents of students of all ages usually congregate for the days and weeks leading up to this exam and pray for the kids' success, and they usually gather outside the exam centres to cheer on the kids as they arrive and as they get set to leave. For these kids, this day is so important that these CSAT exams are described as "the chance to make or break one's future."

The stakes are simple: do well, and you'll get into a prestigious university. Do poorly, and you won't. Level of education and institution is so important in Korea that the students who do not get into high-ranking university are at risk of missing out on high-paying jobs and thus being embarrassed (and probably considered to be a source of shame in some families). Oh, and positions are rather limited.

In fact, according to some of my research, "Graduating from a top university is the ultimate marker of prestige, high socioeconomic status, promising marriage prospects, and a respectable career path. Those who lack a formal university education often face social prejudice."

Additionally, "There is a major cultural taboo in South Korean society attached to those who have not achieved formal university education where those who don't hold university degrees face social prejudice and are often looked down by others as second-class citizens resulting fewer opportunities for employment, improvement of one's socioeconomic position and prospects for marriage."

No pressure, right?

This exam literally has the power to influence how much money you'll make in the future, how you'll be perceived by your fellow citizens (including family and friends), how you value yourself and even your marriage prospects and your desirability as a potential spouse.

It's no wonder these kids feel the intense and insurmountable pressure leading up to this exam. Korean students will study for an average of 16 hours per day leading up to this exam, and many of them don't get enough food, nor sleep, leading up to it.

In fact, one of my adult students works at the local library on weekends, and she tells me that the library is not only packed 24/7, but parents are often calling in to have her check in on the kids and make sure they're being efficient and studying.

The exam is one day long, but incredibly rigorous. Students are tested on topics such as Korean, math, English, science, history and various types of social studies, among others. The big catch? Students can't pick and choose. Regardless of the program the students intend on applying to in university, they must excel in all the aforementioned subjects on the exam, or they risk not being among the top students and missing out. This means that if a student plans on studying journalism or writing, for example, they still need to pass the math section of their exam, even though they'll never need to use math in their university program.

To make matters worse, the exams are graded on a curve, meaning that the students' results are being directly compared to the results of their peers, further pushing competition in an already competitive society. Consequently, it is said that there's not a huge sense of community among the populace, as the extreme competitiveness has driven an "everybody for themselves" attitude.

The studying doesn't just start in the days and months leading up to the exam, however. Preparation for this exam begins much, much earlier, and it is said that South Korean children and their parents are in "preparation mode" for this exam since they're born.

Hence... the hagwons (private academies). As I mentioned in my previous post about what it's like to work in a Korean hagwon, hagwons are huge in this country. It's estimated to be an approximately 20 billion dollar industry, and parents spend about 10% of their annual income on hagwons for their children. Korean students don't just attend one hagwon, rather they'll attend 8-10 each in order to try and become experts in all of the subjects that appear on the exam.

Korean students are usually enrolled in hagwons at a very young age (my youngest kids are about six years old), and they stay until their exam. Homework in hagwons is a given, and the students are usually inundated with heaps of work and studying from the get-go. Not attending hagwons really isn't an option here. Back in Canada, hagwons aren't really part of the culture, and since very few people attend private academies, we're all on a level playing field. In Korea, not sending your children to hagwons is counter-productive, since they'll fall behind their peers and have no chances to rise above them on this exam.

It all seems to make sense now. This exam, which has an enormous impact on so many aspects of the lives of these students, is by far the most important thing that young families need to worry about until it's over. As a result, parents do everything they can to try and help their children succeed, and this includes rigorous schooling, rigorous studying and fostering competitiveness, because you kind of need to want to rise above everyone else.

So what are the repercussions? What are the consequences that this rigorous testing and this "education fever" has on Korean society?

Well, first off, on a positive note, Korea is among the most educated countries on the planet. 80% of high school graduates to go on to university. Additionally, 64% of people aged 25-35 hold a Bachelor's Degree, the highest in the developed world.

Even if Koreans do excel on this CSAT exam and graduate from a prestigious university, their happy future isn't necessarily guaranteed. With so many educated citizens, the supply tends to outweigh the demand. Koreans are discouraged from going into trades, and, as such, there is much more demand for skilled labour than there are people willing to do that type of work. Blue collar jobs are definitely frowned upon in Korean society.

Furthermore, the immense pressure leads to many other negative consequences. South Korea is among the most depressed nations in the world, and the educational pressure put on them has been considered, by some, as child abuse. One former hagwon teacher wrote an article entitled "An Assault Upon Our Children" in the New York Times, where she claimed that "the system's dark side casts a long shadow. Dominated by tiger moms, cram schools and highly authoritarian teachers, South Korean education produces ranks of overachieving students who pay a stiff price in health and happiness. The entire program amounts to child abuse. It should be reformed and restructured without delay."

Hand-in-hand with depression comes suicide, another category in which Korea ranks among the highest in the world. Though there has fortunately been somewhat of a decline recently, in 2014 South Korea counted 27.3 suicides per 100,000 people (0.027% of the population). Education is considered to be one of the main contributors to this astronomically high suicide rate, particularly among youth aged 10-19. Indeed, sadly enough, many individuals who have not even made it to 20 years of age commit suicide.

I've actually asked some colleagues and friends if the Korean government is investing itself in actively trying to curb suicide in the country (maybe by reducing stress), and I was told that they weren't really doing much. In an attempt to reduce suicide, the metros are all barricaded, so no one can run in front of an oncoming train. Furthermore, during and following exam time, I've been told that many rooftops across the country get blocked off so that no one can head up to the top and jump off... Despite all of this, mental illness is highly stigmatized in Korea and statistics show that people are embarrassed to even admit suffering from one and to seek treatment. In my opinion, this still isn't really getting to the root of the problem.

Finally, due to all of this, Korea's birth rate is in a free-fall. According to The Hankyoreh, a Korean newspaper, Korea has been officially considered a "low birth rate society" since 1983, but in 2005 the birth rate hit a record low, with approximately 1.08 births per woman of child-bearing age. Ten years later, it wasn't much better.

With a rapidly aging society, this trend is very likely to continue spiralling in the wrong direction, with tons more problems sure to follow. At this rate, the number or retirees might one day outnumber the workforce.

And the low birth rate is attributed to... what else, but education. There has been a spike in youth unemployment due to the overabundance of educated citizens, and education, especially at hagwons, is seen as such a lucrative business that parents are hard-pressed to even be able to afford sending their kids to all of these private institutions in order to maximize their chances on the CSAT exam.

Additionally, hagwon culture often forces Korean mothers to stay home with their children, seeing as they need to spend their days driving their kids from hagwon to hagwon. One of my Korean friends even told me that neither she nor any of her female friends actually want children because they would rather actually have a job and not spend all day driving the kids around.

The low birth rate can also be attributed to the high stress Koreans face at work - once they actually get a job, but more about that in a future post.

So, can one mere exam be the cause of depression, suicide, a shortage of women in the workforce and an extremely low birth rate? Well, surely the exam can't be attributed 100% of the blame, but it certainly isn't helping. Kids just want to be kids, teenagers just want to be teenagers, and frankly, I truly believe that people just want to live their lives... the way they want to live it, and not in conformity to these high (and unrealistic) educational expectations.

Coming from Canada and having had only ever experienced Western culture (North America and Europe) prior to coming here, it's fair to say that the culture shock is real. Sometimes you really have to appreciate what you have.

-Daniele

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