Bucking the Class System

As school pressures mount on kids in South Korea, some families are taking drastic steps -- by leaving the country.

By KAREN MAZURKEWICH Staff Reporter of THE WALL STREET JOURNAL July 29, 2005

Jung Young Hee has tried everything to help her children succeed at public school in South Korea. For two years, Ms. Jung's daughter Bhan Ji Young, now 11 years old, attended hours of evening classes a week to improve her marks. After she nearly collapsed from exhaustion, Ms. Jung switched her to at-home tutorials and private lessons. But with three children, that is proving too costly. Now, Ms. Jung believes there is only one option left for her family: immigration to the U.S.
"I'm absolutely leaving because of the education system," she says.
It used to be that South Korean families immigrated to Western countries to raise their economic status. Now, parents are moving for another reason: saner schooling. From primary school to high school, many students are caught in an exhausting cycle of evening classes and additional coursework to help boost their chances of getting into the best universities. And in a society where educational qualifications -- or lack thereof -- have repercussions for decades, some parents believe that leaving the country is the only way to escape the trap.
In the past few years, the number of parents either emigrating to find better schools or sending their children to overseas boarding schools has been climbing. The number of students who left school because their families emigrated more than doubled to 10,500 in 2003 from 4,900 in 1997, according to the Ministry of Education. The exodus to boarding schools abroad also has been marked, tripling over the same period to 10,500 in 2003 from 3,300 students in 1997.
They are trying to escape a system that is geared primarily toward getting into the best university in the country, says Park Kyung Jae, director general of the International Co-operation and I.T. Bureau at the Education Ministry. "In Korea, education is the only way to upgrade social status," he adds. Although there are 361 universities and colleges in the country, each parent is desperately trying to get his or her children admitted to the top five institutes, he says, and that has created a logjam.
In just 15 years the number of students attending university has jumped to 86% from 40%. As a result, the country has won kudos from the International Monetary Fund for its "high-performing education system," and held up as a model to other nations. But while acknowledging its successes, Korean parents are quick to point out the system's flaws -- in particular, some contend that the country's schools don't reward creativity, or encourage children who think out-of-the-box.
Many educationally advanced countries have a competitive tertiary education system. But the pressure to perform in Korea is particularly acute because of the extracurricular programs for kids of all ages known as hagwons. As far back as the 1960s, Korean parents paid to send their children to these private learning institutes to ensure success at university entrance examinations. Today, more than 70% of all students have attended a hagwon to help boost their grade-point averages and prepare for the university entrance exam -- known as the College Scholastic Ability Test, or CSAT. While the range of classes and times varies, one of the largest hagwons in Seoul offers courses from math to English that stretch over five-and-a-half hours a day. Many students spend five days a week niting the books at hagwons, particularly around exam times.
The demand for private tutoring has created a parallel education track that favors wealthy families, a dilemma that has vexed the government for years. After the 1980 military coup, Gen. Chun Doo Hwan tried to abolish the hagwon system, but anxious parents fought back. In 1989, restrictions were relaxed, and college undergraduates were allowed to give private lessons at home. Then a 1991 Supreme Court ruling deeming the ban on private education unconstitutional sparked an explosion of hagwons. Today, the government estimates there are more than 21,000 organizations offering supplemental classes.
The hagwon network has created a system in which kids learn their lessons twice, once in public schools and then again in a private institute. The duplication is supposed to help students get a leg up, but the doubling of hours and homework assignments is exhausting the nation -- not only physically but fiscally. The government estimates that the average family spends 30% of its savings on hagwons and private tutorials.
Workplace Discrimination
Parents like Lee Eun Mee are aware of the pressure placed on their kids but feel powerless to change it: They are afraid that their children will be taken out of the running for the best universities if they don't send them to supplementary classes. "Not only does graduating from a good university help in securing a good job, but people treat you differently," says Ms. Lee.
Going to a good university means your opinion counts more at work -- even decades after graduation, she says. Ms. Lee went to Yonsei University -- one of the country's best -- and hasn't personally encountered prejudice, but she's seen how it affects co-workers with lower-grade education. "It isn't blatant discrimination, it's something more scary," she says. You carry your alma mater around for a lifetime.
But Ms. Lee wonders if this shot at future prosperity is worth it for her daughter, Shin Soo Yeon, who is 14. It's after 11 p.m. before Ms. Shin and her friend Song Midum shuffle out of the Jongro M hagwon -- one of the largest hagwon chains in Seoul. Since 5:30 p.m. Ms. Shin has being taking a round-robin of classes including math -- her favorite -- and English -- her least. By the time she gets home, reviews her assignments and crawls into bed it will be after 1 a.m. With her morning starting at 7 a.m., Ms. Shin is lucky to get six hours of sleep.
When the teenager does snatch a little time for herself it's to work on her personalized Web page on the popular Cyworld site, where she posts photos taken from her cellphone. Her friend Ms. Song's escape is to morph into a secret rock-star persona. She sings and dances in front of her bedroom mirror -- but only when her parents are away she says because "they don't like it." The girls have dark circles under their eyes and lack energy, but both are fatalistic.
"Sometimes I tell my parents that I'm tired, but usually I don't bother because everyone has to do it," says Ms. Shin, who has had to give up her beloved tae kwon do classes in order to boost her grades to 90% from a current average of 85%, which she believes will get her into a good high school -- and, in turn, improve her chances of getting into a good university.
"Given the option, I'd rather do tae kwon do," she says. But "honor at school" is more important than "happiness."
For her mother, Ms. Lee, it's a double burden -- not only has she spent $1,000 on hagwon fees in three months, she hates nagging her daughter about her grades. "I feel terrible about the fact that my daughter comes home so late," says Ms. Lee, her voice trembling. "She's average, but I want her to be above average in grades, that's why I send her (to the hagwon)."
