| “Korean Teachers” author Seo Su-jin / Courtesy of Seo Su-jin |
By Park Han-sol
In the third act of Seo Su-jin's novel, “Korean Teachers,” three Korean language instructors at Seoul's H University meet up for dinner on the first day of fall term classes, amid hopes for a trouble-free semester.
While waiting for their dishes to be served, one throws a question out to the table: “How many people did they fire this semester?”
An answer comes, rather nonchalantly, “Seven or so?”
No one at the dinner table really recalls any of the names of the unfortunate lecturers. One thing the three do know, however, is that they were the lowest-ranking teachers in terms of their student evaluations.
With the number of international students enrolling in H University's Korean language school fluctuating every term due to unexpected visa and travel issues, the administration claims there is no need to keep as many hourly lecturers on standby ― especially those who have been deemed “incompetent” in the eyes of the students. But are they, really?
Seo's debut novel follows four Korean teachers working at Seoul-based university's language school over the course of one academic year, with each act dedicated to a single protagonist: Seon-yi in the spring, Mi-ju in the summer, Ga-eun in the autumn and Han-hee in the winter.
| The cover of 'Korean Teachers” (2022), written by Seo Su-jin and translated by Lizzie Buehler / Courtesy of Harriett Press |
In a dispassionate, almost surgical, tone, it lays bare how the language school operates by mobilizing highly educated women and subjecting them to a toxic work environment as well as unfair contract terms. The instructors are stuck in a cycle, where they are hired for a short period as hourly lecturers, evaluated, ranked and replaced ― similar to commodities.
In this deeply flawed system, each teacher is relegated to a simple cog in the machine, and often pressured into silence when faced with social and ethical challenges, including sexism and racial prejudice.
Winner of the 2020 Hankyoreh Literature Award, the book was translated into and published in English this month.
“My aim was to paint a candid picture of the incredibly complex and layered realities faced by Korean language lecturers every day,” the author told The Korea Times in a recent interview.
As a certified Korean language instructor herself, Seo taught at several universities in Seoul from 2016 to 2019.
“I wanted to shatter the illusion that these highly educated instructors, who are somehow seen as ambassadors for Korean culture in the wave of globalization, are treated and compensated well.”
Although “Korean Teachers” is a work of fiction, many of the disquieting events that unfold ― from the discovery of illegally taken photos of lecturers being spread on social media with offensive hashtags to an instructor on the verge of being fired due to pregnancy ― are inspired by the real-life experiences of the author or her colleagues.
As the global interest in learning the Korean language continues to grow on the back of the country's rise as a major cultural powerhouse ― something that Seo herself has also witnessed in Sydney, where she is currently based ― the book's rare glimpse into the “other side” of the Korean wave is both timely and meaningful in more ways than one.
“Here's food for thought I wanted to offer when writing this novel: whether we are ready to discuss the easily overlooked shadow behind hallyu, the stories of the exploited groups of workers behind the splendors of so-called 'K-culture,'” she said.
| Protesters call for better treatment and higher wages for Korean language instructors at a university in Seoul in this June 18, 2021 photo. Yonhap |
Korean language instructors' working conditions
Korean language lecturers at universities are subject to working conditions quite different from those of professors on the same campus.
Each of the four semesters at a language school is just 10 weeks long, which translates to a total of 200 hours per academic term. All part-time lecturers are assigned a certain number of teaching hours within that limit. Because they have to renew their contracts every semester, they are fired if they aren't assigned a class for that particular term for whatever reason. Even after being guaranteed a class, their hours could still be reduced unexpectedly due to lower student enrollment over a given period.
But the classes themselves were indeed remembered as memorable and rewarding experiences for the instructors, Seo said.
“There were times when I couldn't wait to get back to school, especially after seeing my students making hilarious jokes using a new set of Korean vocabulary they had learned. It was the moment when we were able to genuinely bond and communicate with each other beyond our language and nationalities that I still remember very fondly.”
However, what tainted, and even destroyed, such fond memories was none other than the flawed system of student evaluations ― which ranked every Korean teacher according to the scores they received, subsequently determining everything from their employment status to incentives.
“Every semester, I was overwhelmed with stress. I couldn't stop thinking about how every moment I interact with my students will be gauged and scored later,” she noted. “As time went by, it became difficult to talk to them from the heart, as sincerity could always be misunderstood. That was what ultimately affected our relationship dynamics.”
While the student evaluation may seem like an accurate indicator of instructor performance, the reality is far from the ideal.
The book explains that unlike professors, Korean language lecturers' individual level of competence failed to have much impact on the evaluation scores. Because all course materials ― from textbooks and worksheets to even example sentences and activities for every grammar rule ― were pre-determined by the language school, not much room was given for the instructors to explore different teaching methods freely.
Instead, it has been observed that there were other surprising determinants: students' class levels ― with lecturers in the beginner classes often receiving higher scores for teaching easier, less frustrating materials ― and their nationalities.
One part of the novel makes an explicit connection between students' cultural backgrounds and their behavior patterns for evaluating their teachers: “The European students, particularly those from Germany, didn't give their teachers nine points (out of 10) unless they absolutely loved them … The Chinese students … gave their teachers straight tens without even reading the questions, while the Japanese students carefully read each question before deciding how many points to give. It was the right way to fill out the evaluations, but it was infuriating for lecturers who needed at least nine points to keep their jobs.”
“As an Asian living in Australian society who has experienced discrimination based on my identity, I try to be sensitive and mindful at all times when it comes to racial prejudice,” Seo said.
“However, this kind of student evaluation system started implanting inappropriate racial bias in me. I started backing away from any chance of teaching an advanced class or students from a particular country. The system changed us into someone we didn't recognize.”
For many of the instructors, the classes were no longer a platform for passionate conversation with students about their love for the Korean language, but a mere tool to get better evaluation scores so that they could keep their jobs.
The author added that a number of her former pupils have reached out to her after the book's Korean publication in 2020, many of them in utter disbelief.
“They would tell me how they had absolutely no idea that the assessment forms they filled out without much thought at the end of each semester had the power to terminate a person.”
But of course, “Korean Teachers” does not point the finger of blame at any particular groups of individuals, whether they be lecturers who stay silent, international students or even lecturers-in-charge responsible for assigning the classes and hours.
Rather, it speaks to how both the instructors and the students can fall victim to the exploitative nature of language schools cashing in on the Korean wave to run what is essentially a business.
“In one way, we are all victims, but at the same time, we can always become perpetrators in the eyes of others,” Seo said. “I wanted to say that unless we face the system head-on and fight together for change, we will forever be stuck in this cycle where we continue to exploit and mistreat each other unwittingly.”