hankyoreh

April 10. (Photo by Lee Jung-woo)

By Ku Dool-rae　

My grade point average for the first semester was 2.7. Before eating breakfast, I took my place in the library, and after classes my feet naturally took me back there. But there were too many things I did not know. I could not keep up with my lectures, and I barely managed to complete my homework. My grades fell short of the “average” level of 3.0. When the second semester began, I was going without sleep nearly every day. I felt I was at the end of my rope. One Monday morning, I abruptly decided to head back to my hometown. I could not bear to say that I would not be attending school any more. Three days passed, and my mother said it was time to go back. She took me to the bus terminal and shoved me into the packed bus. She sat there watching it drive off for a long while. The year was 1992, and I was a freshman at KAIST. Nonetheless, I survived, and today I am working as a journalist. Perhaps if I were attending that school today, I would be called a “loser” or a “failure.”

On Sunday afternoon, I visited KAIST, nearly twice the age and weight I had been the last time. It was far classier than it had been before. The swimming pool had transformed into a dazzling building, while the stadium was refurbished with a baseball field. The temporary buildings where club meetings had been held had been cleared away, revealing the “Eureka Hall” behind them. The greasy spoon restaurant where we satisfied nighttime cravings had been demolished, and the shop transformed into a Burger King.

But at news of the fourth student suicide at the school just this year, all the frustrations from twenty years before came rushing back. I called a classmate in the class of ’94 for the first time in many years and was told, “It seems like it has increased a lot even compared to when we were there.”

The issue of the differential tuition system is the focus of criticisms, and the school has taken initial steps toward abolishing it. But the student frustrations remain. KAIST conducts all of its courses in English, one of the “reforms” carried out by newly appointed President Suh Nam-pyo in the fall of 2006. Suppressions of students have also become overt. In 2008, student body elections were postponed indefinitely with the establishment of a school regulation stipulating that “no student who has gone over their year limit can become a student representative.” At the end of that year, a student who posted on the Internet portal site Daum calling for reforms to KAIST was reported on defamation charges.

English-language courses became “without exception,” the argument being that “students would flock to any exception that exists.” Students study Chinese history, Eastern philosophy, and the Japanese language in English.

“I did hear a lecture in Korean once,” a student recalled. “I thought to myself, ‘Is this what it is like to hear a lecture in Korean?’ It was revolutionary.” Bulletin boards have seen posts from students who claim not to have understood anything in their English lecturers.

When I said I was astonished the students were handling the situation, a reporter with the school newspaper handed me an old edition. Students had held an assembly to point out the problem areas with the 2006 unilateral reform plans. In 2008, they had a dialogue with the president, but no headway was made.

“We were reporting about how the Suh Nam-pyo reforms were focused solely on ‘performance,’ and now that something unfortunate has happened everyone is taking about all the problems that existed,” said Song Seok-yeong, a reporter with the KAIST Times. Song said the belated interest from outside left a sour taste in his mouth.

A student explained that once a student is subjected to jangjjal, having their state-sponsored scholarship money cut because their GPA is below 3.0, the student comes to think of himself or herself as a “loser.”

“At other schools, you are an excellent student if you are getting scholarship money,” the student said. “But here it is taken for granted that we get scholarship money, so if you do not, they whisper about you, saying that they do not think you are studying hard. Even though it creates hurt for each other...”

However, the school remains something of a mystery. On the bulletin board, opinions are roughly split over a message of “Stay Strong, President Suh Nam-pyo!” with 53 recommendations and 43 non-recommendations. Another post went up reading, “They are telling us that you are not qualified to stay at KAIST if your GPA is under 3.0, even if you really worked hard. They have recommended that post about fifty times. It is really scary.”

I knew all about competition and failure in 1992. I also had a sense of indebtedness over the fact that I was studying with state support. I did not need a punitive tuition system to feel that. Still, I had a way out. Today, however, the students are utterly overwhelmed, with obstacles in every direction.

Meanwhile, a professor at KAIST, surnamed Park, was Sunday found hanged by his wife hanged in the kitchen of his apartment in Daejeon. The 54-year-old Park left a suicide note asking to take good care of his children, according to the police. Park’s colleagues told police that the professor expressed worries about the state audit.

Please direct questions or comments to [englishhani@hani.co.kr]