Hearing the conversation, her daughter tiptoes into the living room and slips her arms around her mother's neck. With tears welling in her eyes, Ms. Lee whispers that her daughter has many special qualities, and she's worried the system is beating the "creative spark" out of her. "I'm unhappy with the system," she says. She says what upsets her is that the competitive nature of the system makes students "think that your friend's misery (at getting low grades) is your happiness. The stress on parents and kids has become a crisis."
Aside from time pressure on kids, lack of creativity is often cited by parents as a major flaw in Korea's education system. Students sit nationwide standardized tests in their final year of high school and a series of other tests are used to evaluate who goes to what university.
The problem with national standardization tests is that "everyone is focused on scoring on these exams," says Han Jun Sang, a professor of education science at Yonsei University. And the reality is that the "hagwons are more effective in getting results," he says. But there is a price to be paid. Parents are concerned that these after-school hagwons, which often run from 5:30 p.m. to 11 p.m., leave little time for play -- not to mention the opportunity to eat a decent evening meal.
Kim Eun Young says the system is turning her carefree six-year-old daughter, Jun Hyun, into a robot. "As a mother I see how her personality is changing, and it's sad," she says. "She doesn't ask any questions anymore and just sits at her desk and watches the teacher." Her answer? Immigration. This year Ms. Kim applied to the U.S. for a work visa.
Even municipal governments are trying to help stem the tide of parents taking their children out of the country by offering more creative ways of learning. The city of Seoul has subsidized the construction of "Seoul English Village," a fictional foreign town where students between the ages of 12 and 14 can play at traveling abroad while attending a six-day English tutorial session. In addition to going through "immigration" and getting an imitation passport stamped, the children learn how to open a bank account, send a letter and even bake chocolate-chip cookies, all in English.
"There are problems suffered by families being split apart because children are sent off to school abroad," says Lee Kyong Lee, executive director of the Seoul English Village. "We came up with a better method of instruction to keep them here (in South Korea)," she adds.
Personal Attention
Not everyone thinks the system is ailing. Jin Young Choi, the manager of Jongro M, says his institutes are needed because "there are too many students and not everyone can get personalized attention in the public system."
The Jongro M hagwon started in 1997 with classes for primary-school kids, but has expanded its after-school network to 230 outlets to reach high-school and middle-school students. Mr. Jin argues that it is the parents creating the demand, and his organization is just responding to market needs. The hagwon network has exploded because "everyone wants to get their children in the same universities," he says.
Mr. Park, from the education ministry, says that the problem with the South Korean education system is that it's too successful. The huge number of applicants to universities has created an admission choke point, and "the hagwons are exploiting this," he says.
Although the government is defensive about its education system, it's now implementing a number of initiatives to try to improve the system, largely because it's concerned that private school costs are having a negative impact on the economy.
The government is sending hundreds of teachers abroad to upgrade their skills, and it's also tinkering with the new college-entrance system. Starting in 2008, more emphasis will be placed on grade-point averages over the last three years of high school and less weight given to the CSAT. (Currently, a student's CSAT unranked, raw score is sent to the university. Instead the scores will be divided into nine categories -- the top category being the first 4%. The universities won't be privy to a student's precise score, only the category under which he or she falls.) According to a press release by the government, "The ultimate aim is to strengthen the emphasis on formal high school education, and curb private tutoring aimed at raising CSAT scores."
The revamp also is aimed at giving students outside the cities a better chance of getting into good universities because they will compete by grade-point averages and not just by the final exam. Kids in wealthy urban areas tend to do better on the final exams, something that has been criticized by some people as making school even more stressful.
The government's other strategy is to bump up the quality of the second-tier universities by merging 10 universities into five new institutes. Miryang National, for example, will be integrated with Pusan National University.
But changing the grading system and adding a few English-language institutes isn't going make the problem go away, says Mr. Han of Yonsei University. "There is always going to be top students, middle students and bottom students," he says. The reality is that only 30% of students will get into the top colleges, but as "long as everyone's indoctrinated into thinking they have to go to a famous university, the hagwon system will persist," he adds.
Zoo Experience
Mr. Han believes that there are some improvements that can be implemented. The first is to reduce the size of the classrooms so students can get more face time with the teacher. "Right now the classrooms are too large, they look like zoos and kids can't learn much from them," he says. In addition, teachers should be given more flexibility in altering the curriculum to make it more interesting to students and inspiring. And thirdly, the government should create more alternative schools for children who aren't academically inclined, but have creative or even automotive skills. They will be able to opt out of the stressful academic stream, he says.
Until these changes are made, there are only two choices for parents who are unhappy with the system -- emigrate or opt out of the hagwon system.
After several months of guilt about her daughter's misery, Ms. Lee pulled her 14-year-old daughter out of the hagwon. Since then her daughter's grades have actually improved, she says.
Concerned parent Jin Seon Lee also took her daughter Cha Heone, now 11, out of the hagwon system after first grade because she didn't like the stress it put her through. Since then, Ms. Jin says other parents have called her everything from "brave" to a "bad mother who wasn't educating her children properly." Even she had misgivings when her daughter initially fell behind; now, though, her daughter is in the top 5% of her class.
Ms. Jin attributes her daughter's success to the fact that, because she isn't exhausted, she has better powers of concentration and actually likes to learn. But Ms. Jin isn't hopeful that many other parents will follow suit. "As long as the system is centered on grades, nothing will change," she says. And as long as families feel stressed, she thinks the exodus from South Korea in search of a different education will continue.
"Half my friends have already left," she says, "and the other half want to leave